Page 141 of Gabriel: Duke of Bencalor

A high-pitched whine and a muf­fled thud reg­is­tered in Quinn’s brain as a sharp pain jabbed at her thigh. She looked down to see a hole in her jeans. “What the—?”

“Sniper!” An­neliese shouted and leaped to Gabriel’s ex­posed side, shov­ing him to­ward the limou­sine, where Vin­cent held the door open. Vin­cent hurled him­self to­ward them, putting the breadth of his big body on the other side of Quinn. “Get in the car!” he shouted, both shield­ing them and us­ing his weight to hus­tle them to the open car door.

But Gabriel was taller than An­neliese.

“Duck!” Quinn put her hand on the back of his head and pushed it lower while she tried to help pro­pel him into the rel­a­tive safety of the limo.

An­other muf­fled thud kicked up a spray of chips from the side­walk. And then Gabriel dived onto the floor of the car, pulling his legs in be­hind him. A firm hand pushed Quinn in on top of him be­fore An­neliese rolled in on top of both of them. The door slammed shut.

“Don’t move,” An­neliese said, her body sprawled over Gabriel and part of Quinn.

The driver’s door opened and closed, and the limou­sine rock­eted into mo­tion, tires squeal­ing.

“Is ev­ery­one all right?” An­neliese asked.

“Gabriel! Are you okay?” Quinn scooted around on the floor so she could see his face where it was pressed into the car­pet­ing. “Did you get hit?”

Ter­ror and fury ric­o­cheted around in her chest. Some­one just tried to kill Gabriel.

“No, I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight. “But what about you? You said some­thing right be­fore An­neliese yelled.”

Quinn’s leg was throb­bing, but she didn’t want to up­set him fur­ther. “I’m good.”

“An­neliese? Vin­cent?” Gabriel asked. “No in­juries?”

“Un­touched,” An­neliese said. “Thank you.”

“Same, sir,” Vin­cent said. “Hang on.”

Vin­cent took a cor­ner at high speed, rolling them all against one an­other. As Gabriel dis­en­tan­gled him­self from her, he brushed her in­jured leg. She hissed in a breath at the jab of pain.

“What is it, car­iño mío?” Con­cern threaded his voice.

“Just a lit­tle graze. No big deal.” It burned like hell, but she could move her leg, so it couldn’t be too bad.

“I wish to ex­am­ine it,” Gabriel said, start­ing to lever him­self up with his el­bow.

“No! Some­one could still be aim­ing for you.” Quinn grabbed his head to yank it back down to the car­pet. She didn’t give a shit if he was a duke or not. He wasn’t go­ing to die be­cause she had a cut on her leg.

“Quinn, let go of me now.” Gabriel’s voice was a whipcrack of com­mand.

She didn’t re­lease her hold. “An­neliese? Is it okay for him to sit up?”

“Vin­cent, are we clear of the scene?” An­neliese called.

“Af­fir­ma­tive,” the driver said.

“Please re­main on the floor, though.” An­neliese pushed her­self up off Gabriel with­out vis­i­ble ef­fort and crouched low on the back seat, a Glock in her hand as her gaze scanned across the car win­dows.

Quinn slid her hand away from his head, cup­ping his cheek briefly in a word­less apol­ogy.

Gabriel hoisted him­self up on one el­bow, sway­ing as the limo bounced and swerved through the city streets. His eyes blazed with fury and anx­i­ety. “Let me see.”

Quinn rolled onto her side so the in­jured leg was vis­i­ble. Look­ing down, she could see a dark stain around the hole in the denim. Brighter red was vis­i­ble through the rip.

Gabriel cursed be­fore he gen­tly moved the fab­ric around so he could ex­am­ine the wound. “We need to get Quinn to a doc­tor,” he barked.

“No, se­ri­ously, it’s just a cut,” Quinn said.

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