Page 184 of Protective Heroes

She sank to her knees and crawled closer to the door and peered around the corner.

Another shot split the darkness. Chills ran down her spine. She froze, straining for some indication of what was going on. Nothing. No more glass breaking. No grunts. Nada.

Her heart lurched into her throat. Each beat cutting off her air.

It was too quiet. Dyson. What if he was hurt. Or worse… dead?

Her mind screamed for her to go downstairs to him, make sure he was all right. Logic kept her feet planted in place. What now? If she made a sound, it was game over. She’d place Dyson in more danger if he wasn’t dead already.

She glanced around Diego’s bedroom. Moonlight broke through the windows, highlighting a phone on the nightstand to her right.

Relief filled her. She palmed the receiver, the cold plastic slipping a little in her sweaty grasp.

Dead.

Tears rimmed her eyes and threatened to spill. She inhaled to the count of three. Dyson needed her not some crybaby.

With her heart still in her throat, Shay moved to the door and shouldered around the corner, being careful not to make a sound. Just a few steps separated her from the banister.

Large hands engulfed her shoulders, spun her, and hauled her up against a broad chest. She stiffened, in the steel grip, gasping for air. Blood rushed in her ears and she thrashed against the wall of muscle with hot stinky breath.

Instinct drove her elbow up into the silhouetted jaw. Her attacker loosened his grip enough for her to kick free. She followed her defense with a blow to the gut. She lurched forward, landing a solid foot, and pushed.

“¡Bastardo!”

Her attacker took the hard way down the stairs… head over ass.

Keeping to the shadows, she stepped over the unconscious dude at the foot of the stairs and paused, the smell of smoke and gasoline overwhelming. She pushed forward.

Left would take her to the kitchen. Right the living area and the front door. She maneuvered around the last corner separating her from the living room, then pulled up short.

Cold steel pressed against her temple. Fuck.

“Ah, señorita, it’s good to see you’re still alive.” A big hand pushed her toward the living area and toward the voice. What was it with thugs? Was it a recruiting requirement to have sausage hands to push people with?

She recognized the smug voice in the dark. Her gaze darted around in search of the man who went with it. At least her instincts were finally back on target.

Lights flickered on, revealing four men standing in front of her, each with a gun pointed at Dyson. A little worse for wear, but the bad guys had fared much worse. She held back a smirk. She bet the one with the broken arm and bloody nose wouldn’t forget the wrath of a pissed off Devil Dog anytime soon.

Her attention drew back to Dyson. He knelt on the floor, focused on her. His mouth tilted up on one side and he winked. Small ripples of relief loosened the knot of fear lodged in her stomach. Much more and the damn thing would take up permanent residence.

She wished she had the same confidence he obviously had, because right now she’d say this Mexican standoff was a little one-sided.

“I thought we’d finish our conversation, señorita. Since we were interrupted by your guard dog earlier, you never heard my offer for your business.” His gaze raked over her, and she shuddered from the slimy feeling he gave her.

She narrowed her eyes as Bautista closed the distance between them. “Señor Bautista.” Her words curt and tainted with contempt.

Anger curled his lip, marring his otherwise handsome features. Whatever happened to the sweet soft-hearted boy her mother talked so fondly of? The very stories that had prompted Shay to make the call in the first place.

One thing was for sure, from the cold, calculating eyes that stared down at her, the man standing before her was no longer the boy her mother had grown up with.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a slight movement. Dyson’s hands were bound in front of him. A flash of pink from her misplaced cell phone cupped between his palms clued her in.

Okay. Keep Bautista’s attention. She could do that. And breathe. Don’t forget to breathe.

“So starting fires and scaring the shit out of people is your version of talking business? Kinda hard to strike a deal when one side is dead, don’t you think?” Her voice didn’t crack so that was a bonus point for her.

Beneath his pristine white shirt and gold tie, she could see a tic in his neck as her words struck a nerve. Soulless eyes locked on hers.

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