Page 235 of Protective Heroes

That was so far out of her league she’d end up dead before landing even a single punch.

A sensation niggled the base of her spine.

She looked over her shoulder but saw no one coming. Sausage fingers reached in and fumbled with the lock.

She aimed.

Metal grated against metal and she watched the small handle to the deadbolt turn counter-clockwise.

She fired.

A flurry of Spanish burned her ears, and she knew her aim was dead on.

She backed to the side and stood rigid in the space between the door and the back wall. Wood splintered and broke off. She threw her good arm up, but not in time to block all the debris from nicking her face and neck. Adrenaline pumping through her veins blocked all the pain, the wet stickiness of her blood the only sign she was injured.

She threw her eyes open. Three feet in front of her stood a very heavily armed, pissed off man three times her size and she would be a liar if she said she wasn’t scared as hell when he turned his black eyes on her.

But now she had more to lose than just a house and some silly shed.

Raw anger rooted deep in her stomach. Fire boiled in her and it wasn’t out of fear. This needed to end.

Abigail leveled the muzzle of her gun through the cracked wood of the door, took a deep breath and fired off two more rounds.

Blood blossomed out from where her rounds buried in the thug’s left shoulder. He dropped to his knees but didn’t go down. She took aim again and stepped out from behind the door. Several shots fired off in the distance, but she couldn’t focus on that right now.

Her attention zeroed in on her immediate threat.

She sidestepped the broken wood on the floor, her gun leveled at the man in front of her. With a wide berth, she eased in front of him. “Mirame, carbon.” She planted her feet, ready. “I said, look at me, asshole!”

Her raw words brought his face up, and their gazes locked. He wore a sneer, but it didn’t intimidate her. So much hatred. She’d never met the man, but the hatred she saw in the depths of his black, soulless eyes chilled her to the bone.

“We just want you, puta.” His words dripped acid and a small part of her didn’t care that she’d just wounded another human being. Labored breathing tore from the thug’s chest, but she wasn’t fooled. He could overpower her even with three bullet holes in him.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. And there’s no way you’re leaving here alive.” She pulled the trigger, aimed right at his heart.

Nothing happened.

Out of bullets.

The thug lunged for her, his weight and size crashing her into the unforgiving floor. Her head smacked against the tiles with a resounding thud that sent shockwaves of pain up and down her body. She gritted against it and the need to shut her eyes.

“You want to wrestle, puta?” The slimy bastard licked a trail up the side of her face. He reared up on his haunches and landed a backhand across her cheek. Black specks fogged her vision. Her fingers fumbled for anything… something she could use to protect herself. The tips of her fingers brushed against wood. A fierce scream filled the room. Fire stabbed at her shoulder.

“I like giving pain, puta. Maybe I’ll use you a little before we return you back to El Jefe.” The thug stabbed his finger deeper into her bullet wound, ripping another scream from her throat. He slapped his other hand down on her breasts and squeezed, his nails pinching into the soft flesh painfully.

She gnashed her teeth, brought her foot up and moved the piece of wood just out of her reach closer. She wrapped her fingers around the weapon and struck out.

The thug bent over her, his face an inch from hers. A stench of copper filled the air. Warm liquid dripped down his back and onto the hand that gripped the piece of wood she’d stabbed him with. Using the last of her strength she shoved out from beneath him and slowly dragged herself to her feet, taking the largest of the wood fragments with her.

Single armed, she reared back and landed the best Roberto Clemente swing she had in her. The man face-planted on the floor, but she didn’t stick around to see if her handiwork would keep him down for the count.

She edged closer to the door Caden had exited. Leaning against the doorjamb for support, she took in her surroundings. The gunfire had died off outside. Hopefully that was a good thing.

Caden spoke from behind her. “Son of a bitch.” Startled, she whirled to see Caden and Reece kneeling over the thug who still hadn’t moved. “He’s dead. Damn, woman. I sure the hell wouldn’t want to piss you off.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

She raked her gaze over her bosses and her mouth grew dry. Blood splattered across their shirts and jeans. Another rush of adrenaline spiked through her and she stumbled over to where they stood.

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