Page 3 of Marked

Slaying several men in the process.

“You’re Cole Holmes.”

His mouth went slack.

Dear God, she was right. Pride bloomed inside her chest, followed by a sharp sweep of disgust. This man deserved the electric chair, or at least life in prison. And she’d be the one to deliver it.

He dropped his hand from her neck and reached behind his back.

A shudder racked her body. She waited for the bullet that would rip through her heart.

Bella, I’m sorry...

He brought the gun above his head.

Crack!

Glass rained down on her, pelting her face and hair. Cole tried to seize her gun, but she tightened her hold.

He hadn’t killed her.

His mistake.

The gunfire kickstarted her instincts, draining the fear from her limbs. Cole still held her gun in place, but his other hand was occupied with his own weapon. Using all her strength, she karate-chopped his arm at the elbow. His hold on her wrist buckled but didn’t release.

He grunted and brought the mouth of his silencer beneath her jaw. “Don’t be stupid,” he growled. The deep gravel of his voice made her knees weaken. Terror coated her skin in a sticky substance.

This was a killer. Cold-blooded.

But she wasn’t going to die today, and he wasn’t going to get away with another murder. Letting out a scream, she hiked her knee into his crotch.

“Umph.” He hunched forward, and the movement made his weapon drop from her face.

Springing into action, she hooked her elbow into his jaw. His hold on her gun loosened.

Yes!

She turned her weapon on him. He stood from his bent position, daggers glittering from his eyes. “Fucking bitch.”

She moved her finger on the trigger at the same moment he twisted her wrist. The bullet fired, smacking something in the alleyway.

Shit!

He tried to wrench the gun from her hold, but she held on with the grip of a pit bull. She drove her knee into his midsection. Her blow connected with a wall of steel.

His hand clamped around her calf and held fast. She hopped on her foot as he hiked up her leg, throwing her off-balance. She stumbled and grabbed his shoulder to stop herself from falling.

He was too fast. His free hand caught her under her arm and threw her down, slamming her back hard against the asphalt. Her gun fell from her grip and skittered across the parking lot. The wind swiftly left her lungs, and she coughed. He dropped his knee on her chest and brought the mouth of his silencer to her forehead.

A sob caught in her throat. His hat had fallen in their struggle, and the moonlight illuminated his features: dark hair swooped back on the top of his head, the sides just above his ears slightly shaved. His strong nose and chiseled jaw were connected by the tense plains of his cheeks. Death stared her in the face, but she couldn’t look away from her killer. Her brain took in the tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt. He wore long sleeves, but she’d bet her last paycheck that the flesh there also had ink.

His knuckles were dusted with symbols and drawings, but the position of his hand kept her from analyzing them. Sirens blared in the night, but rather than feeling relief, her body clenched.

Any second, he’d pull the trigger.

Bella’s smiling face filled her mind and tears stung her eyes. She’d never see her baby girl again.

She’d be just another dead cop.

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