Page 29 of Sexting the Silverfox

“Yes, Mr. Winchester.”

I grab my keys and fly out of my penthouse and down the stairs, rushing to my car, struggling to keep a clear mind while consistently aware of two armed men in Audrey’s building.

Fucking hell.

I drive like a bolt of lightning through the city. To my astonishment, I haven’t picked up a single cop along the way. Then again, it’s late, and the streets are mostly empty. Besides, I’m expecting at least a few squad cars to pull up to The Emerald as soon as I get there.

The engine roars as I floor it.

The wheels screech in agony as I take a tight left turn with a smoking drift at the last couple of inches, reaching The Emerald just in time to catch a glimpse of two shadows slipping into the side alley next to the building. I jump out of my car and start running after them as I hear Audrey’s screams muffled by the two men dragging her away.

Sirens wail in the distance. I spot the getaway car parked just behind a large industrial dumpster on the right side of the narrow alley.

“Hey!” I shout after the men.

They’re too busy struggling to keep Audrey subdued to immediately hear or notice me coming. Something happens within me that I haven’t experienced since serving on active duty since that wretched night outside Kabul. My stomach churns but my blood pumps red hot and fast through my veins, heat loosening my joints while the instant shot of adrenaline courses and makes my heels a lot lighter.

Immediately, I take note of the surroundings.

The cops are definitely on their way, but they’re still a couple of minutes out. Minutes I can’t afford to lose. The street outside The Emerald is empty. The alley is dark and dirty, used mostly by the delivery trucks servicing the pastry and coffee shops just across the street.

I notice that the getaway car is a dark blue sedan with Minnesota plates. Likely stolen.

The two men are big and burly, dressed in black jeans and black leather jackets, black balaclava masks covering their heads. From their hands, I see they’re both white. I remember that they’re armed, but they’re busy with Audrey, who’s making herself incredibly hard to subdue despite being half their size. My heart clenches when I notice she’s in her pink jammies.

They must’ve broken into her apartment while she was asleep or just about to doze off; otherwise, she probably would’ve had more opportunity to make more noise. Maybe the neighbors would’ve heard her. Someone would’ve come out of their apartment or called the cops.

“HEY!” I shout again, louder this time, my gun in my hand and ready to fire if I have to.

I swore I’d never fire another bullet outside of active duty.

One of the men spots me and says something to the other, something I can’t understand. It’s in Russian. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Audrey?

She hears my shouts. “Jason, NO!” she screams through the black bag that covers her head. Her wrists are bound with cable ties, but her legs are free, and she is squirming and simultaneously kicking as much as she can, making it harder for the men to control her. “They have guns!”

I’m aware of that, but I don’t care.

I can only focus on my mission, which is to get her away from her captors alive and unharmed. The first guy takes charge of Audrey while the other one stops and turns to face me. Before he can reach for his gun, however, I charge him and tackle him with my full body weight.

“Argh!” he grunts as we both land on the cold, hard pavement.

He throws a punch, and I give him back two, but he elbows me in the jaw, and my head starts spinning.

I end up on my side.

He shoots back to his feet, groaning from the pain but trying to kick me in the stomach. I roll away and pull my gun out. The first guy notices me drawing down on him and tosses Audrey against the car, taking out his weapon as well. Everything happens so fast that I’m not even sure where my reason ends and my instincts begin.

POP.

He fires a shot and misses.

POP.

I fire one back, and Audrey screams as she drops on all fours, dodging a potential stray bullet as the Russian prick takes more precise aim the second time around. But because I’m constantly moving, he misses me.

POP.

The guy I tackled stumbles away when I briefly point my gun at him. He barks another order in Russian, and the two of them quickly get into the car and drive off, their tires screeching while Audrey is left behind on the ground, crying and screaming her head off.

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