Page 6 of Savage Hero

I’m frozen, caught between protecting my father and, for some unfathomable reason, the man-girl standing a few feet away.

It’s the baby. An innocent life—so innocent it wouldn’t even know it died today if that’s how the dice fall.

It makes no sense. I should be going after my father. He has the power to end hundreds of lives with the snap of a finger…but instead I turn to the girl. Her eyes go wide and round, shock written large on her face. She starts moving away from me, and I can’t blame her. I’ve been told I’m scary as fuck when I have someone in my sights.

But then the bullets come.

Time doesn’t suddenly slow down. But because so much shit happens in mere seconds, it feels like it.

Every fucking time.

The girl realizes she’s running straight into the line of fire with the bawling infant swaddled in her arms. She turns, spots me, freezes. I reach her an instant later, grab her by the scruff of her neck, and haul her backward with me.

All it would have taken was one misstep.

A bullet zings past my head, its heat searing my earlobe. But then me and the girl and the shrieking baby are behind the wall separating the restaurant from the passage leading out to the back, and those hungry bullets are biting out chunks of the wall instead of feasting on our flesh.

Screams.

Gunfire.

Sobs.

The patter of glass hitting the tiles. There’s a brief volley of return fire that’s snuffed out an instant later.

Then the strange hush that always comes after a shootout. Everyone holding their breaths, waiting. Waiting to figure out if they’re dead or alive. Waiting…for the end.That hushed moment is when I realize I have the girl pinned against the wall. That I’m caging her in with my arms, ducking my head over hers, shielding her with my body.

Just in case the wall behind us wasn’t thick enough.

I…guess.

The baby hiccups between us, and then starts crying. That sound triggers a chorus of panicked voices, groans, and glass tinkling on the tiles.

In the distance, a Mustang’s engine growls before fading away.

I push away from the wall. Something compels me to cup the girl’s face in my hands, to check her eyes for signs of shock, to run my gaze down her body and make sure nothing dark and wet is seeping through her clothing. The infant too gets scrutinized—but nothing that can still make that amount of noise could possibly be badly injured.

Her. The baby is swaddled in pink. A baby girl.

Was it her I was protecting?

Blue Eyes’s mustache has come loose. I grab the edge of it and press it down firmly above her wide, pouty mouth.

Then I’m dashing around the corner, eyes flickering everywhere as I assess the damage.

“Savage…”

I rush over to my father, immediately turning him onto his side. He coughs, grasps weakly for me, spits out a mouthful of blood. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he mutters, waving me away when I try to peel back his eyes. “Just grazed me.”

“Now you’re a doctor?” I grate out, rolling him onto his back so I can better see his injury. There’s a tear through the shoulder of his pinstripe suit. I hurriedly push the blood-wet fabric down his arm. “You’re hit.” My voice is flat, but my mind is buzzing like a faulty electric pole.

“It’s a scratch. Let’s get the fuck out of here before they come back to check for survivors.”

They won’t, but I don’t argue. My father’s shaken—his usually rock-steady gaze flickers around the room like a dragonfly—and from what I can see, none of our men survived the attack.Makes sense. When she came running into the run screaming for everyone to get down, the civilians would have listened. Hardened cartel enforcers? Ha. I’m surprised she’s not riddled with bullet holes.

I help my father to his feet as Blue Eyes comes around the corner trying to soothe the screaming baby. Her face is pale, but it goes ashen when she spots the child’s parents on the floor.

They’re a mess. High caliber bullets don’t do our soft bodies any favors—and they caught a hail of them. I expect the girl to puke, to scream, to faint…but she just goes over to the mother and pushes the body over with her shoe. Some of the woman rolls onto her back, but most of her head remains splattered on the floor beside her husband’s leg.

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