Page 45 of Savage Hero

And then Savage shoves me off the roof.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Savage

Nyx thinks we’re in the clear, but we’re not. Bogota’s men are like fucking terriers. When they go down the hole after the rabbit, you have to haul them back out by their fucking tails or they’ll stay jammed in there until they die.

I’ve never heard her scream before.

I never want to hear it again.

But thankfully it doesn’t go on for too long. When she hits the awning a few floors down, the sound cuts off abruptly.

I stare over the side of the roof, my heart pumping so hard it feels like my veins are going to explode. But she didn’t bounce off. Didn’t break the wooden struts.

She lies there, staring up at me, her mouth still open and her blond hair fanning around her head like an aura.

I wave my arm, shooing her off the fabric, and she turns to look to the side. A second later she’s clambering over the awning on hands and knees as if her hands aren’t torn to shreds, and disappears into the window.

For a long,longmoment, I consider not following her.

I could stay here and shoot anyone who managed to track us this far. But either they lost us, which means no one is coming through that door on the other side of the roof…or they all followed.

I’ll only survive one of those scenarios.

And maybe it’s the adrenaline talking, but I can’t seem to summon up the will to die today. I sit on the edge of the roof and stare down at the awning.

I forgot about the third scenario, of course.

The one where the awning snaps and I plummet to my death.

But then Nyx’s head appears out the window and she throws me an expressive, ‘get the fuck over here’ gesture with her arms.

So I jump.

Because now, if I die, at least Nyx’s face will be the last thing I remember.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Savage

Nyx groans when I grab her wrist and tug her after me, but she doesn’t dig in her heels. I lead her through the dark apartment and out the front door at a run, stopping only to lock the front door behind me.

“You said we were almost there,” she says.

“Stop bitching,” I tell her. “You would have died.”

“Still a possibility.”

When I glance over my shoulder, she’s holding her side and wincing.

My entire body goes cold. I spin around, backing her up against the wall as I rip her shirt up her chest. “Where’d you get hit?” I demand, running fingers over her smooth, tanned skin.

She bats away my hands. “Goddamn, buy a girl dinner first.” Ripping her shirt out of my hands she steps away. “I got a stitch, Papi.”

My heart should be settling back into its usual cavity, but it stays jammed in my throat like that fucking terrier.

I go past her, keys jingling in my hand. “This is us,” I say, unlocking the last door on the right. I hold it open so she can go inside.

---