Page 4 of Out of Control

I looked down at the woman, blood from my hand staining the back of her head red.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Get your hands off of me,” she snarled, voice harsh.

I slowly loosened my grip on her, looking up to see all the chaos. Travelers were running everywhere, gate attendants hunched behind their desks. As I expected, Antonio was nowhere to be seen. I shifted up to my hands and knees, reluctant to let her go completely until I knew the coast was clear.

“Did the gunshot mess with your hearing? I said get off me!” The venom in her voice surprised me. I was expecting gratitude for saving her life. I raised an eyebrow, wondering what information I was missing for her to react that way, but apparently I took too long to comply.

She rolled onto her knees so quickly my fingers stayed tangled in her hair, wet from the blood, and keeping me close enough she could shove an elbow into my solar plexus. The pain was there, sure, but it was the shock that someone—especially a victim like her—would assault a federal officeragainthat prevented me from putting up an immediate defense.

My hand finally untangled from the back of her head and she pulled a fist back, throwing a punch at my face. I got my shit together quickly enough to dodge the brunt of it so the hit landed on my shoulder instead.

I let the weight of the hit move my body back and shifted with it, planting one of my feet on the tile floor so I could shift quickly into a stand.

She followed, rolling forward with me as I moved, swinging with her non-dominant hand, but something was off in her stance. She looked unsteady.

My feet were planted, my arms up and at the ready, so I felt I could try asking her again, “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, she tried to throw another hit, but I caught her fist easily before she made contact, tossing that arm down and out of the way. I stepped into her space, forcing her to back up a couple paces until she leaned against the same pillar Antonio was lounging against a moment before.

She looked around frantically, not seeing an escape, and I put a hand on her shoulder, lightly pushing down so she was sitting. She looked like she was gearing up to hit me again, so I produced my handcuffs, dangling them in between us.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, ma’am.”

I saw the fight leave her body as she let out a frustrated grunt. Finally. I had the situation under control.

“First things first…” I glanced at her again. When I was satisfied she wasn’t going to bolt, I lifted the lid of the trashcan, easily finding the phone sitting at the top of the pile. I tapped the screen awake, pausing at the text prominently displayed in all caps.

KILL THE BITCH!

What the hell was going on?

two

Athena

Iknew it would be a good time to try to make a break for it while he was distracted with Antonio’s phone, but I just didn’t have it in me.

I must have smacked my head on the ground when that idiot knocked me over, because I was starting to feel dizzy. Odds were I’d never make it out through all the security anyway, so I didn’t bother trying. I leaned against the pillar, waiting for this mysterious man who came out of nowhere and messed up my plan to figure out what he wanted to do.

I looked around wildly, but Antonio was long gone. There went my lead.

I was pissed that I couldn’t fight off one measly man after all the time I spent training, but I knew from years of experience that head hits were hard to recover from. I gingerly leaned my head back against the pillar, wincing when I made contact. That didn’t feel like your standard issue bruise.

I reached back to feel what was going on there, surprised when my fingertips felt wet. Was I bleeding? I kept prodding, the pain increasing tenfold when I felt the cut—the shock and adrenaline must have been slowing. Did I split my head open on the stupid concrete floor because of this interfering jerk?

I glanced up at him, doing a double take when I saw his hand was bleeding as well, the same hand that pulled me out of the way when Antonio shot at me. That looked like a bullet graze.

Did Antonio actually shoot me in the fucking head? How bad was it? Did this man save me from worse than a flesh wound?

The interfering jerk of a man in question looked up from Antonio’s phone, seeing me staring at him.

He noticed my uneasiness, but mistook it for a willingness—and ability—to bolt.

“Don’t move,” he warned, dangling his handcuffs again. “I’ll secure you if I need to.”

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t going anywhere. If I was injured I needed to get it treated. I wasn’t a moron.

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