Page 157 of My Broken Bodyguard 3: Catch & Bianca

Once I had my gear, I slid back into the driver’s seat and straightened the wheel.

“Ritchie, they’ve boxed me in.”

“What the fuck?” he snapped. “I’m on my way.”

“You won’t make it in time.” My voice was steady. “Tell Bianca I love her. I’ll take as many of these bastards down with me.”

A deep rumble vibrated through the ground.

Then I saw it.

A tank rolled to a stop on the other side of the barricades.

My stomach turned to stone.

In my earpiece, Ritchie’s voice erupted into a frantic roar. “No!”

I moved quickly, pulling on my combat gear. The SUV was my daily ride—I kept my gear inside for a reason. You never knew when you’d need it.

And right now, I needed it.

“You better believe I’m taking Mavin with me,” I muttered darkly, securing my vest.

A voice blasted through a bullhorn, cold and mocking.

"Get the fuck out of the truck, Catch."

Mavin.

“Ritchie,” I said, my voice even. “Have Nick send men to Baltimore.”

“I’m here, cousin,” Nick's voice came through clearly. “I’m on a helicopter now. I’ll get to that bastard.”

My eyes squeezed shut briefly. “Thank you.”

“Catch!” Her sweet voice came over the earpiece.

Soft. Desperate.

My throat tightened. “Bombshell?”

“Don’t you fucking leave me,” she sobbed.

I swallowed hard. “I’ll do everything I can to survive.” A beat of silence. Then, my voice came through softer—raw—“Take care of our child. I love you.”

“No, Catch! No—” Her cry fractured in my ears.

“Get her off the line,” I ordered.

Rémy’s voice came through next, pleading. “Hang in there, Catch.”

Anger and determination fuel me as I load up with four holstered Glocks and make sure my thermal goggles and combat helmet are securely in place.

Time to move.

I pushed the door open.

The streetlights cast a soft glow on the surrounding buildings and the street. The men who had set the trap stood near the barricades, rifles at the ready.

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