Page 61 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

Because she was sighting down the barrel of a weapon at him and knew that he was about to die.

Everything shifted into slow motion. Time became elastic, every heartbeat, each individual movement separate and clear.

Summer pivoted to face him, bared her teeth as she adjusted her aim. His right hand reached back for his own weapon, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“I hope you burn in hell, asshole,” she snarled at him as her finger curled around the trigger.

****

The instant Tarek saw her holding the pistol aimed at him he stopped and stood there immobile, too stunned to move. How had she even managed to get Feisel’s weapon in the first place?

Even as he wondered it, a cold blast of panic shot through him. From the way she held it and the determined look on her face, it was clear she knew how to handle a weapon.

Everything happened in an instant.

He reached down for his own pistol, acting on pure survival instinct and the sickening prospect of what would happen if he was killed by a woman.

“I hope you burn in hell, asshole.”

Her words had barely registered above the shouts and gunfire coming from behind him when a bullet struck him in the center of his vest, the impact like a hammer-blow to his breastbone. He grunted but the round didn’t penetrate the armor.

Bitch!he fumed, biting back a howl of pain.

Before he could bring his pistol up, another round hit him, lower, but still on the vest. He growled, finally jerked the pistol up into firing position but a third slug slammed into his right shoulder.

Fiery pain swept through his arm and he lost his grip on the weapon.

It slipped from his hand. Even as he lunged for it, another tore into his side. He cried out and slapped his free hand over it, falling to his back.

Breathing through gritted teeth, he forced his eyes open and pushed himself upright, managed to get to his knees. His men were still pouring through the doors, engaging the enemy outside. The American woman still held the gun trained on him, was preparing to fire again.

Pure rage infused him. If he was going to die here, it would be in combat against a worthy male opponent.

He wouldnotdie by the hand of this infidel whore and miss the joys of paradise promised to him by Allah for dying a martyr’s death. His love awaited him there; he would not be separated from her for all eternity because of this evil female.

More shouts sounded behind him, growing frantic now as his men rushed to intercept the attacking force.

The enemy was at the gate.

Unease streaked through him but Tarek couldn’t tear his gaze off the female as he reached for his fallen weapon. Those cold green eyes bored into his through the bars of the cage and the world seemed to slow even further as her finger moved on the trigger.

He held his breath, braced for another impact…but nothing happened.

Because she was out of ammunition.

Triumph punched through him as he saw the moment she realized her predicament, her face going blank with shock.

With grim determination he reached for his fallen weapon. One of his men was rushing toward him now, rifle aimed at the woman. Tarek snarled for him to leave. This bitch washisto deal with and she would die by his hand.

His fingers were stiff as he closed them around the grip but he brought his left arm up, the gun shaking slightly in his grasp. The pain stole his breath, made him light-headed, but he fought through it.

She was frantically checking the chamber now, looking for another bullet that wasn’t there.

Summoning his strength Tarek climbed to his feet and rapidly closed the distance between them. She looked up at him, her entire body going still, her eyes locked on his.

“You’re a dead woman,” he snarled. It infuriated him that this enemy bitch was alive and breathing when Lely was not.

The weight of the pistol was comforting in his hand. He curled his finger around the trigger, itched to raise it and fire right into the middle of that pale face staring back at him.

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