Page 243 of Bossy Hero

The last thing I need is a fucking blood bath.

“Wilco.”

After listening to my side of the exchange, the engineer suggests, “It’s probably crew members. Since we’re about to depart, they might be doing a routine check. Please don’t shoot them.”

Considering his words, tone of voice, and nonverbal cues, I find no reason to doubt him. But my gut is vibrating, growing more insistent as the seconds tick by.

“Guard the door,” I order Patterson.

I hustle over to the engineer, slicing only the outer tie to free him from the chair while keeping his hands bound behind his back. “Get up. To the corner. Move.”

There isn’t enough space to defend ourselves with this kid stuck in the middle of the room.

We’re two steps from the chair when three huge men barge in, slamming Patterson to his knees with the force of the swinging door.

The first two goons who enter don’t see me right away, given they’re focusing on disarming the detective. The third one sees me and attempts to shoulder past the others. Thanks to the tight space, he doesn’t get through immediately.

Using the delay to my advantage, I shove the engineer toward the corner to free up my hands. Operating instinctually, I grab the empty chair and swing it full force into the wall of henchmen. I catch two of them in the head with the heavy metal casters at the chair base, sending them to the ground.

The other tango turns from Patterson to me, advancing with a gun extended. Parrying to the side, I grab his forearm and twist it. With all my strength, I bring my elbow down onto his wrist. The satisfying snap of his bones reverberates through me. His weapon clatters to the floor, and I kick it across the engine room. I take him the rest of the way down with a boot to the gut. He collapses onto one of the other tangos.

Unfortunately, the third tango is on his feet again, moving toward Patterson. I draw my SIG right as the goon presses his gun to Patterson’s head.

Now we’re in a fucking face-off.

Son of a bitch.

I’m getting too damn old for this shit.

I should have taken out Patterson myself before we even made it to the dock. Hindsight.

“Boss, I’m moving in,” Henderson announces.

Well, it took him fucking long enough.

He and I are due for acome-to-Jesusmeeting.

Keeping my voice steady, I attempt to buy some time with the tango. “Easy, comrade. Nobody needs to die today.”

As if the universe wants to refute my assertion, the familiar pops of gunfire come through my earpiece, followed by Aaron cursing up a storm. He and Josh must have found trouble instead of finding Katia.

At least Aaron’s swearing in anger instead of sounding pained. It gives me minimal comfort.

Still in a standoff with a dickbag who’s holding a dumbass hostage, I get an earful of chaos via my comms. The volume pierces so loudly it makes it difficult to focus on any one thing in particular. It’s like being in the Rangers again. The worst parts.

Time seems to accelerate as everything unfolds at once.

I detect sounds of a physical struggle. Metal clanking. Grunts and raspy groans. More gunfire.

“I’m hit in the leg,” Josh grits out.

Dammit.

Mia’s voice comes through next. “Henderson, take the shot.”

He does.

Two quick pops, and the tango holding Patterson collapses to the ground.

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