Page 8 of No Questions Asked

“Thank, Elvis.” His confidence in her was infectious and she appreciated it more than she could say. She wanted to kiss him, but remembering they were still at work, leaned toward him until their heads were almost touching. “Let’s celebrate later no matter what happens at the interview. Just the two of us at home...alone.”

“Deal,” he agreed. “Now, go slay that interview.”

Chapter Four

Slash

The gunman stepped into the store and aimed his weapon at the cashier while glancing at Slash, presumably trying to determine if he was a threat.

Oh, great. The first day of my vacation is turning into a nightmare.

Slash plastered a scared look on his face, raising his hands and taking several steps backward. It was just his luck that the Secret Service detail that normally followed him around had recently been cut for budgetary reasons. Not that they couldn’t track him down or stop his heart before he could spill any state secrets, thanks to a specialized chip in his left wrist. But still, the timing sucked.

“You’re in charge,” he said, keeping his gaze slightly downward so he didn’t present a challenge. “Not my store. Not my fight.”

“Good. Keep your hands up and don’t do anything stupid.” Without looking away from either Slash or the cashier, the gunman turned the dead bolt behind him, locking people out, but also effectively locking himself in.

Idiot.

It took Slash about ten seconds to assess the situation. No matter how he looked at it, this was not going to play out well. The gunman’s hand was shaking uncontrollably. That meant he was either scared, inexperienced or on drugs. Possibly all three. Any one of those things was dangerous, but a combination of any of them heightened the risk significantly. The odds were high he’d start shooting if he felt cornered; that’s if he didn’t pull the trigger by accident.

As expected, the gunman turned his attention to the kid behind the counter, who’d lost his cigarette and smirk. The color had drained from his face, leaving him looking like a scared teenager, which he probably was.

“Give me all the money in the cash register,” the gunman said. His voice was slurred, which signaled to Slash that drugs or alcohol were definitely a factor. “If you reach for something else, I’m going to blow your head off. Are we clear?”

The kid swallowed hard. “C-can I push the buttons to open the register?”

The gunman waved the gun. “Nice and slow.”

Slash took an imperceptible step sideways to place himself at a more advantageous angle. A half dozen scenarios played in his head as to which way would be the best to take the gunman down with the least amount of risk to the kid behind the counter, himself, or the perpetrator. Before he could decide, the gunman abruptly fired twice above the head of the cashier.

Idiot times ten.

The first shot took out a row of cigarettes behind a glass case, while the second miraculously hit the camera, which was presumably the intended target. Glass, metal and plastic exploded onto the counter. The cashier screamed in terror and dropped to the floor. That’s when the gunman made a big mistake. He completely turned his back on the only person in the store who could take him out.

“Get up and get my money,” the gunman screamed, ran toward the counter, then leaned over it waving the gun at the kid. “I’ll kill you!”

Slash lunged forward, grabbing the man in a bear hug from behind. He trapped the gunman’s arms at his side, squeezing the man’s wrist with the gun and twisting it away from the cashier. The weapon discharged, shattering a storefront window this time. The kid shrieked repeatedly while the gunman tried to free himself of Slash’s hold, snarling and fighting like a wild animal. He was definitely juiced.

They staggered for a bit before Slash managed to bring him to the ground using the weight of his body. As they went down, the gun discharged again, taking out the glass on a cooler door. Slash kept his focus on the gun, relying on his training and muscle memory to fight the rest of the battle.

But the gunman wasn’t letting go, so he continued to apply pressure points to the guy’s wrist to get him to release the weapon. They rolled into the snack aisle, bags of chips, Cheetos and pretzels raining down on them, popping and crunching beneath their bodies as they grunted and fought for control of the weapon. Deciding he had no other choice, Slash crushed the wrist at its most vulnerable point, feeling the bones snap beneath his fingers. Pain made its way through the haze of drugs because the man howled, releasing the gun.

Slash knocked it away with the back of his hand and it slid under a display of apple and cherry pies. He managed to wrestle the guy to his back, using his weight to keep him still. Wedging his forearm against the guy’s throat and windpipe, he took the position of power. He could hear the sirens in the background and was thankful the kid behind the counter had the foresight to call the police while Slash was fighting with the wannabe robber.

The gunman started to squirm again, so he put some additional pressure on the man’s windpipe. Not being able to breathe immediately got his attention.

“I’d advise you not to move because not only will it hurt a lot, you’ll stop breathing if I press harder,” Slash said. The guy stopped moving, but he still couldn’t focus on anything. His eyes were still glassy and wheeling. “We’re just going to stay here quietly and no one will get hurt unless you try to move.”

He had only to apply pressure one more time to convince the guy it was in his best interest to stay still. He gave up the fight with a half gasp, lying remarkably motionless until the police arrived and the cashier opened the door for them.

The police secured the gunman, cuffing him, and removing him from the scene. Slash directed the officers to the guy’s weapon before dusting off his pants and giving his statement. Within minutes, the place was swarming with additional officers and a crime scene investigator. The cashier was in another corner of the store, loudly reciting his version of the events to the police. Slash made his statement, keeping his answers brief and pointed.

At some point, the owner of the Quick Mart arrived. He identified himself as Mr. Shemar Revani and pumped Slash’s hand, slapping him on the back several times, thanking him profusely.

When the police finally said he could leave, Slash went to the counter to pay for the items he’d collected. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and saw Lexi had texted him twice. He tapped back that he’d be home soon, before sweeping the debris off the milk carton and box of tampons. As he reached for his wallet, Mr. Revani came to the counter.

“No, no, no! Absolutely not. You will not pay. You’ve done a good deed for me today. I insist that the milk and—” he picked up and examined the tampon box “—womanly product is on the house. Hooray to the hero!”

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