Page 65 of Winters Heat

“Pure fucking magic, asshole.”

“Stay where you are.” A nothing-to-lose gleam shined in Silva’s eyes, and his lip curled in contempt.

Winters lowered his weapon.

“I’m surprised. Did you really not expect us? That I’d leave her to a wolf like you?” Winters clucked in mock disappointment.

Silva pressed the knife against her throat. Mia seemed not to notice. “She is yours if you hand me that disk.”

“Nope.” The simple word stoked Winters, made him even more ready to end this with bloodshed.

A blast rocked the floor, followed by the pop of gunfire. Winters smiled. Jared was on the move, clearing their way out.

In more of a show than was necessary, Winters clicked on the live feed of his mic, “Tango located. Second floor. Third room north of center.”

No response in his ear, but he was sure he transmitted. The team was out there. Always watching. Always listening.

“You do not scare me, Winters.” Silva spat his name out.

“Then you’re a moron. You have seconds to make a choice before you die.” Winters backed up to a large wooden hutch, and with an angry shove, he barricaded the door. “Now, you have no way out.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A sharp sting tore her neck, dragging her from a dizzying unconsciousness. She was standing, and no longer in that windowless room. Flashes of Alejandro charging her, hand outstretched, made her double-check she was still breathing. A cold sweat shivered across her body. Her arms and legs did nothing she asked of them. What was happening?

The room came into focus. Brighter thanherroom. Loud clanging reverberated in her head. A massive migraine swirled behind her eyeballs. Tears further blurred her vision, then leaked down her cheeks.

Murmurs. Far away, whispers. She fought to focus. To shake the cotton from her head.

“Mia.”

How familiar the voice sounded. Her name. His voice echoed along with the pounding of her headache.

She closed her eyes tight and tried to swallow against her dry mouth. Instead, she hacked up a cough. Her throat stung again. Burned. Worse this time.

Bitter, ferocious garbles. It wasn’t English.

Silva. Captivity.Oh shit. Everything was so slow, but the mental freeze thawed. Just like after the gas station.

“Mia.”

Colby. His words were far away, in a dream.

She tried to focus again. Colorful blurs lined up. Images sharpened. Sensations collected, aligning themselves in her mind. The room was bright. It smelled like smoke and cologne.

Mia rolled her head to the side. Juan Carlos Silva wrapped his arm tight around her neck. The horrible, familiar feeling of a knife slicing her neck sent flashbacks of The Colonel screeching into her head.

Life has now come full circle.

She pulled away from the recognizable lick of a blade. She heard Colby. She felt Colby. He wouldn’t let Juan Carlos slit her throat. She blinked, and there he was, in all his superhero glory.

He was miles away, yet her arms reached for him. His steely eyes paid her no notice. He looked like a raging bull. Larger than she remembered. Incensed and ferocious.

Juan Carlos shook her with powerful pumps. Her arms and legs shimmied like gelatin. He launched her toward Colby, then yanked back. The vicious cycle was on repeat. Their words jumbled. Their disagreements were loud, yet empty and meaningless.

The door behind Colby bucked and bent. Thunder plowed through the room. Vibrations waved one right after the other, catapulting her to full consciousness.

Juan Carlos yelled over her shoulder. “My men will blast through that door. Both of you will die.”

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