Page 81 of Damascus & The Wildfire
My blood iced over.
Fuse met my eyes, jaw tight. “Kenna’s in trouble. Merrick was right. The Jackals have been watching her.”
Every ache vanished. “Where?”
“Construction site, two blocks north.”
“Let’s go,” I snapped. “You got a spare piece?”
Fuse pulled a tiny Ruger LCP from his ankle holster and thrust it into my hand.
“Cute,” I muttered at the small handgun, jamming it into my waistband.
I laced up my boots. Adrenaline drowned the fire that every movement sent through my ribs.
“Why her?” Fuse asked as we strode out of the hospital in a rush.
“Kenna’s family is loaded,” I explained. “My guess is ransom. What I want to know is what the fuck she’s doing downtown on her own. There’s no way Merrick left her unprotected.”
We hit the street at a jog, Fuse scanning alleys, me clutching my side.
Two blocks. Two fucking blocks that felt like two miles. The construction site loomed ahead—chain-link fence torn open, scaffolding abandoned.
I heard her before I saw her. The thug in the bandanna wrenched her from behind a stack of rebar, her cry slicing through the air.
“Thought you could hide from me, puta? Jefe’s been looking for you. If we can’t get your rich mami to pay up, we’ll sell you to the cartel. Bet they’d like a redhead.”
Kenna struggled against him. “Get your hands off me, asshole.”
“Let her go.” My voice was ice.
The man spun, shoving Kenna against a concrete mixer. He eyed the Ruger in my hand and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “With that toy gun? Fuck off.”
Fuse melted into the shadows, stalking behind him.
I kept the guy’s eyes on me as I moved closer. “Last chance. Walk away.”
He sneered, one hand gripping Kenna’s arm, the other reaching for his waistband. “Or what? You’ll?—”
I lunged. Not at him—at Kenna. I shoved her clear just as he drew his weapon. The gunshot exploded, searing through my side. White-hot pain blinded me. Fuck.
Fuse didn’t hesitate. Two shots from the shadows. The man dropped, a dark stain blooming over his chest.
Kenna scrambled to me, eyes wild. “Hatchet!”
“I’m fine,” I gritted out, but she was already ripping off her shirt, pressing the fabric hard against my side to stop the bleeding. “But I don’t mind the strip show, doll. Nice bra. Black lace. I like it.”
Kenna glared at me, but I could see the fear in her eyes.
Fuse crouched beside us. “You’re going to need to go back to the hospital. I’ll call an ambulance.”
“No,” I rasped, grabbing his arm. “If they find you here with that gun, you’re going back to prison. Go. Now. I’m good. Kenna can call.”
Fuse hesitated, then nodded grimly. He wiped his Glock clean of prints, pressed it into my hand, and vanished into the maze of scaffolding.
Kenna’s hands trembled against my wound. “Why’d he leave? You’re bleeding?—”
“Protecting him,” I groaned. Sirens wailed in the distance. “Call 911 and tell ’em I fired the shots when they get here.”
