Page 86 of His Deadly Lies

“This is going well,” I manage to get out. A little breathlessly, but at least I wasn’t losing my shit.

He wraps an arm around me and drags me closer. My human shield. “I swear, woman, I am going to drag you out of here over my shoulder if I’ve got to,” he grumbles. “These punks are certifiable with this shit.”

He pushes me forward, and we race through the melee toward the wall and the barrels there, hiding.

Both of us reach over the top, at the same time, to shoot. The shots ring out clearly, and one of them—I like to think it’s mine—hits the nearest guy in the arm and sends him spinning to the floor.

The rest of the rounds explode out of my gun until the chamber is empty, and I have to stop, reload. Shit. Faster. I have to be fast about this; otherwise, they’re going to—

A bullet crashes through the top of the barrel, shattering the wood.

“Go!” Carter pushes me again.

One of them, a faceless problem with an automatic weapon, runs at me with a cry and cuts us off before we make it to the door. Without thinking, I kick him in the nuts hard enough to send him to his knees.

Another set of grabbing hands reaches for me, and I bring my elbow up and over, smashing it into the man’s chest. One hit, then another. A fist knocks me in the wrist, and my gun drops out of sight.

Angry and utterly alive for the first time in my life, I swing out with my arm like a woman possessed by the devil. My knuckles smash into the side of the man’s head, and Carter fires off a round at his cronies at the same time.

Arms band around me from the back and haul me off of my feet. “Look who I’ve got!” Hot breath tickles my ear, and I slam my head back and connect with whatever part of the man is closest. He drops me, and I stop on his toes, turning in the same breath and firing off a round into his gut.

My breath catches in my chest, heart thundering, and Carter knocks me to the left in time to avoid getting shot in the shoulder in the next second. “Go. Go! Now, Mia,” he urges.

I scramble to my feet, his hand finding mine. The bedlam has turned the open area of the warehouse into an ever-changing obstacle course. We run. Moving among boxes, and in the back of my head, it’s obvious we’re good together.

A team.

Like we’ve been working together for ages.

From around a stack of boxes, the man from the bar, who’d drugged me, steps out of the shadows with a wicked grin lighting his face.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, just as Carter knocks me out of the way, and a bullet slices through the air close enough to home to have my ears ringing. I land on my hands and knees, turning in time to see blood ripple down from Carter’s side, staining his shirt.

His eyes go wide.

Screaming, I scramble to him, grabbing the knife from my thigh and slamming it between a man’s ribs before I dive on Carter.

“No, no.” Panic ripples through me. I press my hand to his side as Carter sags to his knees, staring at me in a mixture of pain and confusion.

Blood seeps between my fingers.

“Where is it?” I mumble, searching. “Where is the exit wound?”

I run my hand all over him, over his back, under his shirt.

No exit.

My screams refuse to silence, and my throat burns with them. The shots eventually quiet down until my sobs are the only sound in the room.

Carter drops onto his side, his breathing shallow and the blood continuing to rush.

Through blurry eyes, I catch sight of two of my own men, watching us with shocked expressions.

“Don’t just stand there! Get the car! We need a doctor,” I yell.

Carter. Carter. Carter.

My thoughts are just as much a blur as my eyes, and I focus entirely on him. On the paleness of his face and the lines around his eyes and mouth.

---