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"Fifteen," another of the men called to the others. Then, several seconds later. "Ten."
Because, as I said, they were professionals. They knew that chances were, a silent alarm was triggered and at least ten calls had already come from scared shoppers to the NBPD.
"Scott. The fuck are you?" The one who spoke first, seeming to maybe be the leader, called out, looking around a little worriedly.
They were missing a member somewhere.
"Five, four, three," the other one kept calling out as he collected bags.
"Scott!"
"One. We got to go," the other called, grabbing the leader's arm, pulling hard. "You know the drill. We got to go."
Then, with that, they did.
Where?
I had no fucking idea.
One minute they were standing there by the registers. The next, all I heard were boots running.
All I did know was that they did not leave out the front doors that were literally five feet away from them.
Against me, the woman yanked against my hold. "Not yet," I said down close by her ear, voice barely more than a whisper. And, hand to fucking God, a shiver coursed through the woman, making an unmistakable and completely inappropriate spark of desire shoot through me. It was the adrenaline, for both of us. The whole near-death thing was always an aphrodisiac I had heard once. People in situations like that always got horny, always wanted a fuck to reaffirm life.
Lord knew I would likely be hitting up Chaz's later, or maybe going through my contacts and finding a female buddy who was always up for a casual thing.
You know, after the statement-taking of the cops and the countless calls I'd have to make to my family to tell them. This shit was juicy. They would eat it up. Professional store robbers in the area? That was a new one.
Distracted, I was caught completely off-guard when one of those combat-booted feet of hers slammed down hard on the top of mine. It wasn't the hesitant, careful way most women would do it, programmed from the cradle by society to be softer, sweeter, acceptably weaker. I heard somewhere that that was the biggest problem women had in self-defense training, the cringe-factor, the bone-deep instinct to never hurt anyone, to always be accommodating. This woman though, yeah, she didn't suffer with the need to be soft, sweet, or accommodating. And if I weren't hissing and genuinely wondering if I maybe needed to get my damn foot X-rayed, I would have found that sexy as hell.
And literally during the course of her spin around to face me, the lights cut back on, making my own hurt at the sudden change of contrast, making her blurry for a long second until my eyes adjusted.
And fuck.
She could break my foot any goddamn day.
Even in the dark, with her body plastered to me, I knew she was long and lean, but seeing it in light just cemented the idea. She was all legs and torso with just the barest hint to hip and chest, dressed in black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a black t-shirt. Her shiny, thick dark brown, almost black, hair cascaded down her back and arms, framing a face that belonged on magazines, not in a random cheap-laundry-detergent store.
Fucking insanely gorgeous.
That would be the only fair way to describe her.
And I felt even that didn't do her any justice.
There was the slightest hint of exoticness in her features, in the light skin and dark hair, in the almond-shape to her dark eyes. Her jaw was strong and almost square, her nose was small and straight, her lips full, her brows dark and a dominant feature.
Just... too fucking pretty.
It wasn't even fair to the rest of the world.
"Keep your fucking hands off of me," she snapped, emphasizing her point by shoving her hands into my chest with every bit of strength in her. Which, given my almost alarmingly throbbing foot, sent me back almost a full foot at the impact.
"I know, right? I'm such a shit for trying to keep you safe," I said dryly, lips tipping up slightly, finding I liked her fire just as much as I liked how she looked. Her voice was just as hot as the rest of her too- all sex and smoke. Sultry, one might say. That one being me, who definitely thought it was sultry as fuck.
"Right because I'm such a delicate little flower. Did you think I was going to scream over some little gunfire?" she asked, brows drawing together like the idea was insane. Meanwhile, I had literally heard three different women scream when the lights just cut out. Along with two men. Wasn't being sexist. People, no matter their gender, had a tendency to overreact before they even knew the whole situation.
"A little gunfire?" I repeated, lips twitching. Who the hell used a term like 'a little gunfire?'
