Page 36 of Fixed Asset

Fucking hell, where are they all coming from?

I let go of Pete and went to my knees. The angle was awkward, seeing as I was basically straddling his legs, but I couldn’t leave him unprotected. I fired on the man, and my slide snapped back and stayed open. I dropped the out-of-ammo weapon and calculated the odds of getting my M4 back over my shoulder before the asshole got a shot off.

I didn’t have to think. Berta appeared and unloaded on the man.

Unfortunately, his buddy didn’t get the memo it wasn’t safe to enter Berta Lanza’s home and helped himself to the door behind me. Before Berta could stop him, his forearm went around my neck and he hauled me to my feet, using me as a shield. His other hand went to my hip as he pulled me back.

The idiot didn’t have a weapon, or if he did, he wasn’t holding it. I needed to get him off me before he commandeered my rifle.

Berta was yelling at the man in Spanish. The man was yelling back. He tightened his forearm across my throat. I turned my head into the crook of his arm to stop him from choking me out and reached up to my vest to find Jack’s knife.

I snapped it open as the man jerked me up off my feet. My neck wrenched and pain exploded down my spine. I breathed through the pain. The asshole dropped me back to my feet, unhooked his arm, and in the process clocked me in the jaw. I immediately tasted blood. I freaking hated the taste of blood, despised it, just the thought of it made me want to gag.

It was an insane thing to think about while being manhandled by a man who meant you harm, but there you have it—the crazy shit one thinks about while in battle.

As soon as I got a handle on my gag reflex, I spun and plunged the knife into the side of the man’s throat. He let me loose and I dove to the side, landing on top of Pete.

“Christ,” he rumbled beneath me.

“Welcome back, boss.”

I rolled off, clicked on my mic, and called in, “Need backup.”

After that, I sat on my ass next to Pete with my M4 up and waited for the cavalry.

Chapter Ten

I had to keep reminding myself that Catarina and Pete were alive.

Cat was unharmed.

Pete’s vest had saved him from a bullet hole in the chest, and Cat had done the rest.

But I couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand and the bruise on her jaw.

“I’m fine,” Cat groused when she caught me staring at her.

Daylight had come, and I found myself standing outside behind the house on what could be considered a back porch, if you used that term loosely and considered a porch mostly dirt.

It was almost a full-circle moment. Nine months ago, I’d walked away from Catarina after a night of mayhem and bloodshed. And here we stood again after surviving a night of mayhem and bloodshed of a different kind. Only, this time, she was in jeans and a tee and fully geared up instead of in a ripped-to-shreds party dress after being groped by a madman.

“I know you’re fine,” I told her.

“I could’ve helped with the bodies.”

Only Catarina would bitch about not helping to move dead bodies out of the house. Berta didn’t want the women down in the bunker to see what had happened. They’d heard enough; they didn’t need to be stepping over the dead.

“You could’ve,” I agreed. “But Berta needed you downstairs.”

She nodded and looked off into the distance.

With the sounds of battle gone, I could hear the birds in the forest. There was nothing but beauty as far as the eye could see—as long as you didn’t walk around to the side of the house.

I wanted to know what she was thinking about, but I knew better. It took time to process your actions on the battlefield. It took even longer for your mind to reconcile the lives taken over the lives saved. Some missions took longer than others. For me, the lives of the women in the bunker were worth taking out as many men as necessary to ensure their safety. I’d lose no sleep over last night’s op.

“How hard was it for you to hold your position?”

That was not what I thought she’d been pondering. But it was an easy answer.