Page 37 of Fallen Hero

Then she had to go and mention the one movie I hated. This after we’d had a little scuffle. It wasn’t the fight; Calista had handled herself better than I’d thought.

It was hearing that fuckwad tell fuckwad number two to grab Calista and get her to the car that had me spiraling.

She was not safe in this city. Women in general were not safe.

All it would’ve taken was one thing to go wrong, and Calista would’ve been dragged away.

And instead of dragging her ass back to the penthouse to get her safe like I wanted to, we were ascending stairs into another unknown situation, with more dangerous men who wouldn’t think twice about snatching her.

“Stay sharp,” I told her as we approached the door at the top of the stairs.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me in the last five minutes,” she groused.

Obviously she had no idea what those men on the street wanted.

“Do you speak Hindi?”

“No. Do you?”

“Speak it, no. Understand enough to get by, yes.”

I pulled out my phone and shot off a text to Pete that we were in position.

He’d knock on the door once as he passed if it was clear for Calista and me to enter, twice if we were to hold, and three times if he needed backup.

Now we waited.

“What’d the men say when they saw us?”

Smart.

“Nothing worth repeating.”

There were a few moments of silence before she pressed. “It was about me, wasn’t it? That’s why you beat the hell out of the guy instead of just knocking him out like you did the first one.”

Fuck.

“Like I said—”

“I don’t get you,” she interrupted. “You’re like this big gruff asshole superhero. You don’t like me—”

“I never said I didn’t like you.”

Thankfully, that shut her up. The woman was too smart for my mental health.

The stairwell was quiet. No sounds coming from the other side of the door. No beds banging on the walls from sex. No groans or screams. Either this building was soundproof, or something wasn’t right.

“Something’s wrong,” Calista whispered, even though moments ago she was speaking normally.

Why did she have to be so fucking remarkable? No, she was astute. She had good instincts. That wasn’t remarkable; that was skilled and good at her job. She didn’t impress me. I didn’t find it wildly attractive she could read a situation.

Absolutely none of that was filtering through my mind while I pulled up Fallon’s text thread and tapped out a message.

It’s too quiet here. Where are you?

At the end of the alley. I have eyes on the target. No prize yet.

Holding position.