Page 52 of Nothing to Fear

With her left hand, she held out the hair spray. The can, her arm, her whole body shook as if she might shatter. She flicked the lighter, and her damp thumb slipped across the metal wheel.

Nothing. Not even a spark. Oh crap!

Bile flooded her mouth.

Whack! The door burst in, the frame splintering. She sucked in a startled breath, her gaze glued to the doorway. A man in all black swooped into the bathroom. Cold, black eyes pinned her.

Stark fear cramped in her chest, but if she froze, she was as good as dead. She flipped the serrated wheel, hard enough to bruise her thumb, hitting the ignition button as he raised the automatic weapon.

A flame burst from the lighter, and she pressed the nozzle of the aerosol can.

A raging stream of fire sprayed his face, and the balaclava went up in a blaze. He roared, swinging out violently, trying to smother the flames. Smoke and the stench of burnt hair and charred flesh tainted the air. Frantic and whirling, the man tripped into the tub.

Willow dashed across the threshold and through the bedroom. Trembling, she pushed into the hall. She had to find Gideon.

Smoke clouded the living room, but through the gray haze, she made out Gideon fighting another man.

He knocked a knife away from his black-clad attacker, and then a violent dance ensued. Strikes and blocks, fists and kicks flew back and forth in a dizzying blur as they hammered each other with martial arts moves she’d only seen in movies and when black ops personnel sparred in the gym. The man landed a boot heel to Gideon’s ribs, propelling him back.

She winced, her body squeezing tight as she imagined the force of the blow he’d taken.

Gideon clutched his side but didn’t hesitate. With a growl, he charged and tackled the guy, slamming him to the floor. He smashed his elbow across the man’s jaw.

The sickening sound of flesh striking flesh stung her ears, chilling her spine. Gideon slipped a knife from his waistband holster and plunged the blade into the man’s throat. With astounding dexterity, Gideon hopped back on his feet, barely winded.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, still holding the bloody knife. “Are you okay?”

She rushed to him. “Fine.” A simple word that underrated everything. “Are you hurt? Did he break a rib?” She went to check his side, but he brushed her away.

“Nothing’s broken.” His voice was steady and cold. No hint of pain.

Blood poured from the dead man’s throat, pooling on the dark wood floor. Two more black-clad men lay in the hall on the other side of the kitchen.

“Who are they? How did they find us?” She scanned the apartment. “Where’s Ken?”

Gideon’s head whipped right, and Willow’s gaze followed.

A man shaped like a powerlifter, shrouded in black, crept up to the spot where the front door used to be. Gideon grabbed her by the shoulders and took her down hard to the ground with him. Scooping up his gun, he rolled.

Before she blinked, Gideon was on his feet again. He fired at the man—a series of soft pops. The built-in silencer swallowed the sound.

Willow’s heart pounded like it wanted to beat its way out of her chest. She scooted back on her heels and palms and passed a dead body. Her gaze trained on the empty eyes of the corpse, and she heaved. She scurried away on her butt, avoiding the puddle of blood, into the hall near the bedrooms, and used the wall for cover.

The black-clad powerlifter stayed in the stairwell while shooting off a thunderous volley of hot rounds. She jumped at each unexpected boom of gunfire. The sound of regular bullets being discharged she could handle, but this was like a cannon going off. Those were something super high caliber, punching holes the size of bread plates into the walls.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she clamped her hands over her ears, wishing it would all stop.

What if something happened to Gideon while her eyes were closed? Keeping her hands over her ears, she peeked back at the carnage to see if he was okay.

Everything happened so quickly, only seconds, and in a dreadful sluggish way at the same time—a nightmare in slow motion.

Gideon pumped bullets at the doorway, forcing the man deeper into the stairwell. Using the break of incoming fire, Gideon snagged a weapon off the shoulder of the man whose throat he’d slit. It was big and single-barreled like a shotgun, but shorter and fatter. He plucked thick shells off the corpse’s vest and loaded it.

Rushing the door, Gideon squeezed off shots with his handgun. His Maxim 9 clicked out of ammo before he reached the threshold. The dead clack was deafening, stilling her.

The man leapt into the doorway and fired. Gideon hit the hardwood in a slide. With both feet, he kicked the guy in the knees and blasted two shells from the other weapon at the man’s chest. The powerlifter fell backward out of sight.

Two thunderous bangs echoed, and bright flashes of light came from the stairwell, shaking the building like an earthquake even as a fist snatched Willow by the hair and dragged her backward across the floor. Terror knocked the breath out of her, clogging her throat.