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He wasn’t fully healed. Three more days passed since Chika got away, and everything was quiet on the warfront. Redmond was moving around better, and could take more control during our work-out sessions in bed, but I still found myself spread on top of his cock, riding to my heart’s content. I saw how much it frustrated him, but we took it slow—and one day, it would pay off when he could finally push me down and fuck me the way he wanted.
For now, we held back. Cosima was biding her time and hadn’t made any major moves while the lawyers did their jobs. Chika hadn’t shown up again, and since James was dead, there hadn’t been anymore attempts on Redmond’s life. Things were comfortable and idyllic.
And we weren’t staying in that damn hotel anymore.
I climbed out of bed and snatched one of his sweatshirts from the floor. I pulled it on and it fell down midway over my ass. I felt his eyes on my body as I walked to the window and stood looking out into the night. The streetlights cast long orange glows and made the shadows lengthen and deepen, and I loved the city in the dark, so quiet and peaceful, punctuated by the occasional person or car.
“What are you doing out there?” Redmond complained. “The bed’s right here. It’s much more comfortable with you in it.”
“We’ve got to eat. What time is it, anyway?”
“Who knows. Who cares? It’s past midnight.”
“I’m starving.” I touched my stomach and turned. “How good of a cook are you?”
“Not good enough, I’m afraid. I grew up with staff.”
“Me too. I might have to learn.”
“How very womanly of you.”
I gave him a look. “Don’t get used to it. I’ll never do your laundry.”
“I’d never ask you to. My queen doesn’t fold shirts.”
I moved to kiss him, but a sound outside drew my attention. I paused, head cocked, but it didn’t stop.
The sound of an engine revving and getting closer.
Redmond heard too. His face fell from a serious, playful smile to an intense glare. He got out of bed and joined me, his hand on the small of my back. I felt safe and protected in a way I’d never experienced before.
This man took a bullet for me, and he’d do it again.
A black van roared down the block and screeched to a halt. Redmond turned away, grabbing his pants and getting dressed quickly. I didn’t move, completely transfixed on the vehicle, as the sliding door flew open and men in black spilled out.
I counted six of them until a second van pulled to a halt behind the first and six more appeared. Each man wore body armor and carried an automatic rifle.
“Redmond,” I said, fear in my voice.
“Stay here.”
The men swarmed the house across the street. They broke open the door and threw something inside. A massive flash brightened the block, blowing out the bottom windows, and the men rushed inside.
Gunshots ripped into the calm and I staggered away from the window.
Redmond was gone. I heard him shouting orders downstairs. More gunfire erupted, then more and more, a full-on firefight. I got dressed hastily, tripped once, fell on my face, but managed to yank on my pants and shoes. I found Redmond loading a gun with a group of ten soldiers.
“Where are you going?” I asked, grabbing his arm.
He looked at me grimly. “This was always the plan.”
“The ambush was the plan. You going out there—”
“I don’t lead from behind.” He kissed me fiercely then broke apart and gestured at Palmira. She stood at the head of the men, decked out in gear, grinning wildly.
“Let’s do this,” she said, kicked open the front door, and sprinted out.
Redmond’s men followed and he was swept away.
I stood in the living room staring after them, heart racing. He shouldn’t be out there like this. He could barely jog without grimacing in pain, much less fire a weapon and get into a gun battle. More shouting and shots broke out into the night.
I followed. To hell with Redmond and his stupid ideas about leadership and chivalry. The vans were still parked in the street but the men driving were both dead. Palmira and Redmond’s soldiers were fighting their way into the front of the house, and Redmond stood at the bottom of the stoop, shouting orders, clutching his injured shoulder.
He couldn’t even go fifty paces without hurting himself.
I ran at a crouch, keeping my head down. The house was a slaughter and a nightmare. Inside, ten of Redmond’s soldiers pinned down the attackers, while Palmira led the rest of the strike force in behind the poor bastards in a pincer move meant to crush them completely. I reached Redmond and let him lean on my shoulder. He grinned bashfully.
“Maybe you’re right,” he yelled over the ungodly noise of death.
