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A sharp yell of pain from the next room snapped me back to reality. It was followed by the louder, higher-pitched scream of a woman.
Fuck!
Moving swiftly, I reached down, grabbed the guy by the collar, and clocked him in the face with his own gun. It took three shots — it never happened in one, like in the bullshit movies — but eventually his eyes rolled back and the hands clutching my arm went limp.
I let go of him in a flash and raced to the bedroom.
The apartment was small, and that was an advantage. I burst through the half-open door at the end of the hallway and was already standing over the writhing form of the fourth would-be attacker. He was clutching his head. Blood was everywhere, along with jagged, deadly-looking shards of glass.
She hit him.
The woman standing in the corner was still in her sleep shirt and underwear. In one outstretched hand, she clutched the other half of a broken snow-globe.
Good girl.
The man tried to rise, but I kicked him in the teeth. It was swift. Violent. Necessary. And considering what he’d been about to do, wholly satisfying.
“Get dressed.”
I hissed the words while swinging my Beretta back in the direction of the hallway. No one was coming. Yet.
“NOW.”
The woman still hadn’t moved. She looked torn between trying to figure me for another attacker or someone entirely different.
“Look, there are four guys in here trying to kill you,” I told her. “I’m the one guy trying to save your ass.”
Absently — and perhaps absurdly — I noticed she was heartbreakingly beautiful. High cheekbones. Chocolate brown, almost feline eyes. I cursed myself for getting distracted by her looks, then lowered my gun. I also softened my voice.
“Please, Brynne. We don’t have much time.”
Knowing her name seemed to do the trick. She stepped quickly into a pair of PINK sweatpants, then pulled a sky-blue hoodie over her head. Slipping her feet into something at the foot of her bed, she nodded.
“Good. Now let’s go.”
I took her out through the side door, stepping over the guy in the kitchen who was thankfully still unconscious. There was so much blood coming from his nose it looked like a murder scene.
“Is… is he dead?” she choked.
“I hope so,” I swore angrily. “But probably not.”
She moved again, then suddenly stopped in her tracks before stepping outside.
“Wait! We can’t leave without—”
Almost on cue, a shaggy brown dog came bounding out of one the back rooms. It sniffed the unconscious guy for a brief second, licked him, then shot outside with a happy bounce.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Nowwe can go.”
The apartment’s patio was the size of a postage stamp. I kicked the gate open unnecessarily, just in case anyone was standing behind it. Then I pulled her through, raced down the adjacent side-street, and yanked open the passenger door of the car I’d stolen earlier. The dog ran ahead of us, leaping merrily. It also jumped into the car without hesitation.
“Quick. Get in.”
The woman set one foot inside, then balked, biting her lip. Her eyes were fierce and gorgeous and full of worry.
“But I don’t know you,” she protested.
“What do you need, an introduction? Would that help?”
