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After giving the reporters a piece of her mind, she starts to turn back toward me. Then her body tenses, her gaze locking on one of the photographers in the crowd. It’s subtle and only lasts a second, if that.
But I know Esme. Can read her reactions, probably better than I care to admit. Something’s made her nervous.
The hair on the back of my nape stands on end, every inch of me on high alert for anything suspicious, not taking my eyes off that one photographer.
As he relaxes his grip on the camera hanging around his neck, I move closer. He opens his coat and reaches into the inside pocket. I assume it’s probably to retrieve his mobile. Maybe a new memory card.
But I still don’t look away, keeping him in my sights.
And when he yanks out a pistol and aims it directly at Esme, I’m glad I listened to my gut, immediately rushing toward her.
The cacophony of screams is deafening as terrified people run in all directions, some of them pushing others aside as they try to escape. Despite the chaos and terror, my sole focus is on Esme and getting her out of the line of fire.
Just as I reach her, a gunshot echoes around me. I quickly tackle her body to the ground, using my frame to shield her from danger while the rest of my team surrounds us, protecting her from the pandemonium erupting on the streets.
Adrenaline surging through me, I roll off Esme and lift her up with me. Her eyes flicker open, her chest heaving in a ragged breath. She may be scared shitless, but at least she’s alive.
“I got you,” I assure her, keeping her low.
I wrap my arm protectively around her small frame as we sprint toward the idling SUV. The other guards move in unison with us, their bodies creating a barrier between us and the crowd, as we’ve practiced hundreds of times.
Once we reach the car, I open the back door and push her inside, probably too roughly, but there’s no such thing with her life on line. The second I hop in beside her and close the door, Archie peels out, leaving the commotion behind for the police to sort through and hopefully find the bastard responsible.
But even though we’re in the SUV, I can’t lower my guard. Instead, I turn my attention on Esme, every inch of her visibly shaking.
“Hey.” I grab her hand in mine, gently rubbing my thumb along her knuckles. “You’re okay.”
She searches my eyes, panicked tears falling down her cheeks. “I… I bloody choked, Creed.”
I slide across the leather seat, pulling her against my chest. A sharp pain shoots through my bicep and shoulder, making me wince. I glance down at my coat, noticing a small hole with singed edges in the upper arm. Archie meets my gaze through the rearview mirror, concern creasing his brow. I subtly shake my head, telling him I’m fine.
Although, with every second that passes, the pain throbs more and more, especially now that the adrenaline has started to wear off.
“It doesn’t matter how much you train for this kind of scenario. Or how many times you’re told exactly what you need to do. When you’re in the thick of it, all bets are off. There’s no way of knowing how your brain will react.” I pull back and tilt her chin, forcing her eyes toward mine. “And that’s okay. That’s not your job. It’s mine. It’s why I’m here. To protect you and keep you safe.”
I rake my gaze over her face, cringing when I see the scrapes on her chin and bruising on her forehead. “Sorry to say I may have been a bit too exuberant. Do you have aches or pains anywhere else?”
“I don’t… I don’t think so.”
I lean close to examine her pupils, not seeing any signs of them being dilated. “Can you take off your coat? We’re on our way to the hospital now so a doctor can check you out, but I need to, as well.” When I sense her hesitation, I add, “It’s protocol.”
“Of course.” Her fingers tremble as she attempts to remove her coat. I help her, doing my best to keep any discomfort at bay.
In reality, it feels like dozens of knives are constantly slicing away at my skin. There’s no doubt in my mind I’ve been shot. But I don’t want Esme to worry about me. That’s the last thing she needs right now.
Once her coat’s removed, she meets my gaze. I do a visual inspection to make sure she doesn’t have any injuries requiring immediate medical attention. Thankfully, she’s free from any additional bleeding, apart from some bruises and scrapes on her knees.
I bring my hands toward her torso. “I need to make sure there aren’t any internal injuries. Cracked ribs. Something like that. I tackled you pretty hard.”
She nods, giving me permission, and I press against her ribs, trying to keep my hands as steady as possible. Focusing on her physical well-being instead of how my body reacts to the simple act of touching her.
“Any discomfort?”
“No,” she responds, her voice husky and low.
“Good.” I smile, but don’t pull back. Not until the SUV slows to a stop in front of the hospital.
Hardening my expression, I look out the window and observe a team of doctors and nurses waiting for us.
