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“Sorry, starlight, I can’t—" Suddenly the sound of gunfire fills my ears. Finn grabs a hold of me. “You’re mine now. Even to protect.”
ChapterNineteen
FINN
Ipull her down to the floor, push the suitcase in front of her, and then angle my body as a shield. I shoot behind me, dropping the first guy. Another black-suited man pops up behind him. A door at the end of the hall bursts open, and a flood of men follow. I shoot at them while pushing the suitcase and Georgia down the hall until the nook with the ice machine appears. “In,” I order. She moves quickly despite her shock and fear. “I’m not married,” I repeat. Somehow it seems vital she understands this. I wrench the ice machine away from the wall and maneuver it front of the doorway. A bullet zings by my ear. I turn and shoot again.
“What are you?”
“Someone with international business interests. An unmarried someone. Be right back.” I drop the empty magazine of out my gun and shove my backup in. I take down six more, but the bad guys seem to be multiplying. This is the problem with taking someone out on their home court. I spend the rest of my ammunition and then empty the gun at the oncoming bad guy’s head. He falls back into the arms of one of his gang members. Two push by him. I run up the wall for momentum and then kick one of them in the face. He careens into the guy next to him. I drop down on top of a third and wrench his neck to the side. Something hard and blunt strikes my back. I kick back without even looking, making contact with someone’s sternum. A face appears in front of me. I drive the base of my hand into his nose. His head jerks back as his nasal bone travels into the front of his skull.
I pluck the gun out of his hand and spin to take three others out. Only three left standing. I lift and point, but before I can get my next shot off, the three turn and speed away. If I was alone, maybe I’d chase them, but I’ve got Georgia now, and these guys will be back. I race back to the ice machine nook and lever the machine away. Georgia glares at me.
“You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“I know. Let me do that on our way.” I grab her hand.
“Where are we going?”
“Airport.” I give her a small push through the exit door. Suddenly I’m thankful that these Paris hotels have fewer than five floors. Georgia races down the stairs without me prompting her. The urgency of the situation must’ve settled in. Probably all the gunshots. That’d make anyone move their ass.
When we reach the first floor, I grab her hand and tug her toward the side entrance instead of the main lobby. Again, she catches on quickly, hurrying forward. At the door, she stops to check her surroundings. “Is it safe?”
It’s a smart move, but the action makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Georgia barely looks fazed by the shootout upstairs, the hiding in the nook behind the ice machine, the sprint down five floors. Old suspicions creep in. I look at the gun at my side. Hilt first, I offer it to her. “Need one of these?”
Her brows come together, but she takes it gingerly. “Do I just point and shoot?”
I come to a conclusion. I don’t care if she is a killer and that I’m her mark. Let her kill me. At least I’ll die having had her. “Yeah. Point and shoot.” But hopefully not at me.
“What about you?”
“I’m driving.”
I point her toward a motorbike parked next to a metal pylon. It’s an older gas one with an actual ignition rather than one of those new push-button starts. A few crossed wires later and it’s running. I drop the sole helmet over her head and then throw my leg over the seat. “Hop on.”
“Are you stealing this?” She sounds agitated.
“I’m borrowing it. Come on. We don’t have time to waste.”
“Are you going to explain what’s happening?” She remains rooted to the sidewalk. Over her shoulder, the side door bursts open, and out tumbles a few bad guys.
“Yes! But after we get to a safe place. Move your sweet ass, starlight.”
She looks behind her, yelps, and then hops on the bike. I gun the engine, and we fly forward. I hear her yell something.
“What?”
I lean back so I can make out what she’s saying.
“I dropped the gun!” she yells in my ear.
A big-ass smile breaks across my face. No assassin worth her salt would’ve dropped a weapon. Once we get to the safe house, I hustle her up the three flights of stairs to the small apartment. The moment the door is closed, she crosses her arms and pins me with a hard stare. “Time to start talking, and I want long, complete sentences full of details that you might think are boring. I want it so complete I could write your biography. Do you work for the CIA? Interpol? What?”
Oh, it’s tempting to lie. It’s tempting to say I’m an undercover agent a la Tom Cruise inMission Impossibledoing dark ops so deep that my own government won’t acknowledge me, but I plan to be in Georgia’s life for a long time, and even a dumbass, no-experience guy like me knows I can’t start off with a lie. Well, I mean, more lies.
I hold up a finger. “Let me call in to my associate and arrange for a cleanup, and then I’ll answer everything you want to know down to my underwear size.”
“It’s an XL. I’ve already seen it, remember?”
