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Brink waits. Sweat beads on his forehead. His ponytail ruffles in the breeze. I give the signal. Slowly, we creep toward the door. The sounds of a news channel filters through the walls. Taking aim, I motion for Brink to kick down the door. It crashes into the room, sending dust up from the carpet. I take stock of the situation in a millisecond.
Lina is slumped in a chair, tied up. Shrieking like a hellcat, Anne jumps from the bed. Zane jerks with a start. Disbelief registers on his face. He recovers even as I charge, reaching for a gun on the nightstand. Before he can get it, I fire a warning shot into the wall. Anne’s eyes are wild and feverish as she grabs the object closest to her, a stone ashtray.
For an instant, my focus is distracted. Zane uses the moment to pull a knife and leap over the bed, straight toward me. I don’t think twice. I aim for his arm and pull the trigger. The knife drops to the floor. He loses his footing. Blood pumps from his bicep. Anne screams, hurling the ashtray at an unconscious Lina. It’s a good aim, going for Lina’s head. Projecting myself sideways, I intercept the heavy object, taking a knock under my breastbone. I hit the floor hard, shoulder first. Something cracks inside my body. I feel the fissure and hear the sound but feel no pain.
Zane has recovered the knife in his good hand and comes at me with a snarl. Rolling onto my back, I lock my elbows, point the barrel at his kneecap, and pull the trigger. He grunts as he goes down.
“Hart,” Brink shouts. “Three o’clock.”
I’m just in time to see Anne retrieve the gun on the nightstand.
I shift my aim. “Drop it, Anne.”
She turns the gun on Lina as if she hasn’t heard the deadly threat in my tone. Hatred fills her eyes. Her finger curls around the trigger. I’m vaguely aware of Zane using the bed to push himself up. Between Zane, Anne, and me, there’s no choice. The choice is always Lina. Before I can eliminate the danger threatening my wife, a shot goes off. Brink. His first priority is protecting Lina. Anne collapses. At the same time, Zane lifts the knife and dives. I barely have time to fire. His body jerks from the impact. His knees hit the carpet before he falls facedown.
Brink moves to the bathroom and signals it’s clear. One of the guards is already cutting Lina loose. I waste no time in getting to her, leaving Brink to check Anne and Zane’s vitals.
With his finger on a jugular vein in Zane’s neck, Brink gives me a negative sign. Anne took a headshot.
“We’ll clean this up,” Brink offers.
I lift Lina’s limp body into my arms. “Leave it. It’ll look like a gang shootout.”
My ribs protest as I walk outside into the glaring sun, but it’s the happiest pain I’ve felt. One of the men opens the car door for me. I lower my precious bundle into the back before taking the seat next to her. After fitting her seatbelt, I arrange her body to rest in the crook of my arm.
“Hospital?” the guard who’s driving asks, shooting a wary look at Lina’s unconscious form.
She’ll have to be checked by a doctor, but it’ll have to be a house call. I can’t afford the routine questions that’ll come with a hospital visit.
“Home,” I say, pulling her tighter against me.
Lina
I wake up to a warm and comfortable dream. I’m in a boat, rocking to a soothing rhythm. Outside, a storm is brewing, but inside I’m safe. I’m lying on a soft bed, wrapped up in strong arms. A delicious weight presses me deeper into the mattress. We’re rocking together, moving with the ebb and flow of the tide. Like lazy waves, we lap at the shore.
Reveling in the feeling, I snuggle deeper. From afar, the cold tendrils of consciousness reach for me, trying to pull me from my dream, but I’m not ready to let go. It feels too good here. The rocking continues as new sensations join. Hands, broad and warm, drag over my shoulders, breasts, and hips. My awareness shifts, turning from languid to sensual. Slowly, my body comes alive. The tide builds, but this time, it’s inside of me. I moan.
A deep chuckle caresses my ears. The rough timbre resonates through my breastbone. The sensual rocking escalates, waking a hunger in my core. I arch my back, and am rewarded with hard, hot skin sliding over skin. The hunger becomes unbearable, the rocking insistent. The wave rolls, but the crash remains just beyond my reach. I ride it like the boat, rocking, ebbing, but forever falling behind. Panting, I chase the crescent that cruelly escapes me. I moan again, frustrated, and this time we go faster until, at last, the wave lifts and curls.
