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“Keep your head down, kid!” I shouted as I pulled the emergency break, then threw the wheel around, stopping my Jeep with screeching tires, at a perfect angle along the SUV’s passenger side—gotta love those trusty old mechanical brakes.
“You’re good,” Hawk said.
With every single enemy taken out, I flipped my door open, hopped out, then opened the SUV’s passenger door.
The boy cowered in his seat, his small hands covering his ears.
I dove in and pulled him from the wreckage, his body shaking with terror.
“Easy, buddy,” I murmured, holding him close as I searched for any sign of further danger, then took him back with me to the Jeep, jumped in with him on my lap, and raced back. I looked into the rearview mirror, then at his dark-haired crown. “You’re safe now.”
“Everything clear?” I asked into my radio.
“Clear,” Hawk’s comeback was without emotion.
He would probably chew me out later.
But he’d worked with me long enough to know I was a wildcard.
Born into one of the leading Mafia families in Italy, he’d called me batshit crazy more than once.
I stopped the Jeep in the shadow of the tower, hopped out, put the boy onto the driver’s seat, and turned around. “Come on, kid,” I said, coaxing. “On my back; we’re doing this monkey-style.”
Better to have my hands free in case I had to shoot our way free.
He slung his tiny arms around my neck and crawled onto my back.
My muscles tensed as I lifted him up. “Are we clear?”
“Clear,” Hawk’s voice came through loud and clear.
We rounded the corner, and I sprinted to the entrance of the tower while directing the boy’s scrawny legs and the uncomfortable pressure of his dug-in heels away from my dick.
“Bring him to the hangar,” Hawk radioed when we were just inside the tower.
For real now?
I changed direction and looked left and right before diving outside again and into a full-on run, with the little monkey on my back, toward the hangar.
Toward Hawk and three other, big, burly, dangerous-looking men, all wearing sunglasses, standing waiting as if this was a Sunday brunch at the park.
Next to those three, Hawk looked almost normal—which wasn’t an easy feat with his 6’6” heavily muscled frame.
As I neared them, I assessed the men.
One of them was older, dressed in a black suit, his short, black hair streaked with gray.
The second one was staring down at his phone, his long, red hair hiding his face.
The last one—a giant, dressed in all-black, including big, reflecting, green sunglasses that made him look like a bug with giant eyes—scowled as if something was bothering him.
Me or the attackers?
Were those assholes standing here watching the whole time when I was risking my life doing my best Rambo impression—fucking alone?
“Qué pasa aquí?” the boy asked in Spanish, peeking over my shoulder.
He was wondering what was happening over there. “Todo está bien,” Everything good—I reassured him, keeping one hand protectively on his leg.
