“Stick to the crates. The exit is that way.” He points to the floodlight at the far end and grabs my wrist, roughly marching me towards the next box tower.
Lead whizzes past us. A large hand slams down on my head, forcing me to duck, my own survival instincts still dulled.
Lowering down beside a dead guy, he swaps rifles and checks the magazine is full.
“Take this.” He hands me his unfolded pocket knife. My heart is hammering now.
I repeatedly blink and zone in on the sticky blade, aware of my sluggish reactions. It’s infuriating being this inadequate––this dizzy. My lungs are working hard by the time I’m scurrying behind another box tower and my mouth is uncomfortably dry. I look about me, wishing I’d strapped my handgun to my thigh when I dressed for the evening.
Not that my aim would be worth shit. I can barely focus, never mind hit jack-in-the-box targets. But a gun would be easier to use than this knife.
“Stay low and keep moving. I’ll cover you. Don’t stop.” He doesn’t look like the well-polished man who had escorted me to prom. No, Giovanni has morphed into an expressionless combat warrior. The stone-cold monster he was raised to be.
I stare at him, unsure, feeling helpless and nauseous. “Gio––”
“Listen to me, India! Stop hesitating. That shit will get you killed. I’m right behind you,” he growls, his eyes fully fixed on my face, hypervigilant and ready. “Go… hurry up. Move it.”
4
INDIA
The pulse in my throat thrums so hard it makes my voice shake. “Promise you’ll be right behind me, yeah?”
“Move!” he snaps, his sharpness stealing my breath.
“Okay.” I stay close to the ground and scramble on all fours, my throat closing around a stupid whimper.
Panic churns in my gut. I’d somehow found happiness in the midst of grief and accepted living in the light was a false sense of safety. I’m better off in the shadows, next to the man who rules them.
My world would crash down around me if I lost him too, making it even harder to push ahead without him next to me. But this situation is so much bigger than us. It’s life or death—mineandhis. Neither of us know if Blackwater was breached and Leo’s in danger too.
Glancing over my shoulder, I lock eyes with Gio briefly before he turns away, takes aim, and fires a round into the warehouse. He’s become the controlled commander who barks orders. The capable sniper with the only rifle we have between us, and I’m helpless to defend myself properly, or anyone else. In this pathetic, drugged state, I’m more of a liability.
Failure doesn’t sit well with me, nevertheless I trust him to have my back and head to the exit.
I take a beat to exhale and scan the area before scurrying from crate to crate under the racket of explosive gunfire. Out of nowhere, harsh fingers dive into my hair and I’m manhandled to kneeling.
Instincts take over. I ram the blade into my attacker's thigh and twist. The snarl scraping from the guy’s throat is nothing less than spine-chilling. Its intensity worsens when I pull the knife back out and then quickly plunge it into the shredded muscle all over again.
“Fucking,puta.” My head is wrenched backward. Black eyes pierce me, and before I have the chance to inflict more pain, a merciless hand whips my cheek.
The brutal force of it jerks my head sideways and I unintentionally let go of the knife. My brain oscillates and everything goes blurry. At the moment, all I can see are black stars. Heat scorches the slap mark and tears spring to my eyes.
“I’ll fucking kill you for that!” I latch onto the rifle slung over his shoulder and yank hard.
Together we wrestle for ownership, but he has the advantage of brute strength compared to my wobbly existence. On my knees, I’m shaken and doing my best to ignore the pain in my head.
He wedges a boot into my stomach and my grip on the rifle slips. A winded breath catches in my throat. I cough and heave, palming my belly, unable to suck in air.
I’m almost sick when cold steel prods my cheek in preparation for an execution. Except, a dark shadow moves by us and then the fucker who’s ready to shoot me jerks violently.
Giovanni is behind him, his movements lightning fast and precise. Repeatedly, he throws powerful punches and hooks his opponent’s throat, tightening the choke hold he has on him.
The guy's eyes bulge and he thrashes wildly at Giovanni’s arm to tap out. Giovanni doesn’t relent, only removing his arm when he’s certain the guy is finally dead.
“You good?” Giovanni growls out the words.
Something passes over his face, a glimpse of concern bubbling beneath the surface of his no-nonsense persona.
