Guardian (Belle Argo Escorts #3)

Prologue

Ravi

I think my biggest mistake was going barefoot.

When you see people streaking in movies, they don’t show the person stopping to put their shoes back on, right? But I guess they must, because right now I’m running across a gravel lot and regretting the rocks under my feet almost as much as the bullets whizzing past my head.

At least, like, equally as much.

Every shot makes me flinch. Every rock makes me stumble.

“What the fuck is that stupid son of a bitch doing?”

Ordinarily I’d find it hurtful being called stupid. Considering these men work for an asshole who’s been trafficking people and drugs, I won’t take it personally.

They probably had difficult childhoods or something.

“Jesus Christ, Ravi, what the fuck are you thinking?” My boss, Brennan, is somewhere behind me. Behind the bad guys. Brennan is also a bad guy, but the ones chasing me are…badder guys? Worse guys?

“I already told you!” Since I’m running away from him, I don’t know if Brennan can even hear me, but isn’t it the principle of the thing?

He came to this warehouse where some rival worse guy is holding people who’ve been taken off the street, people to be sold, and the plan is to release the people and burn the place down.

“Somebody fucking grab that fucking kid!” Worse guy. Gotta be.

I mean, yes, Brennan did tell me to wait in the car. When someone needs help, though, I can’t not help. And those people being held here need help. Brennan needed a distraction. He’ll appreciate my help in the end. He will.

So, you know. Streaking. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Liam, my guardian, would call it reckless. I prefer to see it as taking initiative. Or, like, a public service. I’m being useful, dammit.

“Someone fucking grab him and just fucking shoot him!”

They’ve tried.

Honestly, it’s exciting. I’m flying right now. Liam once told me it’s a lot harder to hit a moving target, and I’m a fast runner, so mostly they’re wasting ammunition. I’ve been sort of zigzagging to make it harder for them to aim.

I’m passing an open loading bay when something flies close to the left side of my face and embeds itself in the edge of one of the bay doors. I fight the urge to duck when the heat of it brushes my cheek. So I zig right, into the brightly lit warehouse. There are voices in there. People.

The guys with guns won’t shoot with their own people around…right?

More yelling behind me. Not words I can understand, mostly grunts and thumps and a bunch of swearing. Maybe that means Brennan’s guys got them all?

When I look over my shoulder to check, there’s still one dude behind me. He’s not shooting, but he’s tall. Long legs. And he’s gaining on me.

“Shit,” I breathe. There’s a noise in front of me—some guy carrying a wrapped bundle of some kind. He pulls a knife. He sees me, but there’s nothing I can do to stop.

Then my toe slams into a seam in the concrete. “Ow.”

Now I’m really flying. Toward the guy with the knife. The bundle.

You know how you put your hands out to catch yourself when you fall?

Well, my hand hits the knife.

Which hits the bundle.

The bundle explodes. I get a face full of powder.

Drugs, my brain supplies. These are bad guys. Worse guys. They deal drugs.

Bitterness coats the back of my throat. I gasp like a fish, but my lungs won’t fill with air.

My heart, already racing, races faster. Dizziness hits.

Get up. The worse guys are coming. Get up, get up, get up.

“Ravi? Fuck.” That sounds like Brennan. He’s poking at my neck, slapping at my face. “Jalen, grab him and get him outside. We’re going to need to call a fucking ambulance. Jesus, Ravi, you’re a fucking menace.”

My lips and tongue are weirdly numb. I can’t make them move. It feels like I’m dying. I don’t want to die.

I was only trying to help.

I really hope I did. It’s the last thing I think before the lights go out.