Chapter Twelve #2
Ava rolled, her ribs screaming in protest as she did, and then staggered to her feet as Devin spun toward her. She swung the chair, still attached to her wrists, as hard as she could. A third sickening crunch echoed in the warehouse, but this one belonged to Devin’s nose.
Blood streamed down his face, and the gun went off, and then she was running, running for the exit on unsteady legs in her stupid tight-fitting dress, the chair still attached to one of her wrists, thumping along beside her.
For fuck’s sake, this had to be one of the stupidest things she’d ever done, and that was saying something, because she’d once sledded down a ski hill on a pizza pan and nearly taken out a group of senior citizens doing a “skiing for beginners” class.
A rough hand grabbed her shoulder, and she spun, swinging the chair as she did. Another thump, but not nearly as effective, and then the door to the warehouse slammed open, and so many things were happening at once that Ava couldn’t keep track of it all.
A hand on her shoulder, and then nothing, and guns were firing, and the chair had somehow come detached from her wrist, which was aching, and she was still staggering toward the door, and then, and then—
Jack’s hand closed around her wrist.
She caught a painful breath—she had a broken rib, or at least a badly bruised one—and started to cry.
Which was dumb.
But the relief coursing through her was complete, because Jack was here. She’d lied and stolen and run away from him, so Jack was probably going to kill her himself, but he was here, and there wasn’t a Devin in the world that could stop him.
Jack’s dark eyes flamed as he took in her injuries—the blood on her face, the ragged breaths, her probably crooked nose. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his eyes sweeping the room.
The two guards at the door were lying on the floor, likely unconscious because there was no blood pooling around them, and Devin was—Devin was shouting you in a tone of disbelief and he was—
Lunging for them.
One shot.
Another.
Another.
And Devin was lying flat, eyes wide, staring back at them.
A fourth shot, Devin’s body twitching where it had fallen, and then two more. And then silence.
The gun was steady in Jack’s hand.
For a moment the whole world slowed down around them. There was nothing, nothing but the sound of Ava’s thundering heartbeat and Jack’s ragged breathing, one of his hands outstretched with the gun, the other, somehow, wrapped around Ava’s waist.
“You’re here,” Ava breathed, because—because what could she say?
“So are you,” he said, but his tone was uneven, that endless calm broken. “He hurt you?”
It was a question. It was, somehow, something more.
“We—we have to go,” she said. “Right? I’m sorry about the car.”
Darkness flickered in his eyes, but his arm stayed firmly around her waist. “Can you walk?” His eyes swept up and down her, as if looking for injuries. “Can you ride? I have a motorcycle for us.”
Dimly, the memory of a motorcycle dodging gunfire returned to her.
“That was you?”
Jack nodded, his eyes sweeping the dim warehouse for threats. “Are there more of them?” he asked. “How many were in the SUV?”
Ava was stuck on the memory of Jack—Jack on the motorcycle, tearing down the road after the SUV, dodging bullets as he came to rescue her.
“A few people,” she said finally. “I—I think they drugged me. These men carried me to the SUV, and then tied my feet together, and—”
Jack was towing her toward the door, hand still firmly on her waist. “We have to get out, and we have to get rid of this gun,” he said. He looked down at the weapon in his hand as if he couldn’t quite believe it had gone off. “Maybe the body, too.”
“Slow down,” Ava managed through gritted teeth.
Jack stopped abruptly, and Ava crashed into him. He was all hard muscle and concern, staring down at her, waiting for an explanation.
“Ribs,” she said.
His hands were on them immediately, his gun stowed, his touch gentle. “Broken, you think?” he asked. “Does it hurt to breathe? If you’ve punctured a lung—”
“I’m fine,” Ava cut him off. “We can go, just—just slower.”
“I would go get one of their SUVs,” he said. “But I don’t want to risk leaving you.”
He stopped and hesitated, as if considering.
“I could take a gun,” she said.
“You did that already,” Jack retorted. “And then immediately left it behind at the club, with your entire purse and your phone and your whole identity, just waiting for anyone to snatch it.”
“Well, good thing the only person who found it was you,” Ava said. “I’ll go with you to the SUV. Do we have to take him? When will those two wake up?”
Jack shrugged one shoulder. “Any minute,” he said.
And then, without another word, he lifted her off her feet entirely. “Tell me if you see anyone with a gun,” he said. “And I’ll put you down so I can shoot.”
Ava wrapped an arm over his shoulder to hang on. “I can walk,” she said.
“I can walk faster,” Jack told her shortly. He pushed open the door, peering out cautiously before he broke into a slow run. One of the SUVs was sitting empty.
Ava opened the door to the back for him, and he deposited her gently on one of the seats.
“I’m getting the body,” he said. “You stay low—all the way on the floor—and out of sight.”
“I want to sit shotgun,” Ava complained.
“Tough shit,” Jack said. “This is the place to sit if you don’t want to get shot.”
“We’re not getting shot at right now,” Ava said, just as a bullet ripped through the glass in the back.
Her timing was astonishingly bad. She had once insisted to Ari that she’d followed assembling instructions at the exact moment an IKEA shelf had fallen to pieces behind her—but this, now, a bullet chasing her insistence that she was safe. This really took the fucking cake.
Jack tossed Devin’s body in with a heavy, wet thunk.
Ava shuddered, bile churning in her stomach at the sight.
And then Jack was in the driver’s seat, pushing the button to start the car, and they were tearing out of the industrial complex, shots echoing behind them.