Chapter Eleven #2
He curled into a ball as the crazy fucker started screaming again, his boots thudding into Emmett’s ribs over and over. He did his best to protect his vitals, but the kid had to be high—he had that frantic, almost superhuman strength of someone who couldn't feel his own limits.
Since playing possum had worked before, Emmett went limp, closed his eyes... and waited.
"Fuck! Why did you do that?" the kid ranted, his voice high and thin. "You were supposed to stay out of the way. Now you're hurt, and it's all gone wrong, and..."
Emmett forced himself not to react as he took another kick to the ribs. The pain seared through him, but he held his breath.
"Just don't die. Let me get my K, and I'll be gone. You'll be fine."
The kid turned back to the cabinet, frantic now, sweeping everything into a bag—not just the ketamine, but whatever else he could grab.
Emmett was suddenly grateful for the brutal training Blane had put him through years ago — forcing him to use his left hand for everything for months, until he was just as capable with his ‘off’ hand as he was with his right. He began to inch his left arm toward the desk…
Then, his whole body tensed when he heard a car door close outside.
No one was due out here.
His heart thudded to a halt—Harper, it had to be.
Shit.
He’d told her not come, but he should have known that wouldn’t stop her.
The kid hadn’t heard. He was too busy muttering to himself as he swept everything off the shelves and into his bag.
Emmett inched toward the pistol on the desk but …
"Emmett? It’s me. Look, I’m so sorry about earlier, I just… Emmett? Your truck's here, so I know you are. I'm sorry about the Papa Bear thing, I didn't mean to—"
The thief's head whipped toward the sound. He grabbed the pistol off the desk.
No.
Harper appeared in the doorway and froze, taking in the scene in a split second—Emmett on the floor, bleeding, the kid with the gun, turning toward her.
The pistol shook in his hand as he leveled it at her. “Back off! Get back or I’ll—!”
Her hands came up. "Whoa, okay, I'm just leaving. I didn't see anything."
She backed up a step, and the thief tracked her movement with the gun.
"That's right, just get out. I don't want to hurt anyone else."
"I'm going." Harper kept her hands up. Her voice was steady, but Emmett could see the tension in her shoulders. She took another step back, her eyes flicking briefly to him before returning to the kid's face. "Seriously, I'm just the cleaning lady. I don't even work here."
The pistol wavered slightly as she kept talking, his attention splitting between her and the bag he was trying to hold.
While she had the kid’s attention, Emmett pushed himself up with his left hand, every nerve ending screaming in protest. The thief started to turn back toward him, but Harper lowered her hands and the gun swung back to her as she said, "Wait, just take my keys.
My truck's right outside," pulling his attention back to her for just one more second.
One second was all Emmett needed.
He didn’t just crawl; he launched. Using every last ounce of strength he had, he surged upward from the floor like a gator coming out of the water.
He didn't go for the gun or the legs—he went for both.
His left hand drove up into the kid's gun arm, forcing it toward the ceiling, while his weight slammed into the back of the kid's knees, the impact sending the younger man crashing forward.
The gun skittered across the linoleum.
Harper didn’t hesitate. She lunged for the weapon, kicking it hard under a heavy metal exam table where the kid couldn't reach it.
The thief tried to scramble up, snarling, but Emmett was on him. He used his good hand to drive the kid’s face into the floor.
“Stay. Down.”
The words were a rasped command, filled with lethal promise. The kid stopped fighting. He went limp, sobbing into the floor tiles.
“Harper,” Emmett gasped, the world starting to tilt and gray out at the edges now that the threat was neutralized. “Call Deacon.”
“I already am,” she said, her voice trembling, her phone already pressed to her ear.
His voice came out rough. "Harper, you—"
"I'm fine. You protected me, Papa Bear." Her voice caught. "Now sit down before you fall down."
"Can't. Not while he's..." Emmett gestured at the kid, who was groaning but not fighting.
Harper looked at the thief, then back at Emmett, and something shifted in her expression. She grabbed a roll of medical tape from the counter and dropped to her knees beside the groaning kid. "Then let me help."
By the time she had the kid's wrists secured and Deacon's voice was on the other end of her phone, Emmett's knees were buckling.
He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but his strength hit a wall. The adrenaline vanished, replaced by the cold, heavy reality of the lead in his shoulder and the cracked ribs. He slumped sideways, his head resting against the cool cabinet.
Harper was there, her arms around him, lowering him carefully. "I've got you. I've got you."
“You did... great,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. “Papa Bear’s... gonna take a nap now.”