Chapter Twelve
Chapter
Twelve
Mal heard the shot and watched Gerald’s body
buck as the bullet hit his chest.
That was when he realized the shooter had a friend. The man
came from behind, pulled a pin on a cannister, and rolled it into the dining
room.
“Flash-bang,” he managed to scream Oliver’s way right before
it went off and the world seemed to go sideways. His ear hurt and eyes burned
as the flash-bang did what it was intended to do. In the haze of the smoke
coming out of the cannister he could see Oliver moving to get to Vivian.
He would get her out of here. He would save her. It was up
to Mal to resist the desperate urge to fuck everything else and get her out of
here himself. This was a mission, and she knew what she had to do. Oliver was
with her. He would get her out. His job was to save everyone else.
But his heart ached.
His ears were ringing and muffled, which seemed to be a good
thing because everyone was screaming.
Two. There were two of them. His knee ached as someone
banged into him, but the prosthetic held. For now. He had to stay calm, had to
center himself. All around him chaos reigned as everyone tried to flee. There
was only one door to the lobby, and someone was shooting from it.
In the haze of fog, he saw some patrons hiding under tables.
Another flash-bang rolled in. More smoke. More screaming.
For a second he was back in the jungle and the air wasn’t
cool. It was hot and humid. He could feel the sweat and blood mingling on his
skin. The smoke had been so thick from the crash. The first few moments he
hadn’t even understood what had happened. One minute he was in a helo and the next he was…in the air. Falling not flying.
He’d been thrown out before the impact, but the smoke and fire still singed
him, still filled his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. He fell from the tree
he’d landed in and barely missed the fire. It singed the hairs on his arms, but
he managed to roll away, the pain making him scream. His leg. God, his leg…
He forced himself back to reality. He wasn’t in the jungle.
He was here in London, and Vivian needed him. He couldn’t let her down.
He nearly tripped over a body. Gerald. His eyes were open,
staring blankly at the ceiling. He wouldn’t see his daughters or his wife
again. Mal let his breathing go shallow and shoved the horror in front of him
out of his mind. He would deal with it later. It would be one more nightmare in
his never-ending rotation of them.
Mal brought up his Glock and started to make his way through
the smoke toward the last place he’d seen the shooter. The lobby doors were now
closed and locked. It seemed like they didn’t want anyone rushing out.
Who was their target?
He nearly choked on the smoke. He saw a tall figure moving
through the haze, a black mask on his face. So they were prepared. This wasn’t
a random robbery or some wild protest. This was carefully coordinated. Mal
began to follow him. He was moving toward the side of the dining room Vivian
had been sitting in. He had to hope Oliver was smart enough to get her out.
The room went oddly quiet as everyone hid.
He couldn’t see where the other bodyguards had gone. Gerald
was dead, but there had been a couple more. Perhaps they had done their jobs
and gotten their clients out.
Through the fog he saw the two men ahead of him. One gave a
hand signal, gesturing toward the part of the dining room Vivian had been in.
Had Oliver gotten her out? Was she safe and Oliver would come back in? He
shouldn’t. He should get Vivian back to The Garden.
Mal followed them, allowing all his predatory instincts to
take over.
The men stopped, and though he couldn’t hear what they were
saying, it was obvious that they had found the table they’d been looking for
and their prey wasn’t there.
Vivian’s table. Gerald had mentioned that security for the
wedding was incredibly tight. There might be a bigger reason for that. He
moved, hunching down, trying to keep his height from giving him away.
They would be panicking soon. The police would be here.
Where was Vivian? It appeared Oliver got her out, but then
he saw a body on the floor. He recognized those shoes.
Oliver.
Fuck. Was Oliver dead?
Where was Vivian? Where the hell was Vivian? Did she do what
she needed to do? Had she run away?
One of the men kicked him and kept looking, but they could
hear the sirens getting closer.
The gas was starting to clear, and one of the shooters took
off his mask. “Do you see her?”
The other man took off his as well. “No, damn it. I think
she got away. Did you see which one she was with? Was it this guy? We could
take her boyfriend and see if we can get her to turn herself in.”
“Those weren’t our instructions,” the other man said. “We’re
supposed to bring in the blonde.”
The blonde? He couldn’t remember what the other woman’s hair
color was. He hadn’t noticed her. He’d been staring at Vivian. He hadn’t seen
any other woman beyond her.
“We have to go,” the first man said. “They’re almost here.”
“We can’t leave without her. You know what they can do to
us.” The second man sounded desperate. Then he turned and lifted his gun,
firing right at Mal.
He was about to take that bullet when something hit him,
pushing him out of the way and falling to the floor on top of him. He felt his
prosthetic give way and pop painfully out of socket. He was on the ground, and
it would be hard to get up again.
“Are you okay?” a familiar voice asked.
Vivian. Vivian had been the one to push him out of the
bullet’s way and risk her life in the process.
“Is that her?” Mal heard someone ask.
The smoke must be clouding their vision. So much for them
being smart.
“Get her,” one of the men said.
Oliver sat up and took his shot, taking the first man down
easily.
Mal reached for his gun, but it had clattered to the ground
when Vivian hurled herself at him. He tried to find it. The second man was
close. He couldn’t let him take Vivian. Panic welled inside him.
And Vivian dropped to her knee in front of him, raising his
Glock with ease and taking out the other man in one shot as the police rushed
in.
He watched as she calmly dropped the gun and held her hands
up. “Be careful with him. I think his leg has come off. Don’t leave it behind.
Thank you for getting here quickly, officers. Those two men tried to kidnap
someone, and they killed that bodyguard on the floor.”
“She’s right. I saw it all,” someone said from the crowd.
“That woman right there saved a bunch of people by getting them out the side
door, and then she returned to try to save more. She’s a bloody hero.”
“She is,” a woman said, tears in her eyes. “When she came
back she saved that man and then took out one of them. I don’t know what would
have happened without her.”
Vivian. His sweet, innocent Vivian hadn’t panicked. She
hadn’t freaked out. She hadn’t run. She’d quickly engineered a rescue, not
taken it herself, saved him, and then killed one of the bad guys.
Why was he here?
Oh, yes. He was here to discipline her when she put herself
in danger.
“Still going to have to come to the station,” one of the
officers said. He was a big man in what looked to be his late forties/early
fifties. “Miss, it seems you did good work here, but I have to…”
Vivian stood tall and offered up her wrists. “Arrest me
because I used what might appear to be an illegal firearm. I understand. It’s
not a problem, but could my bodyguard get some medical attention? He breathed
in a lot of smoke, and I believe his leg is injured. He lost it while
protecting his country. He was a captain in the SAS.”
“Vivian,” Mal began and started to try to get up, but fuck
all his leg was out of place and stuck in his slacks.
“I’m going to have to bring him in, too, miss. And that
one,” the officer said.
They had Oliver on his feet, his wrists behind his back.
Oliver grinned. “You did good, Vivi. Took him out like a pro. Told you all you
had to do was practice. Mal, what the hell?”
Mal laid back and looked up at the ceiling. It was lovely,
with all that pretty crown molding posh places had and several chandeliers. One
might fall down and crush him if his day got any worse.
An hour later, his day got infinitely worse.
“You got my daughter arrested?” Alexander McKay stood
outside the small cell that held Mal, Oliver, and several other men brought
into the station for various offenses.
“She wasn’t exactly arrested,” Oliver tried. “She was
brought in for questioning. They didn’t actually handcuff her. I think the lead
officer has a bit of a crush.”
The lead officer and all of the officers had treated her
like a princess. Getting her water, making sure she wasn’t in shock, telling
her to sit and rest, which she refused to do until her poor bodyguard had his
leg checked. It was back and he could walk. Not that he could get far since he
was in custody.
They had put him in cuffs. And Oliver. He was fairly certain
Vivian was being treated to high tea while she told her side of the story.
Which should go something like this:
Well, officers, I decided to go crazy and forget
everything I was ordered to do and nearly get myself killed and then bat my
eyes and make every man in the room fall at my feet.
“She is in a police station.” Alex McKay looked like a man
who’d seen some shit. And recently. “She could have been killed.”
“Not from what I hear.” Ian Taggart was a mass of muscle. “I
hear she took down the bad guys.”
“I took one out, too,” Oliver corrected. “I even had to play
dead. Which I was brilliant at, though one of the fuckers kicked my ribs.”
“So let me get this straight,” McKay began, pacing the
concrete floor outside the cell. “There was a bodyguard. The one who said he
would protect my daughter.”
“Oooo, I think he said something
like he would burn the world down for his sweet, precious sub.” The man they
called Big Tag had a cup of coffee in his hand and he yawned like a big,
curious lion. “And he’s going to beat me to death with his fake leg.”
“It’s not fake,” Oliver pointed out. “It’s a real leg. It’s
just not made of human flesh.”