Chapter Seven
Noa
I was too far to hear the other side of the conversation on the phone, but everything about the way Caymen stiffened and his tone went sharp had my stomach tensing.
“Down!” Caymen yelled.
But before I could even move, he was throwing himself at me, taking me down to the ground as the bullets ripped through my apartment.
His hand had grabbed my wrist on the way down, holding it up above my head so I didn’t accidentally shoot him on impact.
My fingers automatically loosened and dropped it, though, at the adrenaline surging through me, the sound of glass breaking, of bullets lodging in the wall, in my solid wood headboard, and—I suspected—my laptop, if the crashing sound was anything to go by.
Caymen curled more tightly around me, his face pressing to the top of my head, his arms caging in my sides.
I was covered from head to toe.
If a bullet came in at our height, it would almost certainly slice through him instead of me.
And he’d just done it so… casually.
Like it was nothing
To use his own body as a shield.
For a woman he didn’t even know.
I’d been raised to be independent and competent, to never need a man to take care of or protect me. So I’d never had the experience of having one do just that.
It was unexpectedly not only sexy but comforting. Enough that my own hands moved without permission, moving up his sides, holding onto him as he continued to cover me even after the tires peeled off again.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Fine.”
His breath was fast, ragged.
His weight was crushing me enough to make it hard to take a breath myself—my breasts flattened by his broad chest. But not a single part of me wanted to move.
He moved first.
And only because there was yelling coming from his phone that had fallen near my head.
“I’m fine,” he called even as he shifted his weight to one arm to reach for it.
“Dixon, relax. I’m fine. Don’t come here in case they circle back.
Go find the others. Not fucking debating this.
Do it.” He paused as he shifted up to his knees, straddling my legs and looking down at me. “Yeah, she’s fine too.”
It was just then that I realized my tuck had come undone as the cool air washed up the skin between my breasts.
I glanced down just as he did.
But I was still mostly covered. Just a little boob curve on display, not anything scandalous.
Before I could reach out, he was grabbing the material with one fist between my boobs, holding tight, then using it to pull me back onto my feet.
Hot.
It was hot.
Was there anything this guy did that wasn’t?
“Don’t look around. You gotta get some clothes on, ‘cause we gotta get the fuck outta here.”
He was right.
But I couldn’t help but glance around, seeing the damage.
It wasn’t that bad.
But there was glass everywhere.
And my monitor that showed me my security feeds was riddled with bullets.
Great.
That was fantastic.
“Hold on, don’t,” he demanded when I tried to move. His arm curled around me, lifting me up off my feet by an inch or so and walking me backward to my closet, his shoes crunching on broken glass as we went. “Get shoes on before you come back out.”
The take-charge thing was working for me.
Add on the fact that he went back to retrieve my gun and hand it to me so I felt safe, and, yeah, I was damn near ready to say to hell with the danger and let him fuck me on my closet floor.
But that was crazy. So I reached toward a shirt hanging from the bar.
He stayed in the closet doorway but turned his back to me.
There was no time to worry about him peeking.
I whipped off the towel, pulled on the tee, then yanked panties up my legs before finding a pair of biker shorts and pulling them on.
Ballet flats weren’t my favorite kind of footwear for long hours on my feet, but they were the easiest.
“Done,” I said. “Do you have a gun?” I asked as we both inched out of the closet, bodies tight, heads on a swivel.
“Yeah,” he said, going to my bed and grabbing both of my bags.
I remembered to find my keys.
Then we both made our way to the door.
“Stay behind me.”
“If you want the bullets to hit you first, I’m not gonna argue,” I said, falling into step behind him as he reached for his own gun.
For such a big guy, he was able to keep his footsteps silent on the steps as we inched downward, not daring to even breathe, in case we missed some sound that would warn us about armed men coming to kill us.
Well, me.
But he would be in the way.
It almost felt wrong to make it to the door without an ambush.
Caymen inched it open, carefully moving out to scan the streets. While I stood back in the dark, unaware of everything. Yet oddly… okay with it.
The man was clearly capable.
And this was not the time to argue over who should be looking for the shooters or not.
“I think we’re good,” Caymen said, opening the door wide enough to step out.
I was right behind.
“This is me,” I said, waving toward my car.
He said nothing, just made his way in that direction, tossing my bags in the backseat with the other one from my storage locker.
I’d just made it to the driver’s seat when I saw a car take a corner down at the next cross street way, way too fucking fast.
“Get in!” Caymen yelled, but I was already moving.
I was in my seat with the engine turned over before he got into the passenger seat. I tossed my gun onto his lap, slipped into gear, and peeled the hell out of there.
Caymen twisted toward me, kicking his leg out to brace himself so he didn’t fly around when I took the next corner so fast we went up on two wheels for the barest of seconds.
I had no idea what he was doing as he reached around me until I felt the seatbelt sliding across my chest and waist, then clicking into place.
Only when he had me secured did he fall back into his seat and fasten his own belt.
“They’re right behind us.”
“I see that,” I agreed, focusing not on panicking about how close they were, but on taking slow, deep breaths.
If there was ever a time you needed your wits about you, it was when you were operating a potential deathtrap while being pursued by armed men.
“Can you see them?” I asked, taking another turn, this one a little smoother.
“Black sedan. Heavy tint. No plate.”
“Of course. Why can’t we just have an incompetent tail?” I grumbled, getting a surprised chuff of a laugh.
“Are you always so calm while being pursued?”
“Yes.”
“Happens a lot, huh?” he asked, bracing his hand on the dash as I took another turn.
Normally, my advantage should have been that I knew this area painfully well. I was dogged about that kind of thing. I would study maps, learn every side street and alley. Then I would take my car out (or go on foot) and drive or walk it, making sure I knew it all by sight, not just by directions.
But whoever this was behind us, he was either from the area or had done his research too.
They seemed to anticipate my every move before I even decided to make it, never getting more than two car lengths behind my car.
I took another turn.
Just as they revved up, came closer, clipped my bumper, and sent the car into a spin.
Tires shrieked.
There was a small puff of smoke from the friction of the tires.
I steered into the skid, keeping my eyes on where I wanted to go, not the problem that had sent me spinning. I feathered the throttle, giving the engine small bursts of acceleration.
If you gave it too much, you fishtailed.
If you gave too little, you lost complete control.
And if you hit the brake, well, you were probably going to tighten the spin and lock yourself out of any chance of recovery.
“Fuck,” Caymen hissed under his breath as we spun and spun. We’d been going too fast to hope we might only turn around twice.
I focused on my breath, on the little taps to the throttle, on my grip.
But sure enough, faster than it probably felt like, the spin slowed, the car started to straighten.
I unwound the wheel carefully to avoid an overcorrection. Then, once the car was back in line, I didn’t hesitate; I floored it out of there.
My car scratched against the chase car as he tried to speed forward to pull a quick K-turn.
But I had him.
I knew it.
He knew it.
That couple of seconds of a head start were all that I needed.
I pulled up one street, down another, over and over, getting so many turns away that it wouldn’t be possible for him to track me down.
A little smile tugged at my lips as I finally eased off the accelerator.
As I did, I could feel Caymen’s gaze on my profile. I didn’t even try to hold back the little grin that toyed with my lips.
“What?” I asked.
“Is there anything you do that isn’t sexy as fuck?”
“I don’t look so hot when I’m scrubbing the floor.”
“On your hands and knees? Babe, we both know that ain’t true.”
“That was pretty wild,” I admitted.
“Where the fuck did you learn that? You an ex-cop or something?”
“God, no.”
“Street racer?”
“Nope.”
“If I guess right, you gonna tell me or leave me hanging?”
“My father took driver’s-ed very seriously. It wasn’t good enough to pass the road test. I had to know how to handle all kinds of terrain, in all weather, and in all different kinds of cars.”
“Baby, that wasn’t good driving. That was evasive driving.”
“Like I said… thorough.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Out of Miami,” she said. “Did you catch anything else about the car?”
“When we were spinning out at sixty miles an hour? No, babe, I didn’t catch anything but the streetlights flashing. And maybe my life flashing before my eyes.”
“Please, I had it handled.”
“Your humility is impressive.”
“You wouldn’t be half as intrigued by me if I wasn’t comfortably confident in my abilities.”
“Got me there. You need to get that?” I asked when his phone buzzed.
“My brother,” he said. “I’m fine,” he said as soon as he swiped the screen. “You alright?”
“Seeing the same car whipping up and down the streets. And your bike is still sitting here.”
“We took off in Noa’s car. They rammed us but we got away. They’re probably trying to track us. But we’re on our way out of Miami now. I want you out too, in case you were spotted. Yeah, I know. Did you talk to Huck yet? Okay. I’ll see. Yep. Let you know.”
“Huck is your president.”
“Yeah.”
“He wants to talk to me, doesn’t he?”
Caymen looked over.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need help now.”
“I don’t—”
“Noa,” he cut me off, “if I hadn’t been inside your apartment… and my brother hadn’t been on the street, you’d be plugged with half a dozen bullets right now.”
He was right.
I didn’t want to hear it.
But he was also right about the stakes being different now.
It wouldn’t hurt to hear them out, maybe have some backup.
I glanced over at Caymen’s profile.
I wouldn’t mind having him as backup.
“Fine. But I’m not promising to work with you.”
“I respect that.”
“And I’m keeping my gun on me.”
He pressed the gun I’d tossed him down onto my lap.
“Got no problem with that either.”
“Point me to the clubhouse then.”