Page 27 of Girl Lost (The King Legacy #1)

A BLUE SPARK ILLUMINATED the darkness for a heartbeat, followed by the hiss of electricity. The Taser probe whizzed past Corbin’s ear, missing by a hair. His pulse fluttered in his neck.

Luna’s fingers dug into his arm. She’d yanked him back just in time.

No time to breathe. No time to draw his weapon.

Two figures materialized from the shadows, solidifying into men. Masked faces indistinct in the dim light. Intentions crystal clear.

The first attacker was built like a linebacker. The second circled like a predator, a distinct hitch in his step marking his movement. Corbin grabbed for his gun, but the linebacker charged straight at him.

Corbin dodged, but the linebacker whirled and grabbed his head. Nails dug into his scalp. The world tilted as the attacker twisted him off balance. A muscular arm clamped around his neck. Bicep against his throat. He writhed. Fought the pressure.

Corbin clawed at the attacker’s arm. He needed space. He needed air.

Hitch stopped circling and drove his knee into Corbin’s gut. Precious air burst from his lungs. He tried to double over, but the arm around his neck kept him upright. Black spots pulsed at the edges of his vision. His fingers scrabbled at his holster. The gun was there but unreachable.

“Stop! Or I’ll shoot!” Luna’s voice sliced through the night.

His vision swam, but he caught a glimpse of her with her Glock aimed in their direction. Stance rock solid. But she wasn’t firing. Of course she wasn’t. The men were too close, using Corbin’s body as a shield.

A third attacker appeared from behind a parked car, moving toward Luna. This one was shorter than the others but moved with liquid precision. How many were there? He strained to see shapes in the gloom and saw Number Three had his arm extended.

“Gun!” Corbin croaked.

A crackle of electricity filled the air.

Corbin’s muscles strained against the linebacker’s hold.

He watched in horror as Luna went rigid.

Her body jerked as the Taser’s current coursed through her.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

She toppled backward, hitting the ground hard.

Her gun clattered across the pavement, skittering away into the darkness.

White-hot fury surged, lending him strength he didn’t know he possessed.

He bucked violently, trying to throw his head back for a headbutt.

The linebacker behind him anticipated the move, shifting out of range.

Corbin’s skull connected with nothing but air, sending a jolt of pain down his neck.

Frustration mixed with the anger coursing through his veins.

Fine. Plan B.

He hooked his legs around Hitch, pulling with all his strength. He used his weight to drag them off balance, muscles straining with the effort. They crashed to the ground in a jumble of arms and legs, Corbin sandwiched between the two attackers.

The impact drove what little air he had left from his lungs. For a moment, stars exploded behind his eyes. Rough asphalt scraped against his cheek. The sting barely registered.

Where was Luna? He couldn’t see her, couldn’t tell if she was okay.

He grappled with the linebacker, managing to lock him into a sleeper hold. His arm trembled, muscles screaming, but he held on. The guy was solid, all muscle and training. He squeezed tighter, praying the man would go down fast.

A hand clawed at his waist. Hitch reaching for Corbin’s sidearm.

He swatted frantically with his free hand, trying to maintain the chokehold on the linebacker. It was like fighting an octopus—hands everywhere, grasping, pulling. Salty sweat stung his eyes. Breaths came in ragged gasps.

Metal scraped against leather. His gun.

His heart hammered as he felt the weapon pulled free.

Time slowed. Seconds stretched. Training took over. He wrenched his body, using the linebacker in the sleeper hold as a human shield. Hitch pointed Corbin’s own weapon at them, hesitating as his partner struggled in Corbin’s grip.

A gunshot erupted, a thunderous blast that seemed to rip the night apart.

Corbin felt the shock wave ripple through his body, leaving his ears ringing and his eyes watering.

The linebacker in his arms jerked and went limp, suddenly dead weight.

The coppery scent of blood filled the air, mixing with the lingering smell of gunpowder.

No time to process. No time to think about the life that had just ended, however justified. Survival. He swept Hitch’s legs with every ounce of strength he had left.

Hitch toppled backward. Surprise flashed in the eyes visible behind the balaclava. Corbin’s gun discharged twice more and clattered to the asphalt as the attacker fell. Bullets whizzed, pinging off a nearby car. Sparks flew as metal met metal.

Hitch was on the ground, scrambling for the gun.

Corbin beat him to it and shifted the textured grip into his palm. He aimed at Hitch on his back. “Don’t move!”

Hitch’s hands went up about shoulder height. He grinned, a flash of white teeth visible through the mouth hole in his mask. “You gonna shoot me, Officer?”

Corbin’s finger hovered over the trigger. Could he do it? Take a life? What choice did he have? The man was armed, dangerous. But ... was it the same man who’d taken Stryker?

He couldn’t kill him. Not until he had answers. “You’re under arrest.”

He risked a glance at Luna, heart in his throat. His blood turned to ice to see Number Three searching her prone form for a weapon. Number Three rolled Luna onto her back.

Big mistake.

Her legs coiled, then snapped out with devastating force.

Both boots caught the man square in the jaw.

The crack of impact echoed across the parking lot.

Number Three’s head snapped back, eyes rolling up in his skull.

He crumpled into a heap like a marionette with cut strings.

She’d hit the sweet spot and knocked him clean out.

That was his partner. Tough as nails, even when down.

“Corbin! Watch out!”

He started to turn, but Hitch was already moving. A roll. Swift and smooth. Hitch came up on one knee and jammed his palm upward into Corbin’s gun hand.

He dodged just before his own weapon struck him in the face.

Fire bloomed along his side. Corbin hissed, stumbling back. Warm blood seeped through his shirt, sticky against his skin. That’s when he noticed the knife.

Already Hitch had his arm back, readying to drive the blade a second time. Corbin dodged.

Hitch came at him again, lunging, but Corbin was ready for it. He shifted his weight, pivoting to the side, and slammed his forearm into Hitch’s wrist, deflecting the blade. The knife scraped against his jeans, tearing fabric but not flesh.

Corbin’s free hand shot out, fist connecting with Hitch’s nose. A satisfying crunch. Blood spurted, splattering against Corbin’s shirt. The man flew at Corbin, knocking him back. The ground rushed up to meet him. Pain shot through his shoulder as he hit the asphalt.

Hitch was on him in an instant. Fists flying in a rage-fueled battering. The Glock flew from his grip and landed steps away, just out of reach. They grappled on the hot asphalt. Arms locked. Teeth bared. Hitch’s shattered nose was inches above Corbin’s, dripping blood.

From the corner of his eye, Corbin sensed movement. A blur of black coming at him.

Luna. She’d somehow gotten to her feet and was moving toward them, silent and swift.

Hitch turned, but Luna’s leg was already in motion. Her boot smashed into his ribs. A guttural noise exploded from the man, and he fell sideways.

One fluid motion. Legs pistoning. Core engaged. Corbin pushed off the ground, using his momentum to power himself upright. The cut on his side burned, but he could still move. Could still get them out of this. He reached down and picked up his gun. It clicked into its holster.

He did not want to kill anyone else tonight. He wanted answers.

His hand went to his pocket and closed around the molded grip of his ASP baton. He snapped it open. Twenty-one inches of hardened steel. Ready.

Corbin shifted his stance, falling into a defensive posture. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, each inhale sending a stab of pain through his ribs and side.

The attacker staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach. He glared at Luna. “You little—” He lunged, grabbing Luna by the hair and pulling her into his arms. The knife pressed against her throat.

Corbin froze, his heart a drum in his chest.

Luna’s eyes met his. A message there. Trust me.

His fist tightened around the baton. Every muscle in his body screamed to attack, but the knife ... So close to Luna’s carotid. He couldn’t risk it.

Luna’s gaze flicked down. To Hitch’s feet. Then back to Corbin’s eyes.

She shifted to her right and slammed both elbows back, connecting with the man’s ribs. She twisted, using the momentum to pull away, ducking under his arm. Her leg whipped up in a roundhouse kick to Hitch’s temple.

Corbin pivoted on his left foot, driving all his weight forward. The baton struck Hitch’s knee. The same knee that had given Hitch his distinctive gait. Solid impact.

Hitch dropped like a stone. A strangled cry ripped from the man’s throat. One arm reached out, grasping at the asphalt as if trying to hold onto something solid, something real.

For a moment, Hitch locked eyes with him and Corbin saw the realization dawn. This wasn’t going to plan. Whatever that plan was.

Movement made Corbin glance up.

The man Luna had KO’d stirred, pushing himself up on shaky arms. Corbin’s heart sank as he watched Number Three’s hand close around something on the ground. The streetlight glinted off metal, and he recognized the distinctive shape of a gun.

“Luna, move!” He scrambled for cover behind a parked sedan.

A crack.

The rush of air as a round whizzed past.

The shower of glass raining down on his head.

He crouched lower and pressed himself against the cool metal of the vehicle, willing his racing heart to slow. Shards crunched under his feet as he shifted position.

Where was Luna? He couldn’t see her. Had she found cover? Was she hit? He strained his ears, trying to pick up any sound that might give him a clue to either her location or the gunman’s.

Another gunshot. The sound jolted him, shattering his focus. Luna. Was she hit? Was she firing? He couldn’t tell.

Corbin crouch-walked toward Number Three. In the darkness he saw Hitch on his feet, hobbling away. He melted into the shadows between parked cars. Corbin started to give chase, but a bullet exploded the sideview mirror beside his head. Bits of plastic flew into his face, his hair.

He dropped to his belly and saw Luna flat on her stomach on the other side of the car.

For a moment, they lay there. The only sound was their ragged breathing. The dim orange glow from a nearby parking light spilled across the asphalt between them, just enough for Corbin to make out Luna’s face beneath the car. A mix of exhaustion and adrenaline in her eyes.

He pointed to himself, then to Luna.

She nodded.

Using his forearms and the sides of his feet, he combat-crawled, inching his way around the car. The cut on his side burned like fire, but he kept moving. When he reached Luna, he whispered, “You okay?”

“I’ll live, but I think he’s got my gun.” They were close. Close enough to feel her breath mingle with his. “We need to get out of here.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, let’s give it a minute.”

Two minutes passed. Five.

He was about to suggest they make a run for his car when tires screeched in the distance. Corbin drew his gun, wincing at the slight click sound. He crouched and peered through the windows of the Subaru they used as cover.

A dark SUV had pulled up, its engine idling. The driver’s door swung open at the same time the rear liftgate opened. Hitch slid out, looking unsteady but determined. Number Three dragged the dead body of the linebacker toward the vehicle.

The two men loaded the body into the cargo space and pressed the power button. Corbin heard a faint warning beep as the gate closed, sealing the dead man inside. Two doors slammed. The SUV rammed into gear and sped to the end of the aisle and turned toward them.

“Let’s go.” He pulled himself up, stifling a groan.

Keeping their heads low, they sprinted across the parking lot, ducking behind cars for cover. His side burned with every step, but he pushed on. They couldn’t afford to slow down. Not when they didn’t know if more attackers were lying in wait.

When they reached his car, Corbin opened Luna’s door.

He watched for movement in the lot while she slipped inside.

Once she was safe, he darted to the driver’s side, climbed in, and shut the door.

He rested his gun on his thigh and wrapped his other arm around his middle to cover the ache in his side.

“I saw them leave the parking lot heading north,” Luna said.

“Good. I’ll call it in. Just ... give me a second.” He sagged in his seat, the adrenaline draining from his system. Without its numbing effects, the pain in his side flared. He looked down at his hand, surprised to see his fingers slick with blood.

“Luna,” he said. “We have a problem.”