Page 7 of Guarding Grace

The corny movie line got a laugh from Skinny Dude. “Fuck off. She’s going to tell us where Spider is.”

The brute kept coming. “We’re going to fuck you up so—” He didn’t have time to finish his threat before Terry launched a series of hits and kicks that made Jackie Chan in a karate movie seem like slow motion.

His knife hit the ground, and Terry kicked it under a car.

The brute crumpled, wheezing after a final throat punch from Terry.

Skinny Dude lunged.

Terry sidestepped and threw him against the wall. My phone clattered to the ground.

The guy bounced off the bricks, turned, and ran right into Terry’s fist. His head snapped back with the sickening sound of crunching cartilage. He ended up motionless on the sidewalk.

Running footsteps approached. “Terry?” The voice was Zane’s.

“Here,” Terry answered, picking up Skinny Dude’s knife.

Zane ran up. “What the fuck?”

“These two attacked Grace.”

“I have to go,” I announced.

Time was slipping away, and I had to meet the kidnapper.

Terry ignored me. “Call Constance—I think she just left—and take these two to our guest rooms at Hawk.”

Constance was the ex-Secret Service woman working at Hawk.

I’d been inside their building and seen the holding cells they referred to asguest accommodations. I moved away from the car.

Terry held up a hand to block my path. “Grace got hit in the head. I’ll take her to get checked out.”

Zane flipped on his phone’s flashlight. “Who are they?”

I shouldn’t have looked.

Skinny Dude was bleeding—a lot.

Nausea swept over me as the world went from dim to black.

Terry

I watchedGrace’s face go ashen and heard the long sigh, but I realized too late what was happening.

She went limp, fell to the ground beside the car, and hit her head before I could reach her.

“Fuckers,” Zane spat.

Gently, I lifted Grace, cradling her head. “I’ve got to get her to the hospital.”

“Go,” Zane ordered as he picked up her cell phone. “Take this. I got these two dirtbags.”

With her phone in my pocket, I took off for the restaurant at a jog, supporting Grace’s limp body as best I could.

The valets gawked at me as I ran past.

“Call 9-1-1,” I yelled as I made it back to the party. “Grace was attacked.”