Page 21 of Inez

"Let's create defensive positions with the SUVs," I tell Ren.

He nods, and we pull the G-Wagens into a half-ring around the side door; the main entrance is well-nigh impregnable by design, so this side entrance is the only possible way in for attackers. We park the SUVs in staggered formation, so there isn't a straight line to the door.

We take up positions in the first line of vehicles, crouched behind tires, waiting.

"Jakob got that notification several minutes ago," Lorenzo says. "I was under the impression that that meant they were a hell of a lot closer than this."

"We have an early warning system. Anyone approaching the Club during the day passes through a series of laser sensors that trigger video cameras," I explain. "Those cameras use algorithms to determine speed and formulate an ETA." I gesture at the hills. "We have them up there, as well—laser trip wires along the paths in the hills, so we can't be flanked without warning." My phone chimes, then. "Speaking of which, we have contact in the hills."

I pass the message along to Toro and Taj.

"Too bad we don’t have a sniper," Lorenzo says. "It would be nice to have oversight up there on the roof. They could put a rifleman up in those hills and pick us off."

I eye him. "A good point." Another chime from my phone—the nearest set of cameras shows a caravan of black Tahoes approaching at breakneck speed; I count five. "We'll hold them off here. You go take out that contact in the hills. I'm only seeing one, at the moment."

Lorenzo nods. "On it." He leans in and kisses my cheek. "Don't die."

My cheek burns where he kissed it, and I have a sudden, powerful, and inexplicable urge to kiss him. Before I can second-guess myself, I'm wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and pulling him down to me and my mouth is fusing to his and my tongue steals against his lips and I'm moaning low in my throat at the lush feel of his mouth. He growls, hunching over me, clutching my jaw in one strong hand, sucking my tongue into his mouth.

We part after a too-brief moment, both of us panting.

"You either," I whisper.

Brow furrowed, chest heaving, Lorenzo peers down at me, shocked and aroused. He opens his mouth to speak, but I shove him roughly away. "Don't," I breathe. "Just go."

He stumbles backward a few steps, easily catching his balance. He nods. "Eu te amo."

He doesn't wait for an answer he knows isn't coming, but turns and jogs away toward the hills, picking up speed rapidly until he's running flat out across the baking oven of the blacktop parking lot. His figure dwindles into the distance, becoming hazy in the shimmering heat waves. His pace only slows slightly as he begins ascending the hills.

When he is out of sight, I wait with my back to the tire.

"Contact," Taj's quiet voice says. "Two hundred yards. Five vehicles. If each carries eight men, we could be facing up to forty tangos."

"Affirmative," I answer. "Don’t fire until I give the order."

"Roger," he says. "One hundred yards. Fifty. They're stopping. I count…seven in the first vehicle. Vests, rifles. These are not untrained thugs, I believe."

I twist in place and rise to peer over the hood. The tangos have parked in a single file line and are exiting their cars andforming twin lines on either side of the vehicles. They jog toward the entrance, rifles raised. I let them approach until the last man has cleared the cover of the SUVs, and then I give the order. "Fire at will."

I tuck my rifle butt tight against my shoulder, peer through the reticle, putting the dot on the lead tango.POP!The freakily quiet HK416 jolts my shoulder with a click of the bolt, and my target drops, a red hole in his forehead weeping crimson down his nose. Pink spray bathes the man behind him, momentarily stunning him. I thumb the fire selector switch to semi-auto and squeeze off a trio of rounds, dropping the tango behind my first target and raking the line of my fire further back, squeezing off burst after burst. Above me, Toro and Taj are firing as well—I can't hear their rifles, but I see targets dropping one after another.

At least half a dozen tangos are down within the first few seconds of contact—the element of surprise at work. They haven’t even gotten off a single shot, yet.

CRACKCRACKCRACK!An M4 barks from their side and something hot whickers past my ear—too damn close for my comfort. I twist and drop to my ass, let out a harsh breath, and then pop back up.CRACKCRACKCRACK!Their rounds whizz over my head as I find a target—a short, powerfully built Hispanic man with a bandana across his mouth and nose, a backward ball cap on his head. He's aiming at the roof. I drop him, swing bead to the next target, drop him. In my peripheral vision, I see men in the other line dropping with sprays of red.

The tangos are getting organized, now, however. They're pouring suppressive fire up at Toro and Taj, and now rounds are whipping, whickering, buzzing, and snapping around me, forcing me to drop down as the Mercedes' body thunks with incoming rounds.

I bolt for the next nearest SUV, feeling something catch at my braid. I scramble behind the SUV, panting; I grab my braid and examine it. A round neatly severed it about an inch above the tie. "Bastards," I mutter to myself.

I remove the hair tie, re-wrap it above the point of damage, and use my balisong to slice away the dangling remnants.

Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention—Lorenzo sprinting across the parking lot as rounds chew up blacktop at his heels. He reaches the relative cover of the rear of Club Sin, dropping to a knee and ripping off a series of bursts intended more to suppress than to kill, although he does drop at least one tango. He's in motion again almost immediately, sprinting hard for the doorway. He grunts in pain as he nears the SUV a few feet away from the one I'm taking cover behind, stumbling and tripping into a tuck-and-roll, skidding to a halt on his back and then scrambling behind the wheel, gasping raggedly.

"Motherfucker," he pants in English. "They shot me in the ass." This is in Portuguese.

"Show me."

"I'm fine. Grazed it. Not to worry." His nose is bleeding and his shirt is cut at his belly, a thin red line slicing across his navel.