Page 80 of Mercenary

Hayden’s going to be pissed they got to her before I could grab her.

Two of Franco’s men stand in front, flanked by three in the back.

Unlucky five.

Goddamn it. Wrong place at the wrong time, baby. Should have stuck with me. It’s your own damn fault.

I watch and wait. Something I excel at, my patience.

Except my foot’s tapping . . . I stop it, midtap.

The leader kicks in the door. A macho, show-off move. Picking the lock would have been the smarter choice, subtle, with less noise. An obvious sign they underestimate Kylie.

Then they disappear into the room.

Gunfire echoes across the parking lot. More than two, when they only need one bullet per woman. Kylie’s prepared, and fighting back.

I flex the knuckles on my free hand, realizing I’ve pulled my fingers into a tight fist.

Fuck. FUCK.

Five men means there’s an odd man out, which colors things differently. Five means there’s one too many men to take on with ease, that extra bullet that needs to be fired.

Unlucky five.

With a sister to protect.

Shit odds. She better not goddamn risk it.

I clench my jaw, then release it. No time to dwell on misplaced emotions. Opening my door, I step outside, keeping to the shadows. Positioning myself for when they drag both women outside. The advantage of surprise is on my side.

I hear another gunshot. A single one. The hair on my arms pricks up.

Screw me.

The two men leading the charge reappear, limping and leaving trails of blood as they haul off an unconscious redhead. Kylie’s blood? Or theirs? But she’s alive. No sense in hauling away a dead body.

I hug a column as another guy reappears. Bleeding and favoring his left leg. Livid, pissed off, and cursing a blue streak as he follows the first two men to a car. Yeah, Kylie has that effect on men.

While their attention’s on “that bitch,” I swiftly cross the parking lot, guns trained on the men. Two easy shots, with one bonus shot for the big guy. Saving me from having to reload a few extra for later, if need be.

I step forward, taking aim at their backs.

What the hell is taking the remaining assholes so long?

Fuck me.

I drop my arms and, before I can change my mind, stalk toward the open motel room door and step inside.

A man lays sprawled out across the carpet. I step over him, noticing the bullet between his eyes. I frown, spotting Madelyn’s small gun on the floor near his foot. What the hell? But a noise comes from the bathroom, distracting me.

A slap?

A goddamn slap.

That goddamn motherfucker . . .

I stalk to the bathroom and thrust the door open, filling the doorway as I force myself to pause and assess the situation.