He’s zeroing in on me, getting too close. I have to move or his third shot will tag me. I creep away from the darkened vet’s office where Havana is currently on a shift and plaster myself behind a pillar in front of an abandoned office supply store. Firing back isn’t my best course of action since I only have a handgun, and he’s in a moving car. I’m better off just GTFOing and slipping away in the dark of night.
Two boarded storefronts over, a chain-link fence cordons off a section of the lot where the property owners tried to give this dump a facelift and gave up. If I hop to the other side, I can disappear around the back to my car, then melt into the traffic beyond the alley.
Heart racing, I dash from the pillar on one side of the double glass doors to the other. The car screeches around again. The driver’s window drops. He fires another shot at me, narrowly missing when I flatten myself on the sidewalk, going as low profile as possible.
The second he misses, I’m on my feet again. It will be a race to the fence to see if he gets another shot off before I’m gone.
I launch myself onto the chain link, throwing one leg over, and I’m about to hop to relative freedom—at least there he can’t chase me without doing a bunch of damage to his sweet ride—when the fucker squeezes off another shot.
It rips through my coat and gouges its way up my arm, taking a hunk of my flesh with it. It burns. In seconds, blood wells and starts to soak my T-shirt.
That’s going to leave a mark and fucking slow me down. Adrenaline will keep me going for a bit, but it won’t last. I have to find my car and escape.
Or I’ll be as easy to pick off as a pinned target at a practice range.
A quick scan tells me there’s nowhere to hide on this side of the fence. No portico or pillars. No corners or niches. My only chance is to run around the side of the building and disappear into the alley—three buildings over.
The good news is, he’d have to be a damn good shot to hit me again. The bad news is, so far he’s proven he is.
Heaving in a rough breath, I foot-race toward safety, rain soaking my jeans. A volley of shots follows. Apparently, this guy doesn’t care who hears his attempts to kill me. Then again, no one in this neighborhood bats an eyelash at gunfire.
My mind races as I sprint for the corner. He’s squeezed off ten rounds with that Glock—I recognize the sound—and if he’s got a standard mag, he has five remaining shots.
That’s a lot of bullets to outrun.
Thankfully, he misses with the next two. Then he swings the car around, heading straight for the fence before plowing it over.
So much for the front end of his shiny Mercedes. But that’s not my concern.
He floors it, all the power of his horses zooming down on me.
I press myself against the building, cursing the fact that the facade has been torn off, stripping it down to white. I’m wearing head-to-toe black. There’s nowhere to hide.
I’m fucked.
Another shot misses narrowly when it pings against the plaster less than a foot from my ribs. He keeps hauling ass, and the next round comes even closer, inches from my head.
One more bullet in his mag, and the corner is in sight.
Almost there…
The guy—he might not be using an assassin’s weapon, but he shoots as well as one—takes aim. Finally, I reach the corner of the building, and I yank myself toward it and freedom when he takes his last shot.
It digs through the left side of my neck, burning like a bitch.
Blood spurts and seeps. If the asshole nicked my artery—and he fucking might have—I’ve got minutes to live.
I can’t panic. I’m out of his view and, bleeding or not, if I intend to escape and call for help, it’s got to be now.
I drag myself to my car, feeling warm blood trickling down my chest to be absorbed by my rain-damp shirt. I fumble for my keys, knowing this SOB won’t be far behind. He’ll change his clip and hunt me down. It’s what I’d do to my mark.
But I see he’s already planned ahead since I have four flat tires.
This isn’t random. He knows my car. He knows me on sight.
He’s marked me for death.
Fuck, I will not lie here and die in a goddamn wet alley, victim of some unseen shooter for a cause I didn’t have a chance to snuff out.
But what about Havana? I can’t risk her. I can’t drag her into danger.
But you want to claim her? Marry her? Breed her?
I hope like fuck the would-be killer on my tail has no idea why I’m here. I have to warn her. If I can disappear into the vet’s office before my blood leaves a trail, he’ll be none the wiser. But I’ve got to be smart. I have to misdirect him before I dare approach Havana.