I nod and wait for him to make the next move. Once he cracks the door open, he starts to run in the direction of a nearby SUV. We both do. He doesn’t take his burning touch off me, firing a few rounds at the guys shooting at us. We keep going even though the incoming bullets are relentless.
“Get down.” He uses his weight to bundle me onto the pavement, my lungs deflating in a sharp exhale when he lands on top of me. Flat on my back, he straddles my pelvis to shield me and continues to shoot into the street.
The scene above me unfolds in slow motion. If I should die here today, I’ll know this dangerous man had tried to protect me. He didn’t abandon his runaway captive to save his own ass or use my body as a human shield.
From down here, his eyes are so venomous and his expression vacant. Every bullet he unleashes doesn’t faze him. Not one bit. There are no visible signs of fear in his features. Until he glances down at me and I get the strangest feeling he’s anxious.
With his muscular body as my only cover, he hurriedly frees me from under him.
“Move.” He barks out the order. “Get to the SUV. I’ll cover you.”
I rise to my haunches, my heart thumping in all the madness. More bullets speed through the air, one of them too close. “Fucking run, Carina.” His voice booms.
I scramble forward and start to move, my feet carrying me away from him. The closer I get to the vehicle, the more I panic. Looking over my shoulder, I witness the first bullet soar through the air to find its mark. His body jars and he crashes to his knees. Blood blooms from his bicep and his gun skids across the sidewalk, out of reach.
In that fearful second, he catches my eye, his face contorted with so much anger that he's barely recognizable. The next bullet slows in the precious seconds of time, missing him by a whisper.
A shout sounds from behind me, followed by a gunshot. I freeze and more shots are fired and men yell. And then I run, not to the glossy black SUV, but to Tomás. He rises amidst the fracas, his shirt decorated in crimson and his gaze locked with mine. Maybe this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t leave him. I have to help. It’s in my nature.
He ducks to grab his gun and I latch onto his good arm.
“Come on!” I pant, pulling at him.
Together we run, him beside me, both of us dodging a spray of machine gun ammunition. Whizzing slugs shatter shop windows and superficially burrow into the bullet proof vehicle we’re now hiding behind. The back passenger door swings open and Tomás pushes me in first, his hand on the crown of my head to keep me low.
When the door slams shut behind him, wheels screech, and the gunfire fades. The further away we get, the deeper I breathe. I’m huddled on one side and he’s on the other. His hands are upturned and fresh blood oozes from the wound under his shirt. He just sits there, motionless, eyes glazed, and his horror-struck attention focused on whatever hell exists in his mind.
I shiver, unsure of how to approach him. This isn't any normal car journey. He’s bleeding and on the verge of a crisis that might not work in my favor. And I’m a prisoner to the tortured man who can set my world on fire.
“Tomás,” I say his name softly.
“What the fuck is going on, Tommy?” The henchman driving the SUV says to him while staring at our reflection in the rearview mirror. Turning his head to catch a glimpse of the blood, the whites of his eyes gleam with fury. “Fuck, the bastards shot you... I’ll call the doc.” He taps the screen on the console and the audio speaker connects to a gruff voice. “Tommy’s been hit. Bring Luciano to the compound. We’ll be there in thirty.”
The driver swears and thumps the steering wheel. His gaze returns to the busy road where he recklessly weaves the blacked-out vehicle through busy traffic.
I shrug out of the expensive suit jacket that holds the muskiness of Tomás’ cologne and slowly unbutton the shirt I’d borrowed. It’s a crazy thing to do, but these days I’m more than a few degrees off balance. One decision away from insanity, and this damaged man, is the catalyst.
When I’m naked, I hang the jacket over my shoulders again and scoot across the leather upholstery, reaching his rigid physique. The familiar coppery waft of blood doesn’t bother me at all. Not in the same way it affects this man. Turning into him, the side of my knee rests on the slippery seat, now covered in a dark red slick.
Long lashes lower to hide his coal-colored eyes and he inhales steadily, as if taming the feral beast hurtling through his grisly thoughts.
Certain the bullet missed a main artery, I twist the shirt to form a long snake shape, then cautiously slide it underneath his arms and tie it tightly over the wound. He doesn’t flinch at the pressure, but when I go to move away, his head snaps around like I've woken a viper.
My belly flips, immobilized under his dangerous glare. Neither of us speaks. We just stay still, both of us breathing in the same quick rhythm. He swallows and licks his lips with dark intent. I sense exactly what he needs from the animalistic flare of his enlarged pupils.
He needs an anchor.
Tracks of blood cover his hand like broken veins. He holds it before his nose and stares at the mess as if the shock of it all is finally hitting. Rather than lose himself to the pain, he lowers the injured arm and narrowed eyes settle on me again.
“You didn’t run when I told you to.” The strained tone he uses doesn’t invite a response. “Which means you disobeyed me.”
“Would you rather I’d left you on the pavement?” I sigh loudly, frustrated by his interpretation of my helpful deed. “I’m just as annoyed as you are about it. My good nature seems to get me in trouble with bad people.”
In a flash, his clean hand seizes my neck and he winces at the sudden movement. I suck in sharply, my own hand flying up to his.
“You were told to keep running.” His voice is thicker, full of grit and authority. “Getting yourself killed is not helping me. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
By the demonic expression on his handsome face, I’m not sure I do. He’s manic, almost deranged, and no longer in control.