Last Breath (Hitman #2)(66)
Author: Jessica Clare

“One. Two.” We both spring upward and over the counter. Hudson’s men are still looking to the sides, and it is too late for them because by the time I’m over the counter, I’ve shot both in the head. Petrovich shoots another man at the entrance. For a moment, there is silence. Only the echoes of the bullets remain.

“Now,” I gesture toward the girls with my gun, but Naomi isn’t moving and Regan seems uncertain about following my command and leaving Naomi behind. If I didn’t love her before, my heart about seizes now as I see the care that Regan’s showing toward Naomi. Yeah, Regan’s never getting rid of me.

My side is aching like crazy, but I run toward Naomi—only Petrovich beats me there. He picks her up and slings her over his shoulder as if she’s a sack of rice. “Let’s go.”

I don’t wait for another invitation. Grabbing Regan’s hand, we run outside. The caterer’s van is still there, doors completely open and the metal siding riddled with bullets. I throw Regan inside and Petrovich does the same with Naomi. We slap the doors shut, and then Petrovich heads for the hood. He fiddles with something before coming around the driver’s side.

“Distributor cap?” I ask.

He nods, puts the van in reverse, and floors it. The girls fly backward against their seats. “Get down,” I bark. Regan pulls Naomi down as I lean out the door to shoot at the guards by the front gate that is closing. “Don’t fucking stop this vehicle.”

Petrovich grunts but doesn’t slow. I have six bullets left. There are three guards. The van is swaying like a drunk trying to walk on the train tracks. Lifting the gun, I sight the first guard, the one almost squatting. I shoot his kneecap off, and he topples over. The van lists to the side as Petrovich runs him over.

The guard by the gate is next. He gets two shots. One in the forehead. Poof. One in the chest. For surety. The third guard is on Petrovich’s side, which requires me to haul my ass out of the van and sit in the window so I can shoot him over the top of the van. A lucky return shot wings me in the shoulder and makes my first shot go wide, but I correct and the next two take him down as Petrovich slams into the now-closed gates. The force wrenches me forward, and I would have fallen out of the van window if not for Petrovich and Regan dragging me back inside.

“Thanks, fighter.”

Regan gives me a wan smile. Turning around, I see Naomi curled in a ball on the floor. The only thing that matters is she’s alive. Holy hell. We’re all okay. Petrovich drives like a madman for Tears of God favela and it still seems like it takes too long. “I think I ripped the glue on my side,” I tell Regan.

She looks worriedly at me. “Let me see.”

“Nah, it’s nothing.” Although I do feel light-headed. It’s the result of being whipped around outside of the van. Maybe I knocked my head and can’t remember it. “I want you to know that you were fucking amazing back there.”

“Rrrright,” she snorts. “I ran. I screamed. I wouldn’t give the gun to Petrovich.”

“You were trying to take care of my sister in all that bullshit. Thank you,” I tell her. “Now come over here and kiss me like the hero I am.”

This puts a smile on her face, and she clambers onto my lap. I ignore the fierce burn on my side and the one in my shoulder, because who cares about that? I’ve got a warm armful of Regan Porter in my lap. Fighter. Survivor. Kickass human being. “I tell you I love you?”

“Not yet.”

“Love you, babe,” I croak out. Pulling her down, I part her lips with my own, and her tongue slides along mine, sending happy bolts of electricity down to my groin. She arches against me, and I revel in the feel of her slight breasts rubbing against my chest. The memories of our heated night together run in a loop behind my closed eyes. My hands drop down to cup her ass cheeks and pull her closer to me.

“Ow,” I grunt when her hand presses against my shoulder. She starts to move away, but I draw her back down. I can’t get enough of her. I want to lift her shirt and cover the tip of her breast with my tongue, suck her whole tit inside my mouth until I’m stuffed full of her. “Uhh,” I grunt again, the pain in my shoulder more acute. Shifting her to the side, I manage to dislodge her hand, and the relief is immediate. But I can’t stop kissing her. I don’t care that Petrovich is two feet away from me. My only thought is getting her closer to me. Her soft hands are cupping my face, and I’ve got sweet ass in my palms. I try to open my eyes to stare at her, to watch her lust-filled gaze as she grinds down on me, but there’s a fog that’s obscuring my vision. The pressure of her lips is decreasing, and she’s calling my name. I struggle to respond. My mouth is open, but there’s no sound coming out of it. Regan. I call to her. Regan. Regan. Regan. But there’s no response. No sound. Only a roaring in my ears and then . . . nothing.

Twenty-five

Regan

THERE ’S NO WORSE FEELING IN the world than kissing a man and realizing he’s going completely limp under you.

I don’t understand what’s happening to Daniel at first. We’re kissing and all over each other, the adrenaline of escaping Hudson’s compound racing through his body like it’s racing through mine. But then his lips part and fall slack, and I’m confused. I sit up and realize the spark in his eyes has gone glassy. “Daniel?”

When his eyes roll back, I scream. “Daniel?” I repeat his name over and over, tapping his cheek. “Daniel? Daniel!”

There’s no response. I slide off of him and gasp to see blood soaking the side of his shirt and a similar spot on his shoulder. “Oh my God, how fucking hurt is he?”

“Too loud, too loud,” Naomi cries behind us in the van. Her hands are pressed over her ears, and she huddles in a small ball on the floorboards. “Too loud!”

“Everyone fucking shut up,” Vasily growls at us. “I am driving!”

I want to comfort Naomi, but I’m scared for Daniel. His face is so pale. I rip at his shirt, now stained with blood, to see what the damage is. There’s a spot on his shoulder that’s leaking blood, but his side is worse. It looks like he’s been hit a second time, and there’s blood everywhere. I choke back a sob and begin tearing his shirt up, pressing the fabric against the wounds to stop the blood. I’m covered in it. I’d rip the nightgown I’m wearing off of my body, but it’s all I’ve got.