Lone Spy

The familiar pop of a gun rings out, and I’m slammed up against the wall with Ash’s giant form blocking me. All I can see is his tie pin—the eagle’s beady black eyes glinting with chips of onyx.

Ash’s focus is behind us, his left wrist raised as he speaks into his sleeve. His other hand is on my waist, circling half of it. All around us people are screaming and running. Totally freaked out. Which makes sense, someone is shooting at us.
Rage bubbles up in my chest. My corset digs into my sides as my lungs desperately try to expand.
Ash looks down at me with narrowed eyes. Spots are starting to dance in my vision. This stupid dress. I can’t get out of it on my own. Never again will I agree to wear something this dangerous.

His hand on my waist scoops me up, and his other arm snakes under my legs—the move is effortless, like I weigh nothing. I let out a small, sharp sound of surprise. Ash is carrying me like I’m a damsel in distress, and because of this stupid dress and my inability to say no to it, I guess I am.
Ash takes off at a run. My breath is caught in the confines of the dress. My heart is pounding. I wrap my arms around his neck and try to hold on. Try to breathe. All I can see is his tie pin. All I can smell is Ash’s scent: raw cedar wood, leather, and citrus.
He’s running down a hallway, the lights flashing in spears as we pass under fluorescent bars. I can’t get enough air. We’re barreling past people—they’re all a blur in my peripheral vision.

There is shouting—inarticulate words sucked behind us as Ash sprints. I’m nestled against the chest of this giant man, here to protect only me. It doesn’t feel right. I’m not a helpless damsel. I’m a trained agent.
I killed a man as large and dangerous as Ash. No, not as dangerous. Because Ivan underestimated me. Ash understands me.
He spins, and my fingers dig into the back of his neck, cresting over the collar of his shirt and touching hot skin slicked with fresh sweat. My vision darkens at the edges, his tie pin the center of my universe.
Ash smashes his back against an emergency exit and the alarm blares as we break out into the dying light of the Los Angeles evening. A roaring engine then squealing brakes. Ash hefts me into one arm, and my face is pushed higher up his body, my cheek on his shoulder, my nose in the hollow of his throat. His scent is all I know as I pull it raggedly through my lips.
The sound of a car door opening and Ash leans down and hefts me into the vehicle. I land with a thud, tumbling half off the seat. Ash consumes the space next to me, the door slams shut, and the SUV barrels forward, throwing me against the seat.
I can’t breathe. My fingers claw at my bodice, useless and numb. Ash’s thick arm wraps around my waist and hefts me closer. Rough fingers slip between me and the gown. He rips it, buttons popping, exploding off me as the fabric gives at his demand.

Air rushes into my lungs. I hang over Ash’s arm, taking in deep breaths, my vision quickly clearing. My forearms rest on the black leather seat, my gown flopped around me. His hot breath hits my naked back as the tires hum under us.