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I moved forward, almost close enough. “My lawyer has it. Anything happens to me, and it goes to the FBI.”
Pons’s face twisted in confusion.
I put my hand in my back pocket and grasped the cuffs.
He laughed. “No way.”
I threw the cuffs to the side, and Pons’s eyes followed, the way Duke had said they would.
I lunged forward, forcing his gun wrist up and away. “You cannot?—”
He fired.
God, that was loud.Throat.I slammed my other fist into his throat with all my might.
He coughed and dropped the gun, bringing his hand to his neck.
Eyes.I poked him hard in the eye with my thumb. “Shoot.”
His hands came up to his face.
Knee.When I kicked his knee, Pons crumpled. “My man.”
Duke was by me in a second, grabbing my arm. “What the hell?”
“I’m not done.”Groin.I kicked him hard, connecting right on target.
With a pained yell, Pons curled into a ball.
I blew out a breath. “Now I’m done.”
“He could have shot you,” Duke yelled in my face.
“He was about to shoot you,” I yelled back. Anger still fueled me when I kicked Pons again. “Nobody gets away with that.”
Duke pulled me back. “That’s enough.”
“Not nearly.”
Lucas burst in, gun raised, and stopped.
“You’re late,” Duke said, picking up the gun Pons had held.
“Yaroslavsky brought six guys with him. What happened here?”
Duke pointed to the two bleeding men. “I got those two.”
“After Spinelli shot you,” I pointed out.
“And Serena beat the shit out of Pons here.”
“You got shot four times,” I yelled at my man.
Lucas’s voice was concerned. “You okay?”
“The vest did its job, but it hurts like a motherfucker.”
“Four, huh? You’ll need x-rays.”
