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The shorter man I didn’t recognize.
“You,” Shorty said, pointing an angry finger. “You hurt my sister.” That explained who he was. The idiot brother, Stanislav—the one even airhead Ariana called stupid.
“She never got hurt when I was with her.” I kept it simple for rocks-for-brains.
Shorty kept coming. “You walk away. She get cut. Your fault.” He parroted his father’s faulty logic.
“Not my problem. She fired me.” I stood my ground. Distance was not my friend here. With a gun in play, I needed them close to have a chance. Even if I hadn’t released Terry for the night, he couldn’t have arrived in time. “Now leave. This is private property.”
Shorty laughed and then spat on the ground. “We fix you.”
They all moved forward.
My adrenaline surged as I prepared. “I’m warning you.” Pretending I was scared, I took a small step away and forcefully pushed Serena farther back. “Stay behind me, baby.”
Shorty was still flapping his gums but hadn’t pulled a weapon, which gave me a chance. “Papa tell you. You not listen. Now you learn.” He nodded to Baldy, who stepped forward.
Baldy grinned and swung the barrel back and forth.
Tattoo Neck came up behind him.
“Which knee, pretty boy?” Shorty laughed.
Baldy moved closer, keeping his feet tight together. “Or shoot…” He waved the gun in the air. “Your woman.”
Big mistake.“You will not threaten her,” I growled.
“Or what, pretty boy?” Shorty snorted.
With his feet together like that, Baldy couldn’t quickly move sideways or back.
Tossing my phone, I lunged.
I was almost there when the gun went off.
Serena
I pushedpaper at the EPA. How had this become my life?
I felt Duke tense, then he threw his phone and jumped. The big, bald man fired, and my heart stopped.
Duke landed a kick to the guy’s gun arm, and the weapon went flying.
The tattooed one moved up to swing, and he missed as Duke landed a punch on his neck and a kick to that guy’s midsection, sending him against a parked car.
Bald Guy recovered and swung wildly, hitting Duke in the side. Duke retaliated with a combination of punches to the man’s face that made him look like a bobblehead doll before he slumped to the ground.
The tattooed one got up and ran at Duke, who stopped him with a kick to the head. He went down in a heap. Their boss, the short one, watched slack-jawed as my man took out his two thugs. He fumbled at his pocket.
If he pulled out a gun, this wouldn’t end well. I screamed and hurled myself toward him.
Duke punched the bald one again when he tried to get up.
The boss was still having trouble with the Velcro on his pocket when I reached him and launched a woman’s best offense—a kick to his balls. He didn’t swivel enough to escape, and my shoe landed solidly. With a cry like he was dying, he crumpled to the ground and curled into the fetal position.
Duke landed another fist to the bald one’s head as the doorman jogged up. The bald guy went limp.
“My goodness, Mr. Hawk. What happened?” The doorman’s accent was British.
