Page 63 of Fully Loaded

He heard sirens, and Dani’s gaze flickered around the hall. “Uh, Brock?”

He chuckled. “It’s all right. Rhett’s here,” he said, moving his shoulder out of her line of vision so she could see him.

Her mouth hung open and the skin above her brow puckered. “How . . .” She shook her head and Brock held out his hand.

“It’s all over now.”

Rhett’s footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned to look over his shoulder. Dani curled her fingers into his and he helped her to her feet.

“They’ll need to take you to the police station for statements and questions, but not to worry. Brock filled me in on who the real terrorists are and with that information, we won’t have a problem getting you both back to the United States ASAP.”

Dani nodded, but her delicate shoulders shivered. Brock wrapped his arm around her and held her against his chest. “It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you.” She circled her hand around his wrist and fire blasted from her aqua eyes.

Rhett cleared his throat. “They’ll need to separate you for your statement, but?—”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Bullets fired from the end of the hallway. Brock shoved Dani against the wall, blocking the spray of bullets with his body. One ripped through his shoulder and pain obliterated his senses. Rhett’s anguished curses reached Brock’s ears but he didn’t dare look.

Dani’s scream bounced off the walls, splitting his eardrums. She clapped her hands over her ears as the onslaught of shots ricocheted around her. Dust billowed around them and small pieces of debris whipped his skin.

“Who the hell is that?” Brock shouted as Rhett returned fire, throwing off the shooter.

“It’s Romy! The guard I fought off.”

More gunshots fired and Rhett howled. “Shit!” Rhett disappeared around the corner of the cafeteria door. “Brock, get her out!”

Fuck. There was no way out. The shooter advanced down the hallway. His black attire matched that of his dead partner’s. Murder blazed from his black eyes. They were locked on Dani, and so was the end of his gun. Brock wrenched open the door of the electrical room as more bullets rained down. He threw Dani into the room and crouched behind the open door.

Peeking around the corner, Brock spotted Rhett laying slumped on the ground. Blood pooled on the front of his shirt. Brock fumbled with the gun’s clip, but steel pellets littered the door, shaking it against Brock’s body.

“Brock!” Dani shouted. “Grab the gun!”

He tore his gaze to the assault rifle Rhett must have dropped. He dove into the hall, locked his hand around the neck strap, and pulled it to him. Keeping the door propped on his knee, he peeked around the corner and returned fire.

The gun blasted out bullets, shuddering against Brock’s shoulder. The guard dove for cover, but Brock’s shots ripped through the man’s legs. He yelled and cursed then fired again. Something bashed into the side of Brock’s head, knocking him off balance. Paralysis rolled down his arms and the gun landed at his feet.

“Police! Laissez tomber votre arme!”

Brock lowered the gun to the floor. He tried to raise his hands above his head, but the motion sent him tumbling backward. His tailbone connected with the hard floor. Dani’s chest slammed against his back, and he rested on her belly. Her hands rubbed his skin, cooling his heated flesh.

The loud hum of electricity buzzed with the vibrations of voices, and Brock’s mind drifted. Pain crackled in his skull, but he focused his gaze on Dani’s face and smiled.

Something’s wrong.

Tears flooded her cheeks. Her fingernails pierced his arms. He frowned at her.

“Honey, it’s all right. Don’t worry.” He reached for her face but the effort was too great. What the hell was wrong with him? Nausea catapulted into his windpipe, and he tried to shake off the buzzing noise in his ears as if it were an annoying gnat. It didn’t recede, so he stared at Dani’s mouth, reading her lips.

“Brock, you’ve been shot!”

He raised his hand to the searing pain at his head. Why the hell were his ears ringing so bad? And what was she screaming about? The bullet had torn through his shoulder and it hurt like a fucking bitch, but he wouldn’t die from it.

But damn, the pain in his head was persistent. His ear ached, and he remembered the infection he’d had as a kid. He groped the side of his head and hot liquid coated his fingertips. When he brought his hand in front of his face, it shook.

I’ve been shot in the head.