Page 22 of August

He moved, and she held fast to his belt. His body jerked a few times. Panic rose inside her. Oh, god. The door was stuck.

Her heart rate accelerated and claustrophobia mounted. Her lungs screamed, ready to burst. Water threatened to rush into her nose if she dared to take a breath.

August’s words resounded in her head. I won’t let you die.

He wouldn’t.

Her ears ached under the pressure. A loud creak sounded and suddenly the water in the car flowed toward the door, mixing with the rapids outside. August seized her wrist from his buckle and yanked her though the opening.

His hands were rough and strong on her waist as he surged upwards, the current carrying them along. She broke through the surface, and air hit her lungs as she gasped greedily, her hand still on August’s belt.

He came up beside her, swiping his face and taking a big breath. His gaze swung toward the bridge. “Get down!” His hand went to the back of her head, forcing her back under the unforgiving river.

Crack, crack!

Bullets whizzed through the water. August’s hand was on her back, propelling her deeper. Her chest spasmed with the need for air, and she fought against his force.

August swept his arm around her waist, holding her back to his front. Her consciousness flickered as she kicked, desperately needing a breath. He must have sensed her urgency because they surfaced. Her lungs sucked in air.

The current spun them in a circle. Gigi looked around frantically for the shooter as they moved under the bridge. August grabbed a large rock and kept them in place. She clung to the boulder, digging her fingernails into the hard slate. August’s chest was still at her back, pinning her in place. “You okay?” he shouted.

She nodded and slapped her hair from her face. “Where is he?”

“He was up the hill. He probably went to the top to see if we came out on the other side of the bridge. Can you hang on?”

She gripped his arm and turned to meet his face before he could swim away. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take him out. I need you to wait here. Don’t get swept away and don’t try to get to land. He won’t be able to see you if you stay on this side of the rock.” His face was close to hers, and the place on her side where his hand rested was the only partially warm spot on her body.

“Be careful.”

August’s eyes darkened. “Don’t worry. This fucker is done.” He brushed his lips over her temple. Though she knew the gesture was probably one of reassurance, the stupid butterflies in her tummy went wild.

She watched as he kicked away and swam swiftly across the water despite the pulling current. He reached the low point of the river under the bridge, pulled himself up on the rocks, and then stalked toward the bridge. In one quick and deadly motion, he pulled his gun from the small of his back. Somehow, it’d stayed in place during their escape.

His jeans were soaked through, dragging on the rocks, and the noise of his boots squelching over the crashing rapids reached her ears.

Her extremities stiffened as the cold took over her body. Part of her wanted to attempt the short swim, but she forced herself to stay put. Not only was she not keen on getting shot—she also wasn’t keen on being the reason August got shot.

As August climbed, the assassin from the diner appeared at the top of the grass. Gigi choked on a gasp, lowering herself further into the water. The urge to scream and warn August was so great she bit her tongue to stop herself.

But August must have heard the guy’s approach because he stayed low. If the assassin ducked, he’d see August was only feet away.

Gigi’s fingertips dug into the rough, wet stone. Her arms and legs tingled, weak and frozen. The water swirled around her lower body, pulling her away from the rock. She placed her arm on a small nook to brace herself. If she didn’t move soon, she’d be swept away.

CHAPTER 8

August leapt from beneath the bridge, throwing his fist into the assassin’s face. The man’s head jerked to the side and he stumbled. August then slammed his foot into the guy’s kneecap, sending him to the rocks. Satisfaction gripped August’s muscles as he gave another kick, this one snapping the gun from the man’s hold.

The bastard grunted and rolled to his knees, revealing an exit wound on his shoulder—likely the result of the shoot-out at the diner. August’s jaw clenched with the need to put a bullet in the cocksucker’s head. Using his foot again, he shoved the man in the ass. He landed face-first on the stones.

August’s biceps bunched with unspent power, and he clenched his hands into fists. “Who the fuck sent you?” he demanded.

He knew one of the Mexican cartels had sent the assassin, but with Fernando dead, someone else was behind this. And he needed a name.

The man let out a grunt of pain and flopped onto his back. Blood dribbled from his lips and his two front teeth were broken. “Fuck you,” he growled in a thick Spanish accent.

August smirked and pressed his boot down on the front of the man’s bloody shoulder.

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