Page 39 of Relentless Knight

The garage is quiet—empty aside from four or five other cars—and the Italians seem to think that makes them safe. But it won’t, not when I’m seeing red.

“Your boss ignored Lucian’s last message. You remember what it is, Goliath?” he taunts.

Not that his nickname bothers me in the slightest. Because not one of these men is lucky enough to be David. And after tonight, they’ll all be dead. That I can promise. Still, Lucian’s message rings in my ears. If we don’t want to lose Quinn for good, you’ll stay out of Agosti business. Looks like their back to make good on that promise.

Only they don’t know who they’re messing with. And suddenly, I’m intensely grateful that Killian refused to take me off the task of protecting Quinn. Because I know without a doubt that I couldn’t trust anyone else with the task.

“If you want her,” I say darkly. “You’re going to have to take her from me.”

“I was hoping you might say that,” the man behind me states.

Then, as one, the three Agosti men converge on me at once.

Thankfully, I don’t see a gun, and I wonder if that’s because they want the challenge or if their boss warned them not to use a weapon that might accidentally take Quinn’s life. It wouldn’t surprise me if Lucian had darker plans than to simply kill her tonight.

Flicking a butterfly knife from his pocket, the lanky dark-haired guy I first spotted leaning against the SUV’s hood sweeps forward, coming at me with impressive speed.

Quinn gasps. “Lance,” she breathes, grip tightening around my arm.

And the response tells me without looking that the guy behind me is coming at me at the same time. “Get to the car the first chance you get. Lock yourself in,” I command, shoving the key fob into her pocket.

Then I crouch forward, dipping low to avoid the slashing knife. And as I grasp his wrist, I yank the cocky leader of the trio forward, launching him into the man behind me. That one’s a bit burlier, with broad shoulders and an ugly scar on his lip. But no amount of battle scars are going to help him now. As his partner’s knife catches him unexpectedly in the kidney.

And he drops like a rock.

“Bastardo,” the second guy snarls, the one with a tattoo that says Pedro on his neck.

Whether that’s his name or his lover’s, I couldn’t care less. He just stepped within reach. And I throat punch him hard enough to stop him in his tracks. He stumbles backward, and I take a step toward him, intending to finish the job.

Then a searing pain rips across my ribs.

I snarl, my palm clamping down on my side as I whirl. And when I spot the ringleader smirking with satisfaction, I’m ready to slap that smug look right off his face.

“Don’ttouchme!” Quinn screams, and my blood turns to ice when my head snaps in her direction.

Standing between her and the car is a fourth Italian—one I didn’t see before—and he’s coming at her far too quickly for me to intercept.

20

QUINN

I’m stunned by how quickly Lance can move. And he moves with lethal force. I’ve never seen anyone fight with such precision. Hell, I’ve never actually seen grown men fight in person before. But the speed with which Lance makes one of Lucian’s men take his ally’s life is shocking, to say the least.

And my ears start to ring as I watch him throat punch a second man. He’s so quick, it doesn’t look like a hard hit. But based on the choking sound emitting from the man’s red-turning-purple face, I think Lance might have broken the guy’s windpipe.

Watching Lance protect me is so much more terrifying now that our relationship has reached new heights. I’m more scared for his life than my own safety.But what can I do about it?

That’s when I recall his directions. Get to the car.

Clutching the keys in my palm, I make a run for it. Because even if Natasha taught me some self-defense, I’m clearly out of my league here. I press the unlock button repeatedly, watching the headlights flash to let me know the doors are open. And still I keep on clicking as I all-out sprint toward the Escalade.

My stomach plummets as another man steps from behind a concrete pillar—directly into my path. Gasping, I skid to a stop far too close to him for comfort.

“Going somewhere?” he asks playfully, his eyebrow quirking.

And just like the man who asked if Lance was fucking me, this one gives me a slow, appreciative once-over. Eyes raking from my feet to my face, I can tell that he won’t be holding back if he gets his hands on me. My stomach quivers, and I swallow convulsively as my mouth goes dry.

“Don’t touch me,” I warn, my heart hammering against my ribcage as I settle into the defensive stance Natasha taught me.

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