Page 79 of Under Control

“Fuck!” Andriy’s eyes widened, a touch of fear visible.

“Stop him!” Petrov flew off the handle, jumping toward Andriy. “Shoot him!”

Carrick swiftly took control of the room, moving to protect Danica. When she whipped around to look up at him, blood was dripping down her swollen cheek. She looked as surprised to see him as he had been to see her.

“Carrick—” she said, her voice trembling.

Still with a shaking arm, Andriy looked like he was ready to shit himself, his hand absently touching the black eye Carrick had given him earlier. Gasping for breath, Petrov desperately snatched the pistol from Andriy, pointing it at Carrick.

“Drop it or you both die!”

“Fuck you!” Carrick roared back at the old man, rushing closer to Danica.

“Carrick!” Danica screamed, but Carrick pushed her back, covering her body with his.

Petrov wobbled as he held the pistol, unadulterated hatred in his aging eyes. Wheezing, the weakened old man pulled the trigger several times, toppling over with the force of the recoil.

Carrick shielded Danica in place. After four gunshots and two bodies had hit the floor, Carrick held the crying woman tighter in his arms.

I have to save you.

“Carrick!” she sobbed into his chest. “Carrick—no!”

All he felt was searing pain.

Like he was in slow motion, he peeled away from her, assessing the scene. Andriy was shrieking, crumpled over on the floor, holding a bleeding wound on his shoulder. Petrov was convulsing on the ground, his eyes rolled back.

Hearing distant screams, Carrick was on autopilot. He had to get her to safety. Heaving her into his arms, unwilling to feel the pain tearing through him, he ran down the hall, calculating their exit. He ran like the goddamn building was on fire—down the stairs and into the lobby. The rear of his mind registered that he’d been injured. The only thing that felt good was Danica buried in his chest, grasping at him, leaving hot trails from her touch on his skin.

“You’re here,” she wept. “You found me.”

He just squeezed her tighter, feeling a lot of things he had no words for. Once outside the tower, Carrick crashed onto a sidewalk bench, placing her down beside him. The wetness down his back had gotten worse. He was bleeding.

“You’ve been shot,” Danica gasped, jumping up to assess him. “There’s blood everywhere. We need to get you to the hospital!”

Carrick was keeling over, dizzy and losing touch with reality. Danica was leaning over him, holding his head and with blood up her arms. Delta came running, clearly laser focused on him.

“Call an ambulance! And the police!” Danica cried out.

“Well, shit,” Carrick slurred—everything was growing hazy.

I saved her.

Danica held him as she compressed his wound to quell the bleeding. A large, appreciative grin crossed his lips as he looked up into her amber eyes.

“You’re here,” he grumbled, trying to reach up to touch her face. He drifted his hand to where blood was trickling out of a fresh wound on her brow. They’d hit her. They’d hurt her. He twisted in agony, hating himself for taking so long to find her, and he let out a pained howl.

“Stay with me, Carrick. Help is on the way.” The look in Danica’s eyes was not encouraging. She would know exactly how bad it was, being a nurse.

“I’ll kill them if they aren’t already dead,” he growled, his blurry vision unable to focus on her cut brow anymore.

She reached out, grabbed his hand and brought it down to her cheek. “It’s just a scratch. Don’t worry.”

He coughed and closed his eyes to ground himself. Blackness threatened to overtake his vision, and he knew he was losing a lot of blood. Delta shouted in the background at someone—something about Syria. Danica was anxiously yelling back at him.

“This wasn’t how this was supposed to go,” Carrick rumbled, his mind drifting to the last tour he’d been on with Delta. That rough battle and Delta’s unbelievably heroic actions had saved much more than Carrick’s life.

“I had to save you—” Carrick coughed.

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