Page 21 of K-9 Justice

Sebastian lashed out with the chain.

The links snapped against Carson’s raised wrist as he attempted to block the strike and coiled around as tight as a boa constrictor might. Muscles burned as he, in turn, pulled the chain tighter and brought Sebastian into his personal space.

A fist thrust into his kidney.

Carson arched backward as the pain lightninged across his back and down into his legs. Three surgeries—two transplants and a stab wound—should have prepared him for the pain, but the opposite seemed to be true. One knee bit into the ground. Sebastian released his hold on the chain. Only to secure it around Carson’s neck in his next breath.

The metal dug into Carson’s flesh. Pinched his skin between the links as his air supply lodged in his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Pressure built in his chest to the pointhe was convinced his lungs might pop. He tried to twist out of the man’s grip, but Sebastian only held on tighter.

Black waves pierced into his vision. Trying to convince him to give up, to sink into the gravitational pull of unconsciousness. Carson threaded his fingers around the chain, but it was no use. Sebastian had the upper hand. He put everything he had into his heels, kicking back. But the leverage did nothing to relieve the weight of suffocation.

Sebastian’s hands shook from the effort. The only reminder the cartel recruiter was human. That he could bleed just as well as Carson. As Ivy.

Max would get her out of the warehouse. She and Ivy were going to make it. His partner had out-strategized some of the top supervising agents back in the FBI. When she set the rules, failure wasn’t an option. There was only winning in her book. And she wouldn’t let something like a stab wound slow her down. Not when there were potential lives at risk. The partners who’d come before him had seen her as a narcissist, selfish, someone bent on having control and only concerned with her own survival. He’d been warned of her intensity, that she tended to mow people down—partners, witnesses, supervising agents—to get her way.

But that wasn’t Ivy at all. Not the real her. Not the woman she’d allowed him to see underneath that battle armor. Though it had taken both of them nearly dying for Carson to see the truth. That intensity every one of her former partners had feared had been built on survival. They’d been right about that. But not hers. She fought for the victims. For the potential victims. For those who’d been taken advantage of and those too scared to stand up for themselves. She fought a war no one else could see to ensure the evil would never touch them. Hell, he admired her. Wanted to be half as strong as her.

And he would make sure she got out of this alive.

Because the cartel wouldn’t stop, and the innocent lives in their path deserved someone to protect them. They needed her to keep fighting for them. She was all that mattered.

Carson grabbed for the old man’s forearms with both hands. Sebastian had the upper hand, the higher ground, but Carson had the strength. He put everything he had into shoving to his feet. Sebastian was forced to adjust his hold.

And Carson took advantage.

He hauled the cartel soldier over his back and slammed the bastard onto the cement in front of him. Air crushed from Sebastian’s lungs as Carson unraveled the chain from around his neck. His cough filled the warehouse as his lungs tried to remember how to breathe. He tossed the length of chain. “You’re not strong enough to take her on alone. No one is. So tell upper management if they want a war, they’ll have it, and they will lose. Because you have no idea what you’re up against.”

The old man grabbed for his back, rolling onto one side. Giving up the fight.

Carson stepped over the son of a bitch, and exhaustion hit hard. He’d been running off fumes and adrenaline. A potent combination that only inflicted more damage the longer he pushed himself. He located the point where Ivy had collapsed, noting the trail of blood left behind as Max had dragged her out of the building. He had to go. He had to get her to the hospital. Now.

“You don’t get to walk away from this. None of us do.” Sebastian’s voice was the only warning Carson received as a pipe came down on his shoulder.

The pain exploded through his neck and down his arm, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from turning on his former mentor. He caught the pipe on Sebastian’s second attempt and ripped the weapon from the man’s hand. Immediately returning the attack. The end of the pipe connected with Sebastian’s face, andthe son of a bitch hit the floor. “Go back into hiding, Sebastian. That’s the only way you’re going to get out of this alive.”

He tossed the pipe to one side, jogging for the exit. The trail of blood took a right turn. Headed straight for the nearest door. “Good girl, Max.”

Carson shoved through the barrier and out in the New Mexico sunrise. Cold air burned down his throat as he sighted the German shepherd struggling to get her human across the salvage yard gravel. His heart double-timed as he picked up the pace. “Ivy.”

Max released her hold on Ivy, pouncing on all four paws.

He skidded to a stop, kicking up gravel as he hauled Ivy’s upper body away from the ground. Her head fell back. Swelling blocked out one of her eyes, bruises already starting across her jaw. But it was the blood that nearly stopped his heart.

Cuts covered her arms, legs and torso. Dozens of them. Something dangerous and more familiar than he wanted to admit clawed through him, and if Ivy weren’t in a position of bleeding out in his arms, he would go back into that warehouse. He would make Sebastian pay for what he’d done.

But he didn’t have time. Ivy didn’t have time. Carson threaded his arms behind her shoulders and knees and shoved to stand. Max followed on his heels, her attention fixed on the woman in his grasp. “I’ve got you, partner. I’ve got you.”

CHAPTER NINE

People were dying to get into their graves.

Ivy wasn’t one of them.

Bright fluorescent lighting agitated the migraine somehow behind her eyes and every other inch of her brain. She wanted to go back to sleep, but the damn rhythmic pulse on the EKG machine wouldn’t let her. The IV line in the back of her hand itched and hurt at the same time. And the bedsheets had obviously come straight from hell.

Ugh. She’d been admitted to a hospital.

“You’re awake. That’s a good sign.” The voice she expected was not the one speaking to her now. Styled dark hair consumed her attention. Not a single hair out of place. White coat—physician.

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