Page 165 of Taken By the Fae

The guards get closer, though they aren’t moving fast. Then again, we have nowhere to go. They’ve got us sandwiched between them. “What now?”

“We need to get through those three before the assholes behind us catch up.”

“Right, and how do you suggest we do that? Do you have the strength to take them all out?”

His eyes narrow. “I’m tempted to leave you behind for that comment alone.”

I scowl. “Not the time, Max.”

“Fine. Whatever. Yes, I can get through them, but you need to be right behind me so we can get out that door and hit the button to lock this place down before it crumbles.”

“I can do that. Let’s move.”

“On three. One—”

“Now!” I push him forward and follow behind as he charges toward the guards. They pull out guns the moment we move, and I scream, fear latching deep claws in me.

“Keep moving!” Max yells.

“They have guns!”

“Which they probably won’t shoot at you. You’re their success story—they want you!”

Max is wrong.

We’re about ten meters away when the first shot rings out. I scream again, squeezing my eyes shut at the loud sound. Pain explodes in my arm, and my hand flies up to grab it. My eyes widen at the sight of red seeping through my fingers and dripping onto the white floor. It’s just a graze, but it’s bleeding heavily and hurts like hell.

Max growls deep in his throat and lunges for the first guy—the one who just shot me—and tackles him into the ground, taking the second guy out.

The one remaining advances and swings his fist toward my face. I duck, but I’m not fast enough to avoid the foot he sends toward my stomach. I reel back, clutching my gut as blood continues flowing from my arm.

He grabs my injured arm and tugs hard, making me cry out as black spots dance across my eyes, then throws me into the wall. I sink to the floor, my vision blurring.

“Get up!” Max shouts, coming up behind the guy. He makes quick work of breaking his windpipe, stealing the gun out of the holster at his hip before launching him at the mob of guards coming from the other direction.

The maneuver gives him enough time to pull me up and for us to make it to the door. Max hands me the gun, which I pretend to know how to hold, and throws the side of his body into the metal industrial door. It doesn’t budge.

“Don’t move!” comes a loud, commanding voice.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I chant as I lift the gun and struggle with it.

“Safety’s off,” Max hollers. “Just squeeze the fucking trigger!”

I suck in a breath, steady my wrist with my other hand, and curl my finger around the trigger. With an exhale, I start firing.

Max kicks the door over and over, but I’m out of bullets too fast, and there are still guards standing. The moment they know I’m out of ammunition, they charge.

“Don’t shoot,” a deep male voice shouts. “We need her alive!”

That didn’t seem to matter a minute ago.

With one last shove, the door flies open. Sunlight bleeds into the room, and before I can turn to look, Max grabs me and throws me outside onto the pavement.

I bite back a scream, landing on my bad arm, and snap my head toward the doorway where Max still stands inside.

“Max, what are you—”

“We’re even now, blondie. You saved me, now I’ve saved you.” He slides the detonator out of his pocket.

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