Page 111 of Zorro

She stumbled slightly, flanked by two armed men. Her arms were restrained but her chin was high, that surgeon’s spine still refusing to bend. Even from across the lobby, he could see the iron in her walk, that fury barely held behind her eyes.

Zorro’s heart clenched hard, heat flooding his chest. She was alive. Moving. But those bastards had their hands on her, and every instinct in his body roared to break free.

He turned to Joker, voice low but urgent, already moving even before the words cleared his throat.

“They’ve got her.”

Joker didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask for clarification. He followed Zorro’s gaze, saw the flash of Everly’s blonde hair, the unmistakable fire in her expression, even as she was dragged across the tiles like a possession.

“Go,” Joker said. Quiet. Absolute. His jaw was set, eyes sharp. “She’s yours.”

Zorro didn’t need more.

He was already in motion, gliding low and fast along the shadowed wall, disappearing into the curve of the marble corridor without a backward glance.

No hesitation. No comms. No second-guessing.

He would not lose her. Not after everything they’d survived.

Everly was in enemy hands.

The waiting was over. It was no time for violence of action, full-scale assault. He was done holding back.

Bailee’s Glock clicked empty, a sharp, merciless sound in the chaos. No time to curse. No time to flinch. One of the Black Dawn thugs vaulted over the bar, rifle raised and aimed straight at her chest.

She didn’t move.

Behind her, the family huddled, trembling, wide-eyed. Her body blocked them instinctively, but her mind screamed no rounds left.

A blur. Black and fast and snarling came out of nowhere.

Flint hit the man’s arm like a missile, jaws locking onto the forearm before the trigger could be pulled. The rifle fired wide, round sparking off tile and stone, but it didn’t matter as Flint ravaged him with deep growls and rending teeth. No matter how hard the man struggled, Flint didn’t let go.

The gunfire ceased, but. Bailee didn’t stop to calculate what that meant. She saw the fallen weapon and moved, dove, grabbed it, and pivoted mid-kneel.

The shot rang out a half-second later.

One round. Center mass.

The thug dropped, eyes wide in stunned disbelief as he crumpled into a sprawl beside the bar. Her breath heaved. She barely had time to exhale before another shout tore through the air. “Flint guard!”

Flint let go, pivoted, and those brown eyes focused on her. He surged past her and put himself between danger and the family.

She turned. Bear was locked in hand-to-hand with the last remaining Black Dawn operative, both men bloodied, grappling between them. The fight was brutal, dirty, and intimate. Neither held the advantage for long.

“Get Zorro’s family out of here!” he shouted, voice raw with command.

Zorro’s family? Oh, God. She turned to look at them. His mom, dad, sister Dani, he’d talked about her, and his brother-in-law, EMT/firefighter. No wonder the old man looked familiar. Zorro had his father’s gentle eyes.

Her throat tightened. Her gaze went back to Bear. Her eyes locked with his calm, immovable, carved-by-time gaze—the deep gray of storm-washed slate, watchful as winter, and just as unforgiving. But he was hurt. She could see it now. The stiffness in his shoulder, the limp in his stance. He wouldn’t last forever.

She wanted to stay. God, she wanted to stay.

But Zorro’s whole life was in her hands, and she couldn’t falter.

Bear was locked in combat with the last remaining Black Dawn operative, their bodies slick with blood and sweat. The fight was savage, intimate, and fast. The kind where every blow mattered and every breath counted. Bear wasn’t elegant. He didn’t need to be. He was pure force, all power and purpose.

“Get out,” he growled, never taking his eyes off his opponent. “Now.”

---