Page 128 of Axe-ing for Trouble
“Mila,” I shouted.
She turned, her face etched in pain, scratched and dirty and drawn.
“Jude, no,” she cried, violently shaking her head.
Portnoy jerked her shoulder, causing her to cry out, and pointed his weapon at me.
On instinct, I threw my hands up.
“Bryce,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Great bust, man. But Mila and I need to get out of here.”
He laughed. “No. She’s getting in the truck.” He nodded toward where the men were furiously packing boxes. “I’ve been looking for this bitch for more than a year.” He grabbed her by the hair, and she let out a cry. “You have caused me so many fucking problems. But don’t worry. We won’t make the same mistake we did with your brother. You’ll actually be dead by the time we’re done with you.”
His expression was cocky, his body language overly confident. It was the look of someone who knew they’d already won. Like a lifelong bureaucrat, the kind of bland guy no one suspects. For years, we’d cooperated with him, trusted him to protect us, and he’d been a criminal all along?
Bile crept up my throat as Mila and I locked eyes. I had no weapon, no training, and a pretty severely wounded leg. But I’d be damned if he hurt a hair on my girl’s head.
Silently, she pleaded with me, giving her head a small shake. She didn’t want me to get hurt. I understood that. But given the stakes, there was no other choice.
Portnoy was preoccupied with the packing of the truck as I crept forward slowly, closing the distance between us. He had the gun in one hand, but his finger wasn’t on the trigger.
He didn’t regard me as a threat. Perfect.
I looked at Mila again, lifting my chin, signaling to the gun. Her eyes widened, as if she understood what I’d discovered. I raised my eyebrows. His hold on her was no longer painful. He assumed she’d go along with his demands. God, was he wrong.
My girl was not great at following directions.
When I was a few yards away, I gave her the signal.
As she grabbed his arm and forced it up so the gun was pointed at the sky, I ran at full speed, crouching down and leading with my shoulder.
When my body made contact, a shot went off, but I was too adrenalized to let it slow me down. As we fell to the ground, I threw punch after punch and took my fair share too as we grappled for control.
Mila was screaming, and more shots rang out, but I was completely focused on a single goal. Pounding this fucker into the ground so he could never hurt anyone again.
I’d never been a fighter. I was the calm guy who de-escalated. But the rage firing in my veins knew no end. He’d pointed a gun at Mila. He’d threatened her and my family. This was fucking over. I’d be certain of it. If I ended up in jail because of that, it would be worth it.
I was stronger, but he had more training, landing several blows and reaching for the gun that lay a few feet from us. Twisting my hips, I managed to get an arm free. I grabbed him by the hair and hit him square in the face before he could get it.
A smallish black boot appeared in my periphery, stepping on the weapon.
“Bryce.” The voice was feminine and familiar.
Taking what felt like my first breath in minutes, I looked up. Parker stood above us, in a vest, with her badge around her neck, gun pointed directly at us. Despite the melee, she looked nonplussed.
“Fuck off, Harding,” he hissed.
“It’s Gagnon now.” The words were followed by the telltale click of a safety being released. “Get your dirty ass up.”
Ignoring her, he threw an arm around my neck and cocked his fist back.
“I will shoot you, asshole. You know how accurate I am.”
With a palm to his face, I shoved him off me. As I was backing away, Mila rushed to my side, collapsing into my arms.
“You’re not going to shoot me,” Portnoy sneered. “You’re a nobody rent-a-cop now. I’m gonna get in my truck and drive to the border, and you’re not going to stop me.”
Parker barked out a laugh. “Funny. Now get up. I want to slap the handcuffs on you myself.”
