Page 18 of Hostile Love
6
MATHEUS
I told her the truth.
She’s going to be my wife.
My little firecracker and I are getting hitched.
The contract was signed with a few minor details left to thrash out. Nonetheless, it’s me and her, together.
Informing her of the deal I'd made should have been a happier moment, yet her expression was blank and then she swiftly pushed me away, told me to marry her sister and threatened me.
What the actual fuck?
Now I’m chasing after her, spraying bullets at the fuckers firing at us, and pulling the pin from a grenade with my teeth.
I toss it behind me and take cover. My heart is pumping and the rush of adrenaline flows through me at a rapid rate.
But it's got nothing to do with this war I’m fighting. No, it’s all her. The way she charges my soul is fucking electric.
Ahead of me, she darts out of sight and as the grenade goes off, the thunderous explosion matches my temper.
Don’t run from me, little firecracker.
Hunting, I stay low, intermittently shooting at moving targets and constantly looking over my shoulder for hidden dangers.
When I move to the rear doors of the farthest truck in the yard, I see her, hunkered down beside Dario near a parked van.
I take a heartbeat to blink her all in. The way her disheveled hair is tucked behind those cute ears and blood smears her angular cheekbone like a warrior's stripe.
She doesn’t falter, her direct aim pinpoints the enemy.
Quick, professional, and fucking lethal. A shiver starts at my scalp and races down my spine.
The woman makes me feel dangerous.
In a hurry, I dig out a handheld radio, squeeze the button, and give the order for our guys to pull back.
We’ve got what we came for.
“Everyone out,” I instruct, simultaneously shielding my body with a red forklift truck. “Once we’re all clear, blow this place to pieces.”
I peer over the top of the driver's seat in the small cab and lock eyes with her laser sharp glare.
My blood runs red-hot, fully aware she’s caught in this spell with me. Dani mindlessly licks her lips and then breaks eye contact as if she’s nervous.
“Dario…” I say into the radio. “Get her the fuck out of here. Now!”
Seconds after I bark out the order, something heavy hits me from behind and my forehead slams into the steering wheel.
The radio clatters into the footwell and my injured shoulder screams with pain. I spin around, grab the machine gun slung around my neck and face the guy who prods the barrel of his Glock into my cheek.
On quick inspection, his jeans are saturated in blood and his other wrist is cuffed to a––severed fucking arm.
“You actually came to save her.” He laughs, limping a little to steady his footing. “I knew it. She’s your bitch and you let her murder my uncle, motherfucker.”
I recognize this asshole.
