Page 83 of Hostile Love
After I pull the trigger and miss, the shooter ducks behind the cleaning cart. Letterman appears beside me. The two of us stand shoulder to shoulder.
I don’t react or let his presence distract me. Instead, I stay focused on the only visible part of the shooter I can see and wait.
After five shallow breaths, the target leans left to see us and their eye is exposed. I squeeze the trigger.
“Jesus. Good shot.” Letterman chuckles.
I arch an eyebrow at his praise, aware he can’t see my expression. He had clearly doubted my ability. At least now he knows I could blow his brains out in a standoff too.
India looks up at him, grinning.
“What else did you expect from one of Gio’s elite agents? She’s amazing, isn’t she?”
My heart warms a little. Shutting it out, I spin around and check the corridor.
“You guys need to get out of here. Matheus is downstairs taking care of his mother and the babies.”
Beside India, a sable-haired woman constantly taps her phone screen and mutters to herself about a shitty connection.
Loose waves swish across the plain white top hugging her chest as she shakes her head.
“Why the hell is the phone reception so patchy in hospitals? I can’t reach Tomás.”
“He’s on his way,” I tell her, guessing she’s the vulnerable chink in the cartel king’s chain. “The Lozanos are behind this.” My gaze cuts to India. “They’re here for you.”
Letterman pulls back his broad shoulders and parts his bright white designer sneakers, so his dominant stance is solid.
“Over my dead fucking body. Don’t worry, Indy, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
India scowls, her sunny expression becoming menacing as she lifts the hem of her lemon dress and pulls out a lethal-looking blade from underneath.
“I’m not leaving Dré and Sinéad,” she declares in a hard voice to Letterman. “Take Cari outside. Tommy will go nuts if she’s hurt.”
“And you don’t think Gio or me would lose our shit if you got hurt?” he says, clearly annoyed. “We’re leaving together. All of us.”
“I’ll stay with Sinéad,” I tell them. “You three go ahead. Otherwise, you’re all dead. Any second, this corridor will be full of armed men and flying bullets. Get the hell out of here. Now!” I order, firm and to the point.
Big hazel eyes hold mine as Carina glides up beside Letterman, her whole aura commanding attention without even trying.
She’s naturally feminine and graceful. Everything I’m not. But that doesn’t bother me. I don’t need to be elegant when I’m crushing a man’s skull.
Although, I imagine some might think there’s an art to killing—like a sweeping dance step or a well-timed stomp.
Regardless, I’m a female who has the technique nailed.
“How do we protect all of us?” Her brows pinch together. “I’m talking about Dré, too,” she asks. “He’s just lying there while the sedative wears off. We don’t leave Souzas behind.”
Spoken like a true queen and someone who clearly has no idea how many armed assholes I’ve had to kill since I’d arrived.
I draw in a breath and scan the corridor, that prickly sense of danger coming again.
“Stalling puts everyone in danger,” I chide over my shoulder. “Dré is immobile. He needs medical care and can’t leave. You three are targets and need to clear out for your own safety. I’ll stay behind with Sinéad. Let Mat and I do our job. Take the stairs and don’t stop until you’re outside.”
I look at Letterman and see something flash behind his eyes. Something I can’t quite read.
“Keep them safe.”
It’s too late though. As I finish, the far doors open and the crack of a bullet whips through the air.
