Page 36 of Defending You
Asher pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the cloth, which he tossed at the gasoline-soaked wood just as the vehicle splintered the doors.
Shouts outside told him he’d gotten the men’s attention.
The flame caught the gas-soaked wood. It flared fast, flames licking up the wall toward the front doors.
Cici scrambled out the window, and he followed, the fire crackling behind them.
More shouts erupted as the flames spread, smoke pouring through the gaps. The barn wouldn’t burn long—he hoped. The last thing he wanted was to cause a forest fire. But the ground was damp, the clearing sparse.
They bolted into the trees. The pond glinted ahead, and he veered left, getting in front of her, pulling her along a muddy bank.
She glanced behind, but he propelled her forward, toward the forest on the far side of the water.
The men behind them had gone quiet, which told Asher they hadn’t been distracted for long. Unless they’d seen where Asher and Cici had gone into the woods—and Asher didn’t think they had—they’d fan out.
Now that they were in the forest, the going was slow, the underbrush challenging to navigate. He paused and turned a circle, scanning the landscape.
“What are you doing?” Cici hissed. “We need to move.”
There. A boulder rose from the ground, maybe forty feet away. He aimed toward it.
She followed silently.
When he reached it, he circled to a huge bush growing against one side. He dropped his bag. “Duck down right here and don’t move.”
“Where are you?—?”
“Please, Cici.” He met her eyes, trying to infuse his look with kindness and confidence. “Just do as I say.”
She blinked, seemed to take that in. “Okay.”
He left her there, kept low, and sneaked back toward the barn. When he heard the telltale snap of someone moving, he crouched between two bushes and behind a log.
Ahead, the linebacker crept through the forest. Unlike Asher, he was terrible at stealth.
Or it was a trap.
Asher watched him for a long time, until the man’s gaze moved to his right.
Asher flicked his focus that way.
Sure enough, pretty boy was inching forward, silently.
The linebacker was a decoy to get Asher to show himself.
He moved slowly, carefully, circling pretty boy.
Without a sound, he came up behind him, caught the man’s neck with his arm, and squeezed.
Pretty Boy fought. Asher had been right, the man was strong.
But Asher was stronger.
It took about ninety seconds for Pretty Boy to go limp. Not dead, just down for the count.
Asher was tempted to slice his Achilles but reminded himself, again, that this was America. That he couldn’t just take people out, especially unconscious people.
He searched the guy, pocketed his cell phone, his handgun, and a sheathed knife, and left him in the bracken before scanning the surroundings again. Aside from the linebacker, who was still moving forward, Asher didn’t see any more enemies. The guy must not have seen Asher take his buddy out.
