Page 42 of My Omega's Baby
“Thank God,” he wheezed.
“However, we’re still kind of fucked,” I grumbled.
“Ya think?”
I clenched my jaw, trying to come up with a game plan. “Your mom called the cops. They should be here soon.”
“You just want to wait this out?” He sounded surprised.
I shot him a wary look. “Not really.”
“Maybe I can get around the other side of the car and sneak up on whoever is shooting.”
“Are you nuts? It’s wide open. There’s nothing to hide behind.”
“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for them to come blow our heads off,” he growled. “I wouldn’t mind having a grenade launcher right now.” He tried to peek over the trunk of the other car, and I jerked him back down.
“What are you doing?” I scowled at him. “Do you seriously not think whoever this is might be waiting for us to pop our heads up?”
He held his finger to his lips. “Shh. I hear footsteps.”
I did too. “Shit.” I took a deep breath and slowly moved to look around the bumper of the car. In the distance I heard sirens, but that didn’t really comfort me because a big guy with a big gun was striding toward us with a determined set to his jaw.
Fuck.
“Get under my car.” I hissed.
“What?”
“Get under my fucking car.Now.” I pressed my chest to the cement and aimed for the guy’s calves. I fired off a couple of rounds, and he screamed and fell. I didn’t know if he was alone or not, so I didn’t stand to check my handiwork like I wanted to. The guy rolled around groaning for a few seconds and then was somehow able to get up. He balanced on one foot, clutching his bloody leg, but he still managed to get off a couple of shots that were alarmingly close to my face.
“Fucker’s got good aim,” I grumbled as I fired at him again and missed.
Wyatt poked his head out from under my car with a scowl. “It isn’t really my nature to hide under the car while someone else does my dirty work.”
“Don’t you dare come out from under there.”
“I’m not helpless. Let me help,” he hissed.
“Shut up.”
“Blade, I’m a fucking professional.”
Sweat rolled down my nose as I set my sights on the attacker’s throat. “Shhh. You’re ruining my concentration.” I fired off two rounds and blood spurted from the guy’s neck.
Thank you, God.
Clutching his throat, the perp stumbled, blindly firing a few rounds at us. His aim was way off and he missed; then with eyes wide, he crumpled to the ground in a gurgling heap.
The sirens were close now, but I still stayed behind the car, watching the guy on the ground. I had no idea if the shooter was acting alone or not. There was the screech of tires, and a shit-ton of cops surrounded us screaming orders. I set my gun down and put my hands up slowly as Wyatt crawled from under my car, placing his gun on the cement.
“You okay?” he asked, his gaze hard.
“I’m awesome.” I swallowed hard, avoiding looking at the guy on the ground. I didn’t feel good about shooting him. No one wanted to use lethal force if it could be avoided. But I’d done what I had to do to keep Wyatt safe. That was what I was paid to do.
The cops were understandably suspicious of me. They shoved me against the side of my car and frisked me while bombarding me with questions. I showed them my permit to carry and my Shield ID, explaining I was a personal security agent. They called my boss to verify what I said was true. A few of them still gave me dirty looks, but legally, I was within my rights to have defended my client. It helped my case that Wyatt’s mom and several neighbors had witnessed the guy ramming our car and then firing on us first.
Even so, the cops insisted on dragging me and Wyatt to the station, where they questioned us separately, I guess to be sure we told the same story again. The entire process took at least six hours, and by the time it was over, I was drained.
