Page 102 of My Best Friend Is Broken
Nobody is paying attention to Liam. Why would they? He’s just a pretty young man, a victim, someone to be rescued rather than someone who could change the outcome. He looks scared. Comes across like a frightened little rabbit.
They’re all about to learn how wrong they are.
Liam moves.
It happens so fast that I almost miss it, a blur of motion as he launches himself from his crouch with an explosive power I didn’t know he possessed. All those hours in the gym, all that work rebuilding his strength, channeled into one perfect moment of action.
He hits the Russian low and hard, wrapping his arms around the man’s legs in a tackle that would make a rugby player proud. The Russian goes down with a startled shout, his gun hand swinging wide as he instinctively tries to maintain his balance.
The shot goes off, deafeningly loud in the confined space, the bullet embedding itself harmlessly in the ceiling.
Molly drops and rolls away the moment the Russian’s grip loosens, and suddenly the human shield is gone and there’s nothing between us and our target.
Dario and I fire simultaneously.
The Russian jerks back as both our bullets find their marks. Center mass, exactly as trained. He’s dead before he hits the ground, his gun clattering uselessly beside him.
The room erupts in violence. The other Russians, seeing their friend go down, either fully surrender immediately or go for their weapons. Those who choose to fight don’t last long. Our people are better trained, better armed, and motivated by the kind of fury that makes men careless with their own lives as long as they can take the enemy with them.
It’s over in less than thirty seconds.
Bodies on the floor, the sharp smell of gunpowder hanging in the air, and the sudden, ringing silence that follows violence.
I’m moving before conscious thought catches up, crossing the room to where Liam is still on the floor, breathing hard, his eyes wide with adrenaline and shock.
“Liam.” I drop to my knees beside him, my hands running over him, checking for injuries, needing to confirm that he’s really okay. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” he gasps, and then he’s in my arms, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing in a tilting world. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”
I hold him so tight I’m probably bruising him, but I can’t bring myself to ease up. Can’t quite believe he’s realand safe and here in my arms instead of dead or hurt or lost to me forever.
“That was the bravest, stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” I say into his hair, somewhere between awe and fury and overwhelming relief.
“He was going to kill Molly.”
“He might have killed you.”
“But he didn’t.” Liam pulls back just enough to look at me, and there’s something fierce and proud in his expression. “I got him, Nicky. I saved Molly.”
“You did.” I cup his face in my hands, needing to touch him, to confirm he’s real. “You absolute madman, you saved him.”
I yank him to me again and hold him tight. “You absolute dufus.”
Liam chuckles wryly and it’s the best sound I have ever heard.
Across the room, Dario is having a similar reunion with Molly, checking him over with frantic hands while Molly tries to reassure him that he’s fine, that nothing happened, that they were both okay the whole time.
“Nicolo.”
I look up to find Dario standing over us, Molly tucked safely against his side. There’s blood on his shirt, not his own, and his expression is a mixture of relief and something I can’t quite identify.
Shakily, I get to my feet, pulling Liam up with me.
“Your boyfriend,” Dario says slowly, “just saved Molly’s life.”
“I know.”
“That tackle. The timing, the execution, that was almost professional level. Where did you learn that?”
