Page 108 of Nest of Thieves
Rapid shots fill the air. The man above me stumbles and turns, firing his gun as two bullets slam into his chest. His body violently jerks to the side, and he drops dead. Gurgled shouts fill the air and a vicious roar rips through the night. More shots fire. Over and over. Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Then silence.
“Jo, get the fuck away from the car!”
Mac.
He found me.
I sit, blinking to clear my vision, which is still a little blurry from the hit to my head. Mac marches toward me and squats, eyes cataloging every injury. The fire from my car grows, giving him the illusion of wings. His face is covered in blood splatter. If Mac were an angel, he’d be the angel of fire and death. Of vengeance and pain. God would never let a monster like Mac inside his pearly gates, but that’s fine by me. Mac is my monster. An erratic laugh escapes my chest. Mac frowns.
“Is this all of them?” He grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. He takes in the wounds covering my body, and his fingers clench around the gun. I reach up and smear a speck of blood across his cheek, marveling at the streak of red.
Sirens sound in the distance. At least three emergency responders. My heart flutters in my chest, and I suck in a sharp breath, feeling the air tremble through my body before racing out in a harsh exhale.
“Jo! Is this all of them?” Mac’s shouts make me flinch, but I know he’s not mad at me. I’m wasting time and we need to leave.
“Yes.”
“We have to go.”
“Thank you. How’d you find me?”
“I followed the trail of chaos.”
I pull my hand away from his face, but he catches it and presses a kiss to my palm, humming against my skin and searing me with a look that’ll imprint itself on my soul. It’s possessive and protective. A little psychotic. A lot alpha.
“Get in the car, Kitten.”
The sirens are closer now.
We jog back to a car I don’t recognize—maybe one from the shop—and he tears away from the scene of the crime, flying down the road. The car I crashed explodes, the sound like a bomb detonating. I turn and watch the flames lick toward the sky, a beacon for the police. Mac’s hand slams into the dash. Once. Twice. Three times. I can only blink, feeling numb to everything after the attack.
Mac glances at me, frowning at the blood coating my shirt. It’s black, but the material is soaked, and the exposed part of my chest is covered in crimson liquid.
“Glass,” I try to explain.
“Fuckers,” Mac says, hitting the dash again.
“Hey, hey.” I grab his hand and hold it hostage in my lap. “You got them, Mac Daddy.” His pulse thrums against my skin, rapid and erratic. His chest heaves, breath shuddering and rattling out of him. White-knuckling the steering wheel with one hand, he drives us to the shop. Vette and Lark run out of the garage as Mac slams the car into park.
“I’m okay.”
He grips the wheel tighter.
“Mac?”
His eyes swing to mine, the blue dark and turbulent, like the ocean in the middle of a vicious storm. This is a side of Mac I’ve never seen. I knew he was dangerous the first time I saw him stab a man, but this is different. The Mac I’ve come to know isn’t here right now. Right now, I’m staring at someone else. A murderer.
My door opens.
“What the fuck happened?” Lark hauls me out of the car, and I hold Mac’s gaze until I can’t any longer.
“Some assholes,” I say, pulling out of Lark’s hold and standing on my own. “Mac took care of them.”
“The 609 assholes?” Lines of anger mar Vette’s face as he takes in the blood covering me. “Are you okay, mami?” His voice softens.
“I’ll live,” I say.
“Either you go, or I will,” Mac says over the top of the car. I glance at him over my shoulder, taking in the steady control of a seasoned killer, like the moment in the car where his chest shuddered hadn’t even happened.
