Off-Limits Protector

The hair on my arms starts to rise as I approach the intersection. And I know that it's not the damp, cold, sucky D.C. morning weather. Something's not right.

Paying attention to that sensation has kept me alive more than once. I press harder on the brake, making sure I have plenty of room to bust the fuck out of the traffic if I need to.

I'm always assessing my egress route. If needed, I'll drive on the sidewalk or run over the median at the first sign of getting hemmed in if things go south.

Glancing left, I can't spot anything that stands out beyond the usual destitute, crime-ridden neighborhood stuff I always see when I visit Nick. Why the hell my Marine Corps buddy lives in this area, I have no clue. Glancing right, I see more of the same crap. But the sensation doesn't go away.

The car in front of me, a small ten-year-old blue sedan, makes a right turn on red, and I pull up closer to the line as traffic streams by from the cross street. Keeping my eyes moving, I check again.

This time, my scan of the left has me pausing. The driver of the car next to me gets my full attention for ten seconds. White-knuckling the steering wheel of the small economy hatchback is a brunette with a sleek bun, a light gray suit, big diamond earrings, and a look that says she knows she's in the wrong place. I drag my eyes away.

“Not my responsibility.”

When I look back, our eyes lock. Straight, pretty white teeth are nibbling at her lush, lower lip. As soon as she sees me looking, she glances away quickly. Nervously.

For about two seconds, I consider rolling down my window to ask if she needs someone to get her the hell out of here. But I don't get a chance.

All hell breaks loose in the intersection in front of me. A black SUV T-bones a car. Glass explodes in the air. What the hell?

Car parts go in fifteen directions. The entire intersection is blocked by debris. I reach for my door handle, with the intent to go help, but a black Expedition screeches to a halt, blocking the car in. Then another identical one drives on the sidewalk to get to the center of the melee. This is either a sting or—Oh fuck—This is... A hit.

Two men slither out of the second SUV like snakes in black hoodies. The shorter of the men is unmistakable. Hell, half the world would know who he is. Jake Marvineto, vicious drug lord.

And I'm in the worst wrong place at the wrong time in the history of man. I duck. Anyone witnessing this is getting a death sentence.

Fuck. Classy chic is—

When I lift my eyes over the edge of the door frame, my worst fear is confirmed. Her face is bone-pale, her lips are slack, frozen in an expression of horror. She saw everything. When she glances at me, I mouth, “Unlock the doors.”

Her eyes flit to the lock, and she gives me one quick nod. Drawing a slow, deep breath, my brain goes into focused tactical mode. Everything comes into clear focus.

A gunshot goes off. Someone's yelling. Another gunshot. Someone runs down the sidewalk next to my truck, fleeing the chaos. A woman's screaming. Another gunshot.

Now's my chance.

I take a steady breath and lunge out of my truck and into her car, unbuckle her seatbelt, and drag her out with a quick yank.

“Ohmygod,” she gasps as I tear her across the console, and out the door. I don't give her time to stand, hugging her small body to my chest. I sling her into my truck. With a brutal shove, I force her into the passenger floorboard. “Stay down.”

Mother of fucked-up moments. I can't believe I just pulled a woman out of the middle of a hit by Jake Marvineto, the leader of one of the most ruthless drug rings in the country.

I ram my truck in reverse, hunkering low, as I jerk the wheel hard to the right. The maneuver gets us up on the sidewalk. Gunning it, I fly backwards, mowing down anything in my way. A newspaper box, a discarded bicycle frame, and a parking meter.

When I'm clear of the cars in the road, I wheel us around and take off forward, the wrong way, toward oncoming traffic. Drivers blare their horns at me as they veer out of the way. I don't stop, I go faster.

With a jab, I cue up my phone on Bluetooth. My buddy picks up after one ring.

The woman on the floorboard next to me is hyperventilating. At least she's not screaming her head off. Props for that.

“Nick. I'm coming in hot. There's a one hundred percent chance I'm gonna have a fuckload of trouble on my tail. I hope you got room in your garage for my truck?”

He chuckles darkly. “Copy. I'll pull my Jeep out.”

“Be there in five.” I disconnect.

ftC-c-can I get up?”

I scan the rearview. “Nope.” Taking about five more turns than I need to, I weave my way to Nick's place at a speed that's far above legal, but nothing out of the ordinary for the neighborhood.

When I turn onto Nick's street, I can see his place up ahead. The garage door is lifting. His Jeep is backing out.

“Get ready to move.”

“Where?”

I don't reply. I scan the mirrors. “Almost there.” Jamming the brake, I ram the truck into the narrow garage.

Crack! The passenger side mirror hits the door, shattering the reflection. Nick slips into the garage as the door drops behind us.

“Get up.”

Shakily, classy chic starts to climb up onto the passenger seat. I grab her again and pull her out of the driver's side. The passenger side door is too close to the wall in Nick's small ass garage.

“Welcome to the Ponderosa, motherfucker.” Nick laughs as he engages the alarm. “Come on. It's a lot safer upstairs.”

When I drop the brunette to her feet, she falters for a second. Her slender hand grabs my forearm. That's when I realize she has one high heel on. The other is gone. She kicks the black shoe away and straightens her tailored jacket as she raises her chin.

Her golden-brown eyes lift to mine. Her voice is low and husky, and rattles my gonads. “Thank you.”

I, on the other hand, can't get a fucking syllable out of my gullet. Nick opens the door to the stairs, “I'm Nick, by the way. Come on up.”

Pressing my hand to the small of her back lights up my nervous system. Only the fine fabric of her suit separates me from her skin as I push her toward the door. Without a doubt, I've just met the woman who is probably going to be the death of me.