The Distance Between Us (MAC Security 3)

“Charlie, keep us informed on the investigation, you need any help then you know where we are. We can handle Kitty from here on out,” Ty tells me.

I open my mouth to tell him that ain’t happening. There’s no way that I’m leaving Kitty in there with no protection, but Ty’s growl low in his throat stops me.

“Fine,” I sigh, standing up and scanning all of them. “I’ll keep you informed, but the minute you suspect Kitty may be in trouble, you call me.”

I can feel that something isn’t right as soon as I walk into Diva’s. It hasn’t been for the last few days, something has been… off. I can’t explain it, can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there, screaming at me.

At first, I thought it was me feeling differently after my day and night spent with Charlie, but today I realize that it’s not me. Something is going down and my fingers itch with the need to find out what it could be.

The club is busier, people coming in and out, all heading straight to Jonny to go and talk to him in his booth. He’s not in a good mood today, hasn’t been since the night I took a cab home. He’s hardly said two words to me and I’m thankful in a way. The lines were blurring and now things with Charlie seem to be progressing, I need to nip it all in the bud with Jonny before I lose myself even more. I just want to go home but I know I have a job to finish first.

I walk the tray of drinks over, taking my time as I listen in on people’s conversations. So far I’ve gathered that there’s a big shipment coming in, or has come in, I can’t quite work out the logistics, but what I do know is that something is happening tonight, the extra security Jonny has pulled in tells me that much.

Placing the drinks on the table, I start to pour them, handing them to each person sitting in the booth. As I turn away, Jonny calls me over.

I place a fake smile on my face and move closer, my stomach dipping at the fierce look on his face.

“You need to go home.”

I frown, thinking that I heard him wrong. “Home?”

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and wrapping his hand around my bicep. “You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

He walks me over to the bar, his hand gripping me gently but firmly at the same time. I can see the look of concern on his face and just as I’m about to ask him what’s going on, gunshots go off.

Jonny pushes me down, crouching over me and pulling his own gun out. He lifts up, firing several shots and then crouches back down again, assessing me for injuries.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, working my hand down to my ankle and pulling my own gun out.

“You need to get out of here!” He’s shouting now, trying to be heard over the gunshots.

I spot someone lift a gun out of the corner of my eye and lift up into a crouch, firing a shot into the middle of the guy’s forehead who was about to shoot Jonny.

“What the—”

“What can I say?” I smirk. “I’m a good shot.”

His eyes widen as several bullets come flying our way, splintering the wood of the bar, making my heartbeat thrum louder and harder in my chest. I dive behind the bar, needing some kind of protection between me and the bullets.

I squeal and lift my gun as Jonny jumps over the bar, his own gun lifted as he waits for the gunshots to slow down. One breaks through the wood of the bar and shatters the glass of one of the fridges before I lift up, shooting off a whole clip before coming back down beside Jonny.

Together we try to keep our area clear. The shots are like music to my ears after a while and I get transported back to the first time I learned how to shoot a gun. My dad said that I needed to know how to protect myself, in case I was ever in a situation where Dean couldn’t protect me. Little did he know that he was putting me on my life’s path, away from him and all the media, away from all the politics. And most importantly, away from Canada.

I lift up again, Jonny by my side as we fire off several shots. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, I see the guy standing in front of us, gun raised and aiming for me, I duck down but I’m not fast enough, and then the burning, the burning in my arm is too much to handle and my head spins, my breathing becoming labored.

I look down at my arm as Jonny crouches back behind the bar after firing a shot into the guy’s throat, watching the red blood flowing from the bullet wound.

As soon as my body catches up with my mind, the adrenaline wearing off, I scream. Fuck me, that hurts!

“Kitty!” Jonny shouts, but I can’t hear him properly. My ears are buzzing, my hand grasping at my arm, desperately trying to stop the blood flow.

The noise of the gunshots stops, or am I imagining that? I’m not quite sure. Either way, Jonny’s face comes into view, blood smeared across his cheek. His hands cover mine as he screams for Giovanni.

My head slumps against the bar, lolling to the side as I watch people rush to him.

“You’re hurt,” I croak, my hand cupping his cheek where a bullet must have grazed him.