Complicate (Deliver 9)

“N—” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “No.”

“You did good. Most people hesitate the first time.” The corner of his mouth quirked up as he glanced at the gash on his arm. “You didn’t.”

“I made a choice.” She held the gun with both hands, her fingers clammy and ribcage wrapped in rubber bands. “Don’t make me regret it.”

He cut through the final restraint and shoved to his feet, his gaze instantly falling on the dead bodies, scanning their clothes. She knew what he was looking for, but Mike had already taken the weapons.

She might’ve sabotaged the entire fucking mission to save Cole’s life. But that didn’t mean she and Mike trusted him with a gun. If he was the revengeful sort, she wasn’t safe.

She would never be safe again.

An ache swelled in her chest.

Walk away, Lydia.

He stared at her, expressionless, and she stared back, miserable and heartbroken. There was so much to say. If things had been different, if she were a gentler person with better circumstances…

There was no time.

“Go.” She stepped forward, aiming the gun at his handsome face. “You’re free. Take the second bike and get out of here.”

“Lydia!” Mike yelled from outside as the engine of a motorcycle rumbled to life.

Cole’s dark gaze lifted toward the door thirty yards behind her, and his eyebrows pinched. In the next heartbeat, the door crashed open.

“Run!” She raced toward the ramp and found Mike waiting at the far end on the motorcycle.

Shots fired, pelting the ground behind her and whistling past her head. The spare bike sat twenty-some yards in the other direction. But rather than darting for it, Cole remained at her back, breathing down her neck.

“Get out of here!” She pointed at his ride. “That way!”

The volley of bullets multiplied as more men poured onto the loading dock. A couple of them were closing in, gaining on her. She couldn’t outrun the spray of lead.

As she started to turn and fire back, a hand gripped her arm.

Everything happened so fast, the chaos of gunfire ricocheting in her ears, disorienting her as Cole yanked her off the ramp.

Her back hit the ground, and he fell atop of her, dodging bullets with laughter in his eyes.

What the fuck? Her heart thundered so violently she thought her ribs were cracking. And he was laughing?

“First gunfight?” He grinned down at her, his shirtless chest smothering her in heat.

Yes. But before she could answer, he plucked the pistol from her grip, extended his arm, and returned fire.

Pinned beneath him, she craned her neck and watched the men scatter. Two of them dropped, hit by Cole’s bullets. At least six more took cover.

On the other side of the ramp, Mike sped forward on the motorcycle, firing his gun at the shooters on the loading dock.

Cole used the diversion to wrap his arms around her and roll them across the ground, seeking cover. He found it beneath a nearby box truck, where he yanked her up and dragged her around to the other side, shoving her behind it, shielding her from gunfire.

Buying them time.

A moment.

With her back pressed to the vehicle, he leaned in and flattened a hand on the steel above her head. Her breathing tumbled into asthmatic hysteria while his remained normal, controlled, unnervingly composed.

But his eyes told a different story, the dark depths pulsing with the hungry fires of hell.

This wasn’t the man who fucked her ass and knocked her away with a nasty sneer. This devil was far more deadly, possessive, protective, deeply passionate, and complicated. She stared into the soul of a man she could fall in love with.

The longing that gripped her was enormous, the pull toward him more than she could bear.

“Go.” She shoved at his chest.

Gunfire boomed just beyond the truck, growing closer. Amid the mayhem, she heard the motorcycle, the engine revving, speeding toward her.

“Leave.” She slammed her palms against his shoulders and pushed harder. “You’re free!”

He stepped back, swaying with her shove. Then he was on her again, cupping her head with both hands. With the gun in his grip, the length of it lay against her cheek as he held her, forcing her to look at him.

“Darius Skutnik.” His thumb tenderly stroked across her cheekbone.

“What?”

“The na?u of the Romanian mafia. The godfather.” He brought their foreheads together and breathed against her lips. “He has the hard drive.”

Shock and elation stole through her, weakening her legs and her voice. But she didn’t need either as he lifted her up his body and kissed her hard on the mouth. His tongue knifed past her lips. His beard scratched her face, and his fingers dug into the backs of her thighs.

She grabbed his shoulders to pull. No, to push. It was too much. He was too much.

He wrenched his mouth away and turned just as Mike rolled up on the motorcycle.