Mark (Mallick Brothers 3)

A shadow moved its way down the aisle in front of me. Even as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could make out the long, lean frame of a woman with long, dark hair. Her back to me, that was about all I could make out. Well, that and the fact that she was walking carefully, lifting and putting down her sturdy combat boots like the touch of the rubber soles on her feet might give her away.

Maybe having the same stomach-tightening thing I was having and wanting to get herself more hidden.

Obviously oblivious to me, she backed up almost into me, leaving barely four inches between the both of us.

The silence was oddly heavy as her scent filled my nostrils. It was nice too- nothing too chemical-smelling. It was herbal, hints of lavender and maybe some citrus. Unique, alluring, and just a hint, as perfume should be. I had come home far too many nights out with women and needing to strip and throw my clothes in the wash immediately because I couldn't stand the smell of the crap they practically bathed in.

I was pretty much convinced it was just some grid-problem or wiring problem or some other random shit, resigning myself to the fact that I would have to abandon my items and then head to another big box store to get the shit my mother wanted when it happened.

Even if you were unfamiliar with the sound, if it wasn't a constant part of life in a criminal underbelly, even if you didn't know because you had heard the sound caused by your own hand and finger before, you knew the sound of gunfire when you heard it.

My blood went cold as my gut tightened harder.

What followed for me was instinct, maybe because I had sisters-in-law who meant the world to me, maybe because I plain loved women, maybe it was just some primal neanderthal instinct long-buried. But one second I was standing there, ears aching with the loud, close sound of guns going off within a closed store. The next, my hand was clamped down on the random woman's mouth.

"Sh," I demanded as my other arm went around her stomach, pulling her back flush against my chest, dragging her out of view if someone did pass by.

Who the fuck fired guns in big box stores?

Crazy fucks. Guys off their meds with sawed-offs and a grudge against their ex-wives.

But they wouldn't be smart enough to cut the power.

No.

That was professional shit.

And professional shit meant that they were likely there to rob the place.

Know how much cash was around in the twelve or so lanes of check-out at a big box store? Enough. Enough to take the risk to pull off a daylight robbery. Enough to figure out how to cut the lights. And if they knew how to cut the lights, they knew to cut the cameras.

As if lining up with that train of thought, I saw a dark-clad figure from between two of the displays that were currently blocking myself and the woman from view of the registers. They could cut the light, but there was nothing they could do about the sliding doors of the entrance, bringing in streaks of sunlight. Just enough of it to really be able to make out the men in the beginning stages of a robbery.

And those men, yeah, they didn't even have fucking masks on. Not one of the three that I could see.

It was dark enough that it likely worked to their advantage, cast enough of their features in shadow that not even I could properly give a description to a sketch artist, let alone the men and women at the registers who were too busy choking on their own fear to pay any attention to things like brow structure or eye color.

All I could say for sure was they were all tall, dark-haired, and fit. That was it. And I was close enough to make out more, to make out it all if there was better light.

"No one is going to get hurt," one of them called, making me let out a slow breath, taking some of the tension with it. Because they didn't say 'if you do what we say, no one will get hurt.' They didn't put everyone's safety in the hands of the other scared idiots around them who might try to get some grand ideas. Maybe it was naive to take a criminal at their word. That being said, being who I was, doing what I did for a living, I knew a lot of criminals. I knew them well enough to know when they were bullshitting you. These guys weren't bullshitting. They were there for the money that was carefully being emptied into store bags at the three registers that men were standing near.