Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(32)
Thwack! Rat-a-tat-tat!
Alrighty, then! Automatic weapons fire was just what she needed to overcome any second thoughts about continuing her journey. Jumping to the next set of boards, and the ones after that, she ducked when a spray of bullets bit into the river below. The terrorists were fifty yards upstream, letting loose with everything they had and advancing fast.
“Go, go, go!” Carlos yelled, as—Boom! Boom! Boom!—he returned fire.
Go? She didn’t need to be told twice. She raced across the remaining expanse like one of those Jesus Christ lizards that walk on water. But just when she thought she was home free, the last set of boards disintegrated under her weight.
The sudden shock of losing her footing made it feel as though a million cockroaches raced over her skin. And the blood rushing between her ears outroared the raging river. But, luckily, she had a firm hold on the support ropes on either side of her head. She managed to catch herself before belly-flopping into the river and, swinging Tarzan-style, she landed on the opposite bank with a teeth-clacking thud. She fell to one knee but was up like a shot a nanosecond later.
Carlos made landfall right behind her, his big boots sinking three inches into the soft soil. “Take cover!” he yelled. From the corner of her eye, she saw him wrench his knife from the clip attached to his belt loop.
Again, her mama didn’t raise no fool. She didn’t hesitate to duck into the relative safety of the jungle, positioning herself behind a large tree. The rope supports on one side of the bridge were tied around its trunk and, an instant later, Carlos was there beside her, sawing frantically at the lines as rounds continued to crash into the river not three feet from him. Then a few bit into the dark earth of the embankment.
“Hurry, Carlos,” she breathed, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her above the thunder of gunfire and the rumble of the river. “Hurry, hurry, hurry…”
She repeated the mantra over and over, her brain buzzing with fear for him. He was partially exposed, and those rounds were getting closer. She’d never forgive herself if—
Snap!
The rope gave way beneath his sharp blade, and one of the supports on the bridge fell loose. He raced to a second attachment on a nearby tree, ducking the spray of bullets as he went. He started slicing at the rope just as a half dozen or so militants made it to the opposite bank. Abby peeked from her cover in time to see them rush onto the expanse of the swaying bridge. They continued to fire wildly despite having to concentrate on crossing the sagging structure. A round bit into the tree she was hiding behind, sending bark flying. She jerked back, digging her nails into the wood until her fingers ached.
“Come on, come on, come on…” A new mantra circled through her overloaded mind, and she watched, heart pounding, breath bated, as Carlos worked. Tendons and veins bulged in his arms, sweat dampened his forehead and hair, and his jaw gritted so hard she could see the striations of the muscles beneath his face. The man’s courage seemed to glow, stitching through him like lightning blazing through the darkness. And like lightning, he was glorious to watch in action.
Then…Snap! Whack!
The second rope came loose, causing the third and fourth to take the full weight of the structure. They unraveled a half second later, severing the bridge and sending the militants plunging into the boiling river. Their yells and cries were a welcome sound as she skirted the tree and triumphantly watched them thrash and struggle to remain afloat as the seething current caught them and washed them quickly downstream. See ya! Wouldn’t want to be ya!
“It’s going to be okay now, ne?a,” Carlos said from beside her, tilting his head from side to side as if to loosen the muscles in his neck. It was a gesture she recognized from years ago. A kind of tick that would always remind her of the handsome, would-be doctor who’d been the first man to touch her girlish heart. “The bastards who don’t drown in the river will have to find another spot to cross. And, according to my maps, there isn’t another bridge within a twenty-mile trek on either side of us. We’ll be well over the border before they ever set foot on this side of the bank.”
His black eyes were fierce, bright with the fire of battle. And while his neck-cracking was wonderfully familiar, that particular gleam in his eye was strangely foreign. It made her realize that this was a Carlos she’d never seen before. A warrior. A champion. And although it was a little scary knowing who he was now, what he was now, it also stirred something inside her, something that harkened back to prehistoric times and rode along on that pesky doubleX chromosome. “But, just in case, let’s get a move on, shall we?”
When he began to turn away, she grabbed his wrist. From one second to the next, her fear and tension—and that quick kiss of sexual awareness she felt looking at him standing there all big and bad—was replaced by the weight of her guilt. It dropped atop her shoulders like a thirty-pound bag of fertilizer, and tears she had no business shedding, tears she knew she didn’t have time to shed, burned behind her eyes.
“Abby?” He lifted a dark brow. “What is it?”
“I almost got you killed.” Her voice cracked as the truth of that really set in. “I might still get you killed!”
“What are you talking about?”
“If we hadn’t stopped so I could pee, none of this—”
And then he made everything so much worse—or better?—when he dragged her against his chest, palming the back of her head so her nose was buried in the soft fabric of his tank top.