Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(83)

With one hand gripping his pistol, and the other wrapped around her arm, he pulled her away from the tree and deeper into the undergrowth. She glanced over her shoulder to see Yonus hesitate. And just as she was about to tell Carlos they had to wait, they couldn’t leave the young man behind, Yonus gulped and dashed toward them. He caught up just before they slid out of sight.

Darting from tree to tree, the three of them quietly jumped over roots and slapped aside creeping plants that tried to snag their arms and legs as they paralleled the logging road. And all the while, Carlos led the way just as the tattoo scrawled across his back said he would. Ever-ready, ever-steady, and ever-deadly.

Which he proved when a terrorist jumped out at them from behind a large bush. Abby couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from her throat when a machine gun pointed straight at Carlos’s chest. But she didn’t have time to do more than that. Thank goodness Carlos’s reflexes were quicker than hers. Before the man could squeeze off a round, Carlos booted the weapon from the militant’s hand with a roundhouse kick that would’ve made Jackie Chan proud.

For a couple of seconds, the two men stood there, facing each other, both blowing like they’d run a race.

“Don’t do it,” Carlos hissed when the guy reached for the knife on his belt.

Yonus yelled something in Malay. Probably stop or no! But the JI goon didn’t heed his warning. With a snarl and a demon yell, the skinny terrorist launched himself at Carlos, his silver blade glinting in the dappled light, his free hand curved into a claw.

No, no, no!

Abby bent to pick up the dropped machine gun, surprised by its weight and the warmth of the trigger’s metal against her finger. But she didn’t have time to straighten or aim when a loud boom echoed into the treetops. She lifted her gaze to see Carlos’s pistol faintly smoking and the terrorist crumpled on the ground in a heap of dirty clothes and mahogany skin.

Again, Carlos’s tattoos had proved correct. The JI militant had messed with the best and he’d died like the rest. She shook her head, swallowing. It was so senseless. All this killing. All this…dying.

“Don’t look,” Carlos warned, turning to offer her a hand up. With a brief glance—and you can bet your bottom dollar it was only the briefest of glances—she noted the deep-red blood that had snaked and dripped from around his fingers was dried to a crusty brown.

Good. That’s good. Because it meant her slapdash field dressing had stopped his bleeding.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she gulped, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Did you hear that, you motherf*cker?” Carlos tilted his head back, yelling into the canopy. “Now I have three weapons to your two! You want to keep playing this game?”

Silence met his call. And that was somehow worse than the sound of Shadow Man’s wretched voice.

“He’s moving in,” Carlos whispered, taking the machine gun from her hands and slinging it over his shoulder to join the one already hanging there. A chill of foreboding snaked up her spine as he continued, “Let’s go! QQS!”

Abby didn’t bother to enlighten Yonus as to what the letters stood for. She figured he got the general gist. And a few more seconds of dodging and jumping and running brought them to the edge of the tree line, directly beside Yonus’s Chevy pickup truck circa 1960-something. Rust had eaten away at the edges of its wheel wells. There was a massive crack snaking across its rear window. And the paint was an odd mix of faded yellow and primer. But the big, knobby wheels looked new. And it’d made the trip out here from the highway, so Abby was crossing her fingers it would make the trip back.

“Okay.” Carlos glanced left and right. Then he stared straight at Yonus—poor Yonus who’d suddenly found himself stuck in the middle of some deadly international tomf*ckery. The guy probably wished he’d stayed in bed this morning. “I’ll step out, lay down covering fire, and you and Abby hop in the truck. Once you’re in with the engine running, I’ll jump in the back.”

Now hold the mothertrucking phone. “Wait a minute,” she hissed, her heart going from a wild jog to a full-on sprint. This was the grand plan she’d been giving him so much credit for? “You can’t just step out in the open. You’ll be shooting blind while basically wearing a big ol’ bull’s-eye on your chest.”

“It’s the only way.”

“No.” She shook her head, holding up a hand she discovered was shaking. “No, it’s not. We could come up with something else, and I—”

“You have your keys ready?” he asked Yonus, completely ignoring her.

“Yes.” Yonus lifted the ring and the keys attached to it jangled quietly. In the continuing quiet of the jungle, they sounded like the frickin’ bells of Notre Dame chiming the hour…and giving away their position.

She winced, making a face, but undo noise was currently the least of her worries. “Damnit, Carlos. This isn’t—”

“If things go sideways”—he interrupted again, his black eyes boring into her with enough force to bring her to her knees. Luckily, blood was the only kryptonite to her Superman. Pushy, courageous, idiotic men she was completely immune to. Well, at least outside of the bedroom—“I don’t want you playing the hero, mi vida. You make a run for that border just as quick as you can.”