Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(85)

“Go, Yonus!” he managed to bellow as hate-filled eyes and gritted teeth filled his vision. The man reached back to try for another blow, but he caught the *’s flying fist right before it connected with his nose. Then…f*ck! The militant managed to rip his knife from its sheath.

“Go, go, go!” he yelled as he used both hands to grab the asswipe’s wrist. He fought against the weight bearing the blade down on him, his biceps burning, his tendons popping. The tip of the knife kissed the skin of his stomach, threatening to sink into his gut. And in that moment, he knew it could go either way. “Go, Yonus! Leave me!” he roared as adrenaline fueled him to fight harder. Fight smarter. Adrenaline and love. Because if he didn’t come out the victor here, at least he’d die knowing Abby had gotten away.

That is if Yonus would just Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here!

He thought he heard Abby screaming his name as Yonus finally—gracias a Dios—did as he was told. The truck’s tires spun and kicked up mud in an earthy-smelling spray. It covered him in a cool, slick film, spattering across his face and the face of his assailant. Neither of them paid it any mind as they fought and spit and kicked. With a grunt and a heave, he managed to flip the terrorist onto his back. And for the first time, he was the one with the upper hand.

“Carlos!” This time he was certain he could hear Abby screeching through the truck’s open window, her voice thick with tears as the vehicle fishtailed down the road. “No, Yonus! Stop!”

Don’t you dare stop, Yonus, he thought as he gritted his teeth, squeezing the militant’s wrist with every ounce of strength he had, growling his fury and his fear until he could feel the man’s bones rubbing against one another. The terrorist yelped under the assault, his fingers loosening around the knife’s handle.

Steady didn’t hesitate. Wrenching the blade from the man’s grip, he spun it neatly around on the flat of his palm, curled his fingers over the hardened nylon grip, and plunged the entire stainless steel length between the militant’s ribs at an upward angle. The tip of the knife pierced through the man’s pericardial sac and sliced straight into his beating heart. He was dead in an instant. His arms falling away and landing in the muck on the roadway with a couple of muted splats.

“Damn.” Steady raked in giant gulps of oxygen, both in relief and disbelief. That’d been a very close thing. Too f*ckin’ close.

Yanking his knife free, barely noticing the sickening sucking sound it made upon retreat, he used the back of his wrist to wipe some of the dripping mud from his eyes. His heart raced so fast he had to fight to slow it, had to force himself to take steady, measured breaths even though his lungs longed to work like bellows. And despite his muscles aching and burning with spent adrenaline, he managed to push up to his knees, straddling the lifeless body of the terrorist.

A quick glance told him the truck was still barreling down the road toward safety. Bueno. Because according to his count, there was still one JI goon—aka Dickhead—left to dispatch. He was in the process of getting his feet under him, his eyes scanning the roadway in search of his Beretta, when something up the way caught his eye.

Holy fuuuuuuck! He watched in disbelief as the passenger-side door on Yonus’s truck flew open a second before Abby threw herself from the moving vehicle. And so much for calming his racing heart, the organ felt like it exploded inside his chest. He was surprised it didn’t take him to his knees again.

“No!” he roared, terror shooting through his system like a poisonous drug as Yonus slammed on the brakes, the truck sliding in a slow arc that ended when the vehicle slid off the side of the road and rocked to a stop. “Oh, Dios! Abby!”

But after a couple of bumpy rolls, the brave, stubborn, crazy woman hopped to her feet like a stuntman. And now she was running toward him, screaming his name. She looked like she’d been dipped in chocolate she was so completely covered in mud. And for one brief moment all he could do was stand there and stare. She was so beautiful. And fierce.

His love for her filled him anew, filled him to bursting. His love and his fear, because—

He didn’t have time to finish the thought when the hairs along the back of his neck twanged out a warning. Which was why he wasn’t surprised to hear Dickhead yell, “Don’t move!”

Abby skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, slipping and going down on one knee. She was a full twenty yards up the way, but he could still see the whites of her wide eyes blazing through the mud covering her face.

Oh, Abby, he briefly squeezed his eyelids shut, desperation and despair warring for supremacy inside him. Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance, mi vida?

But he knew the answer. The wonderful woman was selfless and courageous. And damn her for it. Because he’d won. He’d seen her headed for safety, and that was all that mattered. But then she had to go and be all…well…Abby-like, and now he was back to square one.

He glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, there was Dickhead, crouched low along the side of the road and advancing quickly in his direction. His shoulder blades itched where Dickhead’s AK was focused, and turning forward he calculated the distance to his Beretta, wondering how good of a shot Dickhead was and if the guy would be able to kill him before he had a chance to reclaim his weapon, take aim, and bring the f*cker down.

He liked his chances, he decided. Because even if Dickhead managed to mortally wound him, surely he could live long enough to return the favor. Surely.