Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(31)
“Sorry,” he winced. “Playing hide-and-seek with two hit squads obviously makes me a bear.”
And…there was that.
Okay, so the truth of the matter was that she had much bigger things to worry about than her bruised pride and wounded ego. Number one being she was running from a group of operatives bent on putting a bullet in Rock’s brain…and hers, too, if last night’s shoot-out was any indication.
She guessed that’s what she got for consorting with a supposed rogue operator…
And she still believed in the supposed part, didn’t she?
Yes. Yes, I do.
Although, in the short time they’d been together, he’d made two cryptic remarks—you don’t know a damn thing about me, and what makes you so sure my name can be cleared?—that, admittedly, caused her to once again entertain a sliver, just a teensy, tiny, ever-so-little sliver of doubt.
And she hated that feeling. Hated looking at this man she’d grown to both respect and like—yes, like, even if he had shot her down like a duck hunter shoots a mallard, because at least he’d been honest, and a gal had to appreciate that—and wonder if maybe she’d been wrong about him. If maybe he was capable of cold-blooded—
“You ready?” he asked, and she raked in a deep, bracing breath.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” She searched his eyes, looking for something to let her know she was mistaken in harboring any doubts. But his expression was unreadable.
“Then let’s do it.” Even in the low light, she caught the flicker of chagrin that quickly passed over his face at his choice of words. And a little part of her, an evil part of her, was glad he was suffering at least some discomfort after last night’s discussion.
After all, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander…and what is with all the water-foul references bouncing around inside my head this morning? It gave whole new meaning to the expression bird-brained. Obviously Rock was right. She was suffering from heat exhaustion…
He pressed a finger to his lips, calling for silence—had her thoughts been that loud?—before quietly scooting down to the base of the log. She followed suit, crab-walking in the tight space until she had to stop to wait for him to push the foliage aside. He did so slowly, the barrels of his 9mms peeking through the green curtain first. After what seemed eons, he shoved the guns in his waistband and brushed the ferns and small shrubs aside before climbing out.
Vanessa was right on his heels. And even though the jungle canopy was dense and the sunlight filtering through weak, the brightness outside when compared to the interior of the log had her squinting and blinking. She raised her hand to shield her eyes just as a shadow moved in her peripheral vision.
She barely had time to turn before Rock burst into action, moving so quickly he was nothing but a blur. With a roundhouse kick, he booted the black-clad agent’s M4 machine gun out of his hands, dodging blows aimed for his head as he landed a few hard punches that sounded loud and obscene against the natural buzzing chatter of jungle life.
The agent responded with moves to rival Jet Li, but Rock somehow countered each one. Ducking, swaying, blocking…
For a moment, Vanessa was stunned, staring in slack-jawed horror. But she quickly regained her wits and raced around the grappling men toward the discarded weapon. Bending to snatch it off the ground, she ran through the steps of her weapons training…
One: slap the magazine to ensure it’s fully seated. Check. Two: pull the charging handle to the rear and watch to see a live round or expended cartridge eject. Check. Three: release the charging handle and tap the forward assist assembly to make sure the bolt closes. Check. Four: turn and fire.
But when she spun to aim the M4 at their would-be assassin, it was to find that her help was no longer needed. Because Rock had the guy in a choke hold, applying a buttload of pressure to the arm he’d wrenched behind the man’s back. The agent was up on his tiptoes, aiming ineffectual body blows at Rock with his free hand, but it appeared Rock barely felt them.
Vanessa’s heart thundered, the blood pounding in her ears, so she was equal parts stunned and impressed when she heard Rock say, in a remarkably calm tone, “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”
Their assailant answered with a high-pitched grunt, his face turning red and his eyes bulging from their sockets.
“How long before your team arrives?” Rock asked, and when the man garbled, “Fuck you!” Rock bent the dude’s arm up and back even further.
Vanessa winced in sympathy as the agent’s face contorted with pain.
“F-f*ck you!” the man bellowed again, a little louder.
“Sorry, but you’re not my type.” Rock released just enough pressure so the man stopped turning purple but not enough to give him a chance to escape or enough oxygen to launch an effective counterattack. It was sort of amazing how quickly and easily Rock had mitigated the threat. No muss, no fuss, no blood. Just one very pissed-off CIA agent. “And since you’re making a pretty good racket, and since I don’t hear any of your folks racin’ to the rescue, that must mean you’re all by your lonesome out here. If I had to guess, I’d say you’ve fanned out far enough that you’re all spread, what? Twenty, thirty minutes apart from one another? This is a big jungle, after all. Non?”
Something in the agent’s face must’ve clued Rock into the fact that he’d hit the nail on the head, because a knowing smile curved his lips before he said, “Now the way I see it, mon ami, you got three options here. One, I can make sure you never shoot with this arm again—which will certainly put a damper on your career. Two, I can let my lady friend over there put a bullet in your leg that’ll guaran-damn-tee you don’t walk right for six months—which will likely put a damper on your career.” The agent’s bulging, bloodshot eyes rolled toward Vanessa. She raised a brow, indicating that, yes, she would have no trouble doing exactly what Rock said. “Or three, you can be a good boy and stop fighting so we can tie you up, real quick like.”