Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(38)

Must breathe. Must breathe. Must… Oh, thank God!

“Let the woman go,” Dan commanded, having materialized out of the darkness like an avenging angel. He pressed the lethal end of his Ruger tight against Kozlov’s temple and snaked an arm around the Russian’s throat. She squeezed her eyes shut as relief rushed through her so quickly she felt dizzy. Or maybe that was the lack of O2.

And, yes. Okay. So turns out she was the damsel in distress who needed a Black Knight to rescue her. Maybe she’d feel bad about that later. For now, all she felt was gratitude.

“I said let the woman go, *,” Dan demanded. “Or instead of putting a bullet in your brain, I’ll be tempted to reach down your throat to pull your backbone out through your mouth.”

Whoa. And she thought Kozlov was scary? Penni opened her eyes to find Dan’s concerned gaze searching her face. She nodded jerkily, letting him know she was okay. You know, if she could…Just. Breathe.

“No problem.” Kozlov lifted his hands in the air, his Russian accent rolling the R.

The instant his forearm disappeared from her neck, Penni filled her hungry lungs with bright, glorious air. She didn’t even care that its biting cold flayed her tender throat on the way down. Okay. Okay. It’s okay. The mantra circled around in her head a couple of times, and she pressed a shaking, reassuring hand to her stomach.

“Now, nice and easy,” Dan growled—normally she found that animal-like snarl sexy as hell, but she had to admit, it could be damned unnerving too—“I want you to ease that big piece out from under your coat. And before you think of trying anything, you should know I’m a total cliché. I got a hair trigger and twitchy finger.”

“No problem,” Kozlov said again.

When the big Russian reached inside his jacket, Penni bent to retrieve the Bersa. Her wobbly knees betrayed her at the last second and she muttered a foul word, catching herself with a hand pressed against the coffee shop’s back wall.

“Penni?” Dan asked urgently.

“I’m fine,” she assured him again.

She’d just wrapped her fingers around the Bersa’s polymer grip when Kozlov took advantage of Dan’s momentary distraction to slam an elbow into his face. Thunk! The obscene sound of bone hitting bone echoed dully down the dark street.

Penni was on her feet in an instant, taking aim and curling her trembling finger tight against the .38’s trigger. But it was too late. Dan’s head whipped back, blood gushing from the wound over his left eye where the skin had split open on impact with Kozlov’s elbow.

For a big man, the Russian was extremely fast. He twirled like a top in Dan’s arms, managing to get a hand on Dan’s wrist and angling the Ruger away from his head. And then the fight was on! The two men became a blurry tangle of arms and legs as they spun toward the opposite side of the street. Each used his free hand to pummel the other. Each grunted with the exchanged jabs, twisting and turning and struggling for dominance over the weapon.

Dan! No!

Fear left a sour taste in Penni’s mouth. These things could turn bad at the drop of the hat. One false move, one missed opportunity, and it could all be over. If Dan ended up on the wrong end of that gun because of her, because her mutinous knees had failed her, she’d never forgive herself.

“I can’t get a clean shot!” she hissed, her blood roaring through her veins so quickly it burned. “Dan! I can’t get a—”

She didn’t finish because Kozlov slammed Dan’s hand into a street sign and the Ruger dropped into the road.

Christ! Christ!

Penni closed one eye and sighted down the Bersa’s short barrel. Her hands were shaking so badly she was ashamed of herself. But even if they hadn’t been, she wouldn’t have dared take the shot. Not when one inch in the wrong direction could mean the difference between hitting the Russian and hitting Dan by mistake.

Punches. Kicks. Body blows. Face strikes. It was terrifying to watch them dance and dodge. And strangely quiet. Neither man uttered a word. Just the occasional grunt when a brutal blow landed with particular force.

Penni recognized some of Dan’s moves as Krav Maga. The CQB—close quarters combat—technique combined boxing and wrestling with various forms of martial arts. It was invented by the Israelis and taught to America’s Navy SEALs. And it was as effective as it was impressive. Despite Kozlov’s greater bulk, Dan was gaining the upper hand.

Now, if only he’d get out of the damned way so I can get a clean—

Bongggg! Dan slammed Kozlov’s head into the metal side of a pay phone bolted to the curb. Huh. Do those still exist? Apparently. And Dan put the apparatus to good use. Grabbing the receiver off the hook, he used the cord as a garrote and started strangling Kozlov, the big veins in the Russian’s neck stood out like snakes with the strain of it. Kozlov frantically gripped the cord, trying to get his fingers between the garrote and his throat. But it was no use. Dan was way too strong. And way too determined.

When Kozlov’s eyes bulged from his crimson face and his booted feet scrabbled against the cobblestones, Penni saw her opportunity. Racing across the street, she bent and retrieved Dan’s dropped Ruger. Luckily, this time she managed to keep from almost ass-planting. And then, with a weapon in each hand, she slowly made her way around to the front of the men, aiming both the Ruger and the Bersa straight at Kozlov’s midsection.