The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(21)

Suddenly, she was with Clay again. He was on one knee in front of her, holding in his hand the most beautiful engagement ring she had ever seen.

I’m no saint, and I’m no hero. I’m just a man who loves you.

As her last conscious thought drifted away on a wave of pain, a tear slowly rolled down her cheek.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


The Ritz-Carlton


San Francisco, California

White’s entire face hurt, making it difficult for him to breathe. He felt as if he was coming up from deep underwater, rising sluggishly to the surface. He opened his eyes. His vision was blurry. Everything was unfocused. He couldn’t make out anything clearly. Even the sounds were muffled. Fuzzy movements to his right made him turn his head. A searing pain shot through his jaw and eye socket. He groaned. He blinked several times, and his vision cleared enough for him to see.

The man with the silver hair had White’s Bishop blade embedded in his back. More worrisome was the fact that he had his hands around Veronica’s neck. He was holding her up, pinning her back against the window. Her legs were thrashing madly, her feet two or three inches from the floor. The icy terror that raced through White’s veins was suddenly replaced by a tsunami of adrenaline. He forced himself up and rushed the assassin, dropping him rearward with a sharp kick to the back of the knee. The man let go of Veronica’s neck and tried to elbow White with his right arm. White anticipated the move and blocked it easily with his forearm while simultaneously giving a good shove at the Bishop blade with the palm of his left hand, pushing the blade even deeper into the man’s back. White heard him growl in agony.

Not wasting any time, White wrapped his right forearm around the front of the man’s neck and his left forearm across the back of it. He then locked his right hand into the crook of his own elbow, pinioning the man’s neck in a viselike grip. The man was tough and resilient, more than White could ever have imagined given the knife in his back. He tried to pull White’s arm away from his neck. It was a futile effort. He then pitched forward and attempted to pull White over, but he was getting too weak. White squeezed his bicep even tighter, cutting off the man’s flow of blood and oxygen. It should have been over by now, but the man continued to struggle for another thirty seconds before he finally stopped moving.

Drenched in sweat and out of breath, White let him go. A few feet in front of White, Veronica started coughing. She looked at him with glassy red eyes, holding her neck. White glanced around. A few feet away from the bed, the man’s silenced pistol lay next to the diamond engagement ring. He slipped the ring in his pocket and placed the man’s gun in the bathroom sink. Drawing his own pistol, White ejected the half-spent magazine and inserted a fresh one before holstering it again. He then headed to the coffee maker and ripped the electric cord off it, which he used to tie the assassin’s hands behind his back. Pulling his pistol out, White walked back to Veronica and knelt down next to her.

“You okay?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the door and his pistol in the low-ready position.

“I . . . I think so,” Veronica said, her voice faltering. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied, barely moving his mouth. His tongue was swollen, and his jaw was killing him.

Still, he had to let his team know what was going on. As far as he was concerned, this was just the beginning. A second wave of attackers could breach the door at any time. But before he could contact the mobile communications unit, Vigil-Three’s voice came in through his earbud.

“Vigil-One, this is Three,” the agent said, his voice barely loud enough for White to hear.

“Go for One.”

“I’ve been shot in the back, but I got the bastard.”

White’s breath caught in his throat. “What’s your location?”

For God’s sake! How many of them are they? White thought, waiting for Vigil-Three’s reply.

“I’m . . . on the landing between the second and third floor. West-side staircase. The bullets hit the vest. I’m good, I think.”

“Good copy, Vigil-Three.”

White waited for XJD-31 to jump in, knowing they were listening. Hadn’t they heard Vigil-Three’s plea for help?

“XJD-31 from Vigil-One,” White said, more than a little irritated with how the mobile communications unit was managing the situation. “Did you get Vigil-Three’s last? He needs assistance, and I need agents to secure safe passage for Flower.”

“We copy, Vigil-One. Please note that the local police are now on site and that I’ve lost comms with Vigil-Two, Four, Five, and Six. Stand by for more info.”

White couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What kind of clusterfuck is this? he asked himself, knowing that this shitshow was partially his fault. No, that wasn’t true. It was all his fault.

He glanced at Veronica, whose cheeks had thankfully started to regain some color. “I need you to go back in the bathroom,” he said to her.

“No fucking way,” she replied, stunning him. “I’m done hiding. Let the fuckers come.”

White watched her in admiration as she removed the Bishop knife from the assassin’s back in one swift motion. White heard the man moan, but nothing more. He didn’t move or speak. Just a low moan of pain. White reached for the small of his back and handed Veronica the pistol he had seized from one of the gunmen.