Long Road Home(16)

Her breathing lurched and sped up. Panic. Groping hands. Self-loathing.

Manny jerked away from her, fire in his eyes. He was angry. She’d never seen him angrier. His entire body bristled, power shrouding him. He looked every inch the predator. Gone was her childhood protector, the object of her teenage crush. In his place was a dangerous man. One who looked as though he could take apart someone with his bare hands.

She shivered involuntarily, and his expression grew even blacker.

“Who hurt you, Jules?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

It took her a moment for her to realize that he wasn’t angry with her. He had picked up on her utter terror, and now he was a seething mass of muscle. She opened her mouth to speak, to reassure him in some way, but no words came out.

Her throat was fast closing in, and once again, harsh despair swelled inside her. Though she hated the person she’d become, she recognized that at least that person was strong.

He reached hesitantly for her, and she turned away, curling herself into an impenetrable ball. It was all crashing down. Her carefully constructed balance was rapidly deteriorating.

“Manny, I can’t breathe,” she gasped.

Manuel grabbed her shoulders and turned her back to him. “Look at me, Jules,” he ordered. He forced himself to be calm, though he boiled just beneath the surface.

Her eyes flitted up to him, dull, lifeless. He swore long and hard under his breath. This was his fault. He pushed her too hard, too fast. And he couldn’t keep his damn hands to himself. Finally being able to hold her, touch her, had overwhelmed him. He needed to be close to her. Reassure himself that she was really here.

“You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you anymore. Do you understand me? I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Ever.”

Regret flickered in eyes that had shone lifeless just seconds before. “It’s out of your hands, Manny.”

The sound of glass shattering startled them both. Instinctively, Manuel shoved Jules to the floor, shielding her with his body.

Gunshots sounded, the rat-a-tat peppering of bullets spraying through the windows and into the walls on the other side of the cabin.

“Let me up, damn it!”

“Stay down,” he barked, reaching for his gun.

She shoved hard at him and reached for her duffle bag, her fingers straining to capture the handles.

“For Christ’s sake, Jules. This isn’t the time!”

He returned fire, spacing his shots a few inches apart in the direction of the gunshots.

Jules kicked him in the gut, and one of his shots went wild. “What the hell are you doing?”

She managed to snag her bag and tear it open, the contents spilling onto the floor. She grabbed a mean-looking Russian assault rifle in one hand and a Glock in the other.

“Cover me.”

“What the… Get back here!”

She rolled across the floor, laying down a spray of fire.

“Son of a bitch.” He turned and began firing as well.

The front door burst open, and before he could react, Jules put a bullet straight through the intruder’s forehead. She had impressive aim.

She shoved the body over and removed the machine gun from the dead man’s grasp. She sent it sliding over the wood floor in Manuel’s direction, and he scooped it up, shoving his piece back in his waistband.

Suddenly, she raised her pistol and aimed it straight at his head. He jerked when she fired then heard a thud behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see another body sprawled on the floor. “Thanks,” he muttered.

He caught movement outside one of the shattered windows and immediately fired off a round. A shadowy figure fell. Three down now. How many more were there?

As if reading his mind, Jules called out from her perch by the door. “They usually travel in teams of six.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Trust me.”

Trust her. How the hell was he supposed to trust her when he didn’t have a friggin’ clue what her involvement was? All he knew was that since her reappearance, the people he considered his second parents had been blown to hell, he’d been drugged, and now he was being shot at. Not exactly the cornerstones of trust.

And then there was the fact that one minute she was an injured fawn and the next she was an avenging angel, hauling a freaking arsenal out of her gym bag.

He’d had enough of this shit. The gloves were off. If they made it out of this alive, she was going to do some serious explaining. And this time, his damn hormones weren’t going to get in the way.

“Follow me,” he ordered, gesturing at Jules. His tone brooked no argument, but he wasn’t entirely sure she would listen.

To his surprise, she scooted forward, her chest to the floor. “You have a plan, I take it?”

“Yeah. It’s called we’re getting the hell out of here.”

She made a rude noise. “No need to get snippy.”

“Save the lip, Jules. You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do if we make it out of here alive.”

“If we make it out alive.”

He glared at her then crawled toward the back door. He didn’t harbor any hope that no one was staking out the exit, but he knew if they could get to the river they might have a chance. Might.

“When I start firing, I want you to dive out the door and keep on going,” he directed. “Get to the river. If I don’t show up in two minutes, get to the other side and use this.” He shoved his phone at her. “Just punch one. Tony will answer.”