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She spotted two men that looked a lot like the one who had ahold of her standing off in the corner, amusement dancing in their insidious stares as they watched their friend manhandle her, and she knew the only assistance they’d be giving would be to hold her down. The post behind the cash register was vacant. Where was that attendant? Shouldn’t someone be here?
“Let me go!” Rya
“Ooo . . . you are a feisty one,” he growled in her ear. “Must be that red hair. I can’t wait to find out if you’re just as fiery down here.” Anarchy’s hand slipped between her legs and grabbed her crotch, jerking up so hard her feet left the ground. The mocking laughter of his friends filled the store. A moment later, it was cut short by a feral growl. Her assailant tensed behind her.
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
Anarchy didn’t even have a chance to comply before Rya
They dove for Aiden at the same time. She slammed her hand over her mouth to hold back the scream threatening to tear from her throat. Rya
When a flash of steel caught her eye, true terror froze the blood coursing through her veins. Before a warning could pass her lips, Aiden sent out an impressive hook kick that caught the guy in the wrist. The sickening crunch of bone accompanied his pained cry as the knife clattered to the ground and skidded out of sight.
She had to do something! Call the police! The still rational part of her brain screamed at her nonfunctioning limbs. Rya
Oh, God!
It all clicked together—what she and Aiden had walked in on. She reached for the phone to dial 911. A deafening gunshot startled her, and she dropped the receiver.
CHAPTER
11
As the third guy hit the floor, knocked out by a solid uppercut to the jaw, the first man—the one who’d had his hands on Rya
Oh, God, Rya
As they hit the floor, Aiden turned, making sure the asshole took the brunt of the fall. He slammed the guy’s gun hand onto the ground—once—twice—before knocking the nine-millimeter from his grip. The weapon skidded under a stack of metal shelving.
He hit the man with another solid blow that slammed the back of his head into the floor. This one knocked him out, and Aiden was on his feet, ru
“Rya
“It’s . . . it’s not mine,” she stuttered, grabbing his wrists and halting his inspection. “It’s him.” She pointed behind the counter. “I dropped the phone. There was blood on it.”
Stepping around her, Aiden peered over the counter and found the source of Rya
Rya
She nodded.
One of the guys moaned and Rya
“I thought . . . when that gun went off . . . I thought you’d been shot.”
Her concern for him made something in his chest tighten. Uncomfortable with the foreign sensation, Aiden cracked a joke, playing off the feeling as posttraumatic stress. “Worried about me, were you? Not looking forward to explaining to my mom that I got shot on your watch?”
She let out a half-hearted laugh—poor attempt that it was. And honestly, there was nothing humorous about this situation. An i
“That’s not fu
“I know, Madeline Kruze is a scary woman, huh . . .”
This time her laugh didn’t sound quite so forced. Given the choice between serious or joking, Aiden would choose the latter every time. The defense mechanism worked beautifully at keeping people from getting too close without realizing he was maneuvering them—always the jovial smartass.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she chided. “I was referring to you being shot. But now that you mention it, she is pretty terrifying.”