Page 48 of Kidnapped Bride

The elderly man who owned the pawn shop had never given us any trouble at all. In fact, he'd offloaded several of our tainted weapons at one point, and we owed him a debt.

To see Markin's men there was infuriating.

We were creeping closer when two of Markin's men came out the side door of the pawn shop with their guns up.

Vlad's crew caught the first one from behind and put him face down on the concrete before he could get a shot off.

But the second one looked at me and the gun in my hand and did something I wasn't expecting.

He threw his weapon aside and charged right at me.

His shoulder hit my chest before I could get my arm up and we went down together to the sidewalk.

The impact knocked my gun loose and it bounced across the concrete and disappeared under a parked car.

Then his fist came straight at my face, hard enough to snap my head sideways and fill my mouth with blood.

He was a large man, far heavier than me, and his next swing was ready before I had even recovered.

But I noticed his fist coming in just in time to move my head, causing his knuckles to smash into the concrete.

At the same time I sucker punched him in the ribs and he rolled to the side coughing.

We got to our feet at the same time, but he came in swinging wildly. I slipped the first punch but the second one hooked into my left side, right into my wound, forcing the air from my lungs as I tried to bring my elbow down to block it.

The pain was excruciating.

My eyes clamped shut as the world started to spin and I felt the stitches go all at once like someone had torn the seam open with both hands.

Blood ran down my side and soaked into my waistband and I grabbed the wall to keep my legs under me.

It took everything I had not to collapse as I sucked in air, listening to the drum of gunfire around me.

The laundromat emptied into the street, proving we were outnumbered, but we had good cover and positioning.

What I didn't have was protection. And the man coming at me was relentless.

He saw me buckle and came forward looking for the finish.

He threw a straight right at my head and I ducked it and drove my fist so deep into his stomach that he folded over with a wet grunt.

Then I grabbed the back of his skull with both hands and brought my knee into his nose.

The crack was ugly and loud and he staggered backward with blood sheeting down his face.

Unfortunately for him, he was too stupid to know when to quit, and he came at me again, growling like an ogre. I sidestepped him and caught his collar and slammed his face into the brick.

His head bounced off the wall and his legs went liquid, dragging him down as I hit him one more time square in the temple. This time he dropped to the concrete and stayed there.

I leaned against the wall heaving to catch my breath and pressed my hand to my side, looking down at it. Blood ran through my fingers and dripped off my belt onto the concrete.

It wasn't as bad as the night I'd been shot, and three weeks out, I knew the internal shit was probably healed up already. This was just surface bleeding. I'd survive.

"Vlad," I called out between breaths, seeing what was happening. "The laundromat."

"On it," he growled as more gunshots erupted.

Then Yakov was beside me with his eyes on the blood spreading through my shirt. He didn't ask how bad it was because he could see for himself.