Page 41 of A Shot at Love
A quick swerve with the tires screeching and Gemma was pitched into semi-darkness as the SUV slammed to a stop.
She counted to ten, the silence in the van overpowering after the cacophony of the fire play.
A whirr of sirens echoed in the distance.
“Are you hurt?” Ky asked her. He helped her from the floor, swiping glass off her shoulders and lap.
“I—I don’t think so.” She sat up, her entire body shaking. White and yellow pops of light flashed in front of her eyes. Her lips felt tingly as did her fingertips. Before she could draw another breath, Ky shoved her head down between her knees.
“Breathe,” he told her, keeping his hand secured to the back of her neck. “Slow, now. Don’t force it.”
Kilburn’s voice was muffled and very far away, but she heard him say, “Cassidy’s hit, Sir. We need to get out of here.”
Gemma tried to sit back up, but Ky’s hand hadn’t moved from her neck.
“I’m okay,” she told him.
He eased back. “Don’t come up fast. Take it easy. Take a breath or two.” His gaze flicked to the back of the driver’s head. “How bad?”
“Left shoulder, Sir,” Cassidy said. “I think it’s a through and through.”
Gemma opened here eyes to find Ky’s gaze narrowed on her. “We need to get out of here,” he said. “Now.”
“You’re bleeding. You’ve got a cut on your jaw as well as your hand.”
Ky looked at his hand then reached into his pocket, extracting a handkerchief. A quick swipe across it and the blood was gone. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Here, let me have it.” She took the handkerchief from him and, angling his chin with her free hand, she pressed the cloth against the gash with shaking hands. Gently, she dabbed at the jagged line, willing her hands to stop trembling.
“Probably from flying glass,” she said, inspecting it. “I don’t see anything in the wound, though, which is good.”
“Okay, leave it.” Ky yanked away from her hold. “We need to get out here.”
He said something under his breath to Kilburn while he helped her from the car. Once out from behind the seat, she got her first view of the van’s exterior.
A ball of bile swelled up from deep within her. She shot her hand over her mouth and turned away. The black SUV was peppered and pierced with bullet holes, the smell of heated metal harsh, filling the air with a rank, coppery odor.
“Let’s go.” Ky pulled her upper arm again. This time his grip was tighter. “Stay next to me, do you understand? Don’t let go of me no matter what.”
She nodded and tossed the backpack over her shoulders. She hadn’t let go of it the entire time they were under attack.
“They’re not coming with us?” she pointed her chin at his men.
“No,” was all he’d tell her.
She finally let herself look around. They were in an alley, the van stopped between two buildings and secreted behind a large industrial garbage container. The acrid smell of urine and rotting food was overpowering, but Gemma didn’t have a chance to notice anything else because Ky was moving so quickly she needed to concentrate on keeping up with his pace.
He was taking them in the opposite direction they’d come from, keeping them close to one building, his gun drawn in his right hand but pointed down, the other holding her arm. The sounds of traffic and voices from the street in front of them grew louder.
“We need to get as far away from this area as possible,” he said.
When they reached the street, Ky shoved his gun into his pocket. She wanted to ask him why he didn’t put it back in his shoulder holster, but she realized it was because it wouldn’t be concealed if he did, but out in the open where anyone could see it. They walked for what seemed like miles, weaving in and out of the sidewalk traffic, keeping close to doorways.
Finally, Ky stopped and glanced up. “In here,” he told her.
He hadn’t removed his hand from her arm the entire time they were moving, so when he let go of it to pull out his cell phone, Gemma felt an unusual emptiness engulf her.
They were standing in a darkened entranceway, a worn and battered staircase just beyond them, behind a locked glass door.
