Protected Pt. 07

I heard a thump, then what might have been breaking glass. I rammed myself deep and held myself there, panting as I strained to hold my rapture, my eyes still closed as I listened. If I so much as glanced at her under me I'd explode into orgasmic bliss.

"Don't stop!" she begged softly.

"Did you hear that?" I growled.

"Oh, God! Don't stop! Please don't stop!" she whimpered as she squirmed her hips beneath me.

I waited, unmoving, straining to not come as she writhed on my cock, trying to hear over my ragged breathing and Willows soft sounds of pleasure as she frantically tried to fuck me. I didn't hear anything else. It was probably Mafic jumping on the kitchen counter or doing something else he wasn't supposed to. I pulled my hand away from the headboard and began thrusting again, the sudden noise cutting the legs from under my near orgasm. I lowered myself over her and kissed her as I began driving into her again. She returned the kiss with torrential intensity, her overheated kiss reigniting my desires, and my orgasm began its conquering march on me again.

"Oh, fuck... oh, fuck... oh, fuck..." she chanted softly. "I think I'm going to come. I think you're going to make me come again." I heard a soft squeak, like someone was on the stairs. I froze, my blood suddenly running cold. Mafic wasn't heavy enough to make the stairs squeak, and he always went up and down the steps in a pounding gallop anyway. "No!" she wailed softly, spurring me with her heels and grabbing at my ass as she squirmed. "Don't stop!"

"Shhh!" I hissed, covering her mouth with my hand. "Into the bathroom! Quick!" I whispered before I threw myself off her, grabbed her hand, and hauled her after me.

She thumped to the floor, and I grimaced with the noise. I shoved her toward the bathroom as I lunged for the dresser and my weapon. I followed her into the bathroom before shoving her deeper into the room so we'd be out of sight of the bedroom door. I held my finger to my lips in the universal symbol of silence as I steered her into the tiny alcove that housed the toilet, positioning her out of sight and as far from danger as I could. Her eyes were wide in the gloom as I held my hand up in command for her to stay where she was, and then hurried to the closet.

I slowly twisted the knob and opened the door, holding up on the doorknob to try to quieten the door in case it squeaked, and then slipped inside. I left the closet door cracked enough that I could use the mirror over the sink to see back into the bedroom, and luckily, the door into the bedroom itself. I'd barely gotten the door closed when I saw a shadowy figure creep into the bedroom. The goon stopped just inside the door and then backed out, only to return a long moment later. Staying close to the wall, the shadow made his way silently toward the bath. It was clear from his crouched movements he knew where we were. He paused at the door, wary of a trap. I needed him to come into the bathroom. The closet door opened the wrong way and would block my shot until he was past me and in the room. I could shoot through the door, but I wouldn't be able to aim, and if I did hit him, it would be nothing but luck. I couldn't take the chance of missing and being shot myself. If he gunned me down, Willow was a dead woman.

He took a slow step into the room, his silenced pistol at the ready. He took another, and I stiffened, preparing to pounce. One more step and he'd be far enough into the room. He jerked, turning quickly toward Willow and the toilet. I cursed myself. I hadn't thought about the mirror, and since I hadn't shut the alcove's door, Willow's reflection was clearly visible in the dim lights from her backyard and the street. I exploded from the closet before the man could move, banging him in the back with the door as I raised my weapon to bring it down hard on his head. Given a choice, I'd have shot the fucker in the back, but I was afraid at such close range, even if I hit the bastard, my 9mm would pass right through him and hit Willow.

Forgetting about Willow, the gunman stumbled from the unexpected blow to his back before he began to pivot to face me. I grabbed the thug's wrist, forcing his weapon skyward as I tried to open his skull with my own. Unfortunately, the goon wasn't incompetent and seized my wrist as I swung. He couldn't stop the blow, but he was able to deflect it enough that I hit him on the shoulder, doing little to no damage.

The man wasn't much taller than Willow, so I had reach on him, but he was bult like a bulldog, hugely muscled and strong as shit. We strained against each other in silence for a moment before I realized I wasn't strong enough to overpower him. I relaxed my grip on his weapon, the sudden absence of resistance causing his arm to quickly swing down. I increased the downward momentum by adding my own strength. His hand banged hard against the corner of the sink, causing the man to roar in pain as his pistol clattered to the floor.

Now that the goon was disarmed, I could go on the offensive, but before I could do anything, the thug wrenched his hand free and grabbed my pistol, trying to tear it from my grip. I screamed as he twisted the weapon. He was simply too strong, he had leverage, and he was about to break my wrist and fingers. I let the gun go to protect my wrist, knowing if he disabled me, Willow and I were both dead.

The man backpedaled, trying to gain some distance as he began turning my weapon against me, but since he was holding it by the barrel, it took him a moment to change his grip. I powered in, grabbed his wrist with both hands, and slammed the pistol into my leg once, twice, and then a third time. The steel of the pistol slamming against my leg hurt like a bitch, but the third impact finally succeeded in twisting the weapon from his grip.

As my weapon bounced and slid on the tile floor, the intruder tried to free his wrist from my grip while diving for the gun. I hauled on the wrist, turning him toward me and upright. Still holding his wrist with one hand, I fired the hardest left I could into his face. The thug staggered back, and I released his wrist as I turned for the weapon. Realizing I wouldn't be able to reach the gun before he was on me, I pivoted to meet the man's charge.

With a roar, he drove me backward into the shower door, tearing the frame down and smashing the glass into thousands of tiny fragments as we fell into the enclosure. With glass cutting into my back, we struggled in the shower, half in and half out, as we clawed at each other. I wrapped the man with my legs, trying to tie him up so that Willow could escape. She popped out of the alcove and bent, going for the gun, but in our frantic struggle, the goon knocked it away with his leg.

The thug bellowed with rage and effort, his hand on my face as he twisted it sideway in an attempt to break my neck, but then he was gone, breaking free of my embrace as he scrambled to his feet and turned for Willow. I scrabbled to my own feet as she picked up the gun. She was bringing the gun up and turning toward us when I seized the thug by the neck, roaring in rage, pain, and fear as I hauled his ass back into the shower to keep him away from Willow.

I was trying to choke him out, but he was so fucking strong, it was all I could do to maintain my grip as he slammed me against the wall of the shower once, twice, and then a third time. The pistol was pointed at us, Willow waiting for her shot as I was slammed against the wall a fourth time.

With another roar, the thug tried to power out of the enclosure, clearly thinking of going for Willow and the gun, banking on the fact she wouldn't shoot him with me behind him. As he flailed, his feet tangling in the shower frame door and slipping on the shattered glass in the bottom of the shower, he grabbed the faucet for balance or leverage. I ignored the cold stream of water as I tried to maintain my grip, but then the thug and I screamed as one as the water began to steam. I couldn't take the agony of the scalding water and we lunged from the shower, tumbling to the floor, the impact breaking us apart.

We scrambled to our feet, the wet tiles making our footing unsure. We lunged at each other, slamming together and then instantly crashing to the floor again as we lost our footing. Because I was on top, I tried to escape so that I could use my longer reach to my advantage, but the thug grabbed me by the hair before punching me in the face, wanting to keep us in a down and dirty ground and pound where he was more than a match for me.

The goon punched like a gorilla and the blow stunned me. While I was trying to recover from the blow to my left cheek, the thug tossed me off him. I was getting my ass kicked! Knowing if I faltered Willow would die, I stumbled to my feet, intending to go after the man again, but I was slower than he was. As I staggered upright, still trying to shake off the punch to the face, he was already charging me. He hit me like a fucking truck, his arms closing around me to drive me back into the closet.

We went down in a tangle, tearing clothes from the rack as we did. Willow's closet was a long, narrow walk-in with racks along both sides. I again tried to wrap him up. If I could keep him in the closet long enough, Willow could escape. We tumbled over each other, roaring and bellowing in pain and effort, before I came to rest on top. He tried to claw my eyes out, and as I screamed in pain, I threw myself off the goon before he blinded me. I staggered to my feet, stumbling backward and deeper into the closet. I put my back and shoulder into the right I threw to his face as he rose. His head popped back, and he was clearly stunned, but he didn't go down. I waded in, pressing my advantage. I drove a hard right and left into his stomach, following up with another right to his chin. Hitting him in the stomach was like punching a side of beef, but my two blows to his face seemed to be taking a toll.

The gunman's hard left got past me, causing me to woof out a grunt and double over as he drove his fist into my stomach. It was like being hit by sledgehammer. I managed to duck the closer he'd aimed at my face, and took the opening to hit him with a left jab. We were both covered in blood, and we were tiring, but we also knew this was a fight to the death.

He took another swing at me but missed, my reach keeping me out of his range, but he was backing me farther into the closet, and the narrowness of the room prevented me from being able to maneuver. I had to get out of there before he pinned me in and could use his strength against me.

With a bellow, I charged him, crashing into him before picking him up as I drove with my legs. The thug twisted violently as we exploded from the closet, overbalancing me and causing me to stumble. I'd intended to drive the goon into the edge of sink, hoping to the use the hard edge to break his spine, or at least stun him enough that I could incapacitate him further by kneeing him in the nuts or something. I tried to recover my balance, but I couldn't get away from him quickly enough and banged into the edge of the garden tub.

I roared with pain as we fell into the bath, the man's weight driving me hard into the side and back of the tub. I was in real trouble. I knew if I didn't get out of tub, this would be where he killed me. We squirmed and banged, the goon hammering me against the side and bottom of the tub again and again, as I tried to hold him close to minimize the damage he was doing to me.

I was reeling when he finally broke my grasp to stagger to his feet, standing with one foot in the tub, the other on the floor, as he panted like a bellows. "You fucking gringo pussy! You can't take me!" he sneered as he ripped off the rest of his tattered shirt to free his arms.

"Willow! Run!" I roared as I kicked out, striking the man in the knee. He screamed as he fell, bouncing off the edge of the tub before tumbling into the floor.

The goon grabbed at Willow as she passed, making her stumble, but she kept her footing and bolted from the bathroom, my gun still in her hand. The goon was slow getting up, but no slower than I was. We chased after her, either of us moving very well, but I wasn't hobbled by a kick to the knee, so I caught him as he cleared the bathroom door to drag him down. With another roar, the goon twisted and then kicked at me with a booted foot. The blow connected solidly on my shoulder, damn near dislocating it, and knocking me backward onto my ass as I bellowed in pain.

The assassin clambered to his feet to pursue Willow, but since he was slowed by his knee, I was able to grab his foot before he escaped, causing him to fall. Before he could turn to face me, I threw myself over him, hauling myself up the goon's back as he struggled to escape, and took him into another choke hold.

"Not this time, you wetback spic," I growled as the thug clawed at my arms and face. He'd tucked his chin, reducing the effectiveness of my hold, but I had him. Rolling to my back, I bared my teeth and tightened down with everything I had left, snarling and then roaring in effort as the man thrashed and twisted, trying to break free in the seconds he had before he passed out. Gradually his struggles became weaker until he fell limp. Not taking any chances, I kept the pressure on, wanting to make sure he was either dead or brain damaged, and not just unconscious.

After a long moment I rolled the limp man off me and lay panting. "Willow?" I called as I slowly climbed to my feet. I hurt everywhere.

She appeared a moment later and turned on the bedroom light. "Is he dead?"

His chest was still rising and falling. Pity. "No," I said as I pushed his hair aside and looked at the back of his neck. I pointed to the tattoo of a coiled snake that was prepared to strike. "The Víbora Cartel," I panted. "We have to go. Now."

"We should call the police!"

"Fuck the police! Get some clothes on. There may be another one waiting for us. Hurry up!" I snarled when she hesitated.

The man hadn't stirred, but I was taking no chances and took my gun from her. I considered shooting the bastard where he lay, but that would only alert anyone waiting in addition to making a hell of a mess. I ejected the magazine and racked the slide of my weapon so I didn't accidentally shoot myself, before I drew the pistol back and hit the man as hard as I could on the temple with it. There was a sickening crack of breaking bones and blood began leaking from where I'd hit him. Even if I hadn't killed him, either by starving his brain of oxygen or caving his skull in, the asshole wasn't going anywhere quickly now.

"What are you doing?" she gasped as I rose from caving the goon's skull in.

"Buying us some time."

I reloaded my weapon, and then hissing in pain, I began to dress in the clothes I'd taken off earlier.

She threw on her clothes and then hurried into the bath to turn off the water. When she returned, I was pulling on my last boot, grimacing in pain.

"How are we going to take Mafic?" she asked as I grabbed her hand and began pulling her down the steps.

"We're not."

"But--"

"Forget the fucking cat! Do you want to die?" I snarled.

"I can't leave him!"

"You're not leaving him! We'll come back for him in a couple of days! He'll be okay until then!"

I dragged her into the garage. "Can you ride?" she asked as I snarled in pain mounting the bike. Sitting on it crooked and stooped, I began putting on my helmet.

"I have to. Put on your helmet. When you're ready, open the door and then get on as fast as you can."

She nodded. The moment the door began to rise, I thumbed the Harley life and stomped it into gear. The bike settled as she climbed on behind me, and as soon as I thought the windshield would clear the slowly lifting door, I revved the bike hard and dumped the clutch. With the bike skidding sideways as the rear tire spun on the slick concrete floor, we ducked as we rode out from under the still rising door. I heard a gunshot, but I couldn't tell which direction it came from as we roared down the driveway, banked left, and disappeared into the night.

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WILLOW

I glanced behind us to see if anyone was coming as we waited for the gate to trundle open, Colt revving his bike as if telling the gate to hurry. The moment there was room, he squeezed past, and I held him tight as we made a right, our speed requiring us to take the full width of the road to make the turn. I looked behind us again as we rounded the corner. I still saw no headlamps, but he didn't slow, his Harley roaring as we accelerated hard down the divided road that led to the entrance to our community. After we'd flashed past two streets, riding far faster than the posted speed limit of thirty-five, he braked violently before throwing the bike left. After several more rapid accelerations, followed by equally fierce braking before he hurled the bike around a corner, he slowed his aggressive riding.

We rolled to a stop at a light, and I began to shake as my body started purging itself of the adrenaline from my fight or flight reflex. "Easy!" he begged. "Not so tight!"

Sniffing, I fought my tears as I tried to loosen my hold around his waist. As he pulled away, I started crying and my shakes became worse. Now that the crisis was over, and the immediate danger was past, I was going to pieces. I held him, unable to relax my embrace as I sobbed into his back for a moment as terror and stress washed out of me. I thought of myself as a strong, resourceful woman, but I was ill equipped emotionally to deal with what was going on, and I couldn't stop my tears. After a moment, I began to gain control over myself, but I was still sniffling as we rolled to a stop at another light.

"Which way to the airport?"

"What? Airport?" I asked, not understanding his question.

"I'm fucked up, Willow. I can barely ride and we've got to go to ground. Which way to the airport?"

"Which one?"

"I don't fucking care!" he snarled. "The closest one!"

His request forced me to focus, and that helped me to finish getting control of myself. I glanced around as he pulled away from the light to get my bearings. Hobby and George Bush were about the same distance, but George Bush was easier to get to and didn't involve us going into downtown. I tapped him on the leg and then pointed. "Next right. Get on the 10 east," I yelled.

He nodded as he pulled to a stop at the light, watching traffic. We were past rush hour, but Houston never slept. "I'm sorry as barked at you," he said as we waited for a chance to turn.

"It's okay. Are you hurt badly?"

"I'll live," he said before we pulled smartly away into a hole in the traffic.

It was an easy ride down the 10, then onto the Sam Houston Parkway. As we rode, I could tell he was hurting as he gradually hunched over more and more, and I worried that his injuries were worse than he knew. Less than an hour later, we pulled into the Sheraton near George Bush and rolled to a stop under the portico.

"Go inside and get us a room," Colt growled, his voice tight as the bike throbbed beneath us. "Get one on the lowest floor you can in case we have to run." I nodded as I stepped off the bike and began removing my helmet.

When he didn't switch the bike off, I paused. "Aren't you coming in?"

He shook his head. "No. We don't need any questions over my appearance. I'm going to wait here and make sure we weren't followed. If you hear the horn, you hide somewhere inside and call the cops. I'll try to lead them away."

"Don't do anything stupid," I warned as I set my helmet on the pillion.

"I don't think anyone was following us, and there are plenty of hotels around. That's why I wanted to be near an airport. I think we're safe enough at the moment, but better to be sure."