And I was trying to pay attention to our surroundings, just in case we’d somehow been followed.
I thought we were in the clear until we reached the edge of the park. I could see the street, and immediately regretted that simple fact the minute two black sedans pulled up to the curb.
Five men got out.
Two from the first car.
Three from the second.
Andi tensed behind me.
“Andi.” I kept my smile in place like there wasn’t anything wrong. “Got any energy left?”
“Enough.” She shuddered behind me.
“My gun,” I whispered. “It’s in the back of my pants. Reach between your legs and slide it up so nobody sees.”
“You know in any other situation…” she muttered as I felt the gun slide up my back.
“Good,” I encouraged. “The minute I put you down I want you to aim for the guy to the left. Don’t shoot for the head. Hit his kneecap so he goes down. If he reaches for his gun—”
“This isn’t my first rodeo, cowboy.”
“You’re right. I forget.”
“I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”
The tension left my body. “I won’t. Just don’t get shot. I hate having to sew up bullet wounds.”
“Please.” I could feel the energy riding off her body. “You owe me a massage if my body count’s higher.”
“So now it’s a competition?”
“Russians rarely lose.”
“Well, you should get used to it. Because this Italian’s going to hand you your ass.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
The men were trying to look nonchalant, outside their cars, smoking cigars like they weren’t waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack.
“One,” I whispered.
Andi slid farther down my back. “Two.”
“Three.” The word fell from my lips just as I ducked to the right. Andi went to my left and popped off two rounds directly into the guy’s kneecaps — not just one, but both of them. A crunching sound broke out across the park as he fell on bones, cracking them further. He wailed in pain and surprisingly didn’t reach for his gun.
Three of the men started charging me. Gun less, I could only rely on the fact that my fists were just as deadly as any gun could be, and I punched the first man in the throat then turned and elbowed the next. They stumbled back. Another gunshot went off. Andi was seriously picking them off like she was shooting fish in a bucket.
The three men turned their heads to glare at her. Then, rather than attacking, came at me again.
Surprised, I was knocked in the face by the first guy but sidestepped the next hit then landed a hard blow to his stomach followed by a knee to the groin. With a growl, I head-butted the next guy then punched him in the jaw; the sound of teeth breaking was my only indication that he’d be down for the count.
The final man circled me.
“Let me get him,” Andi pleaded behind me.
“He’s mine,” I barked.
The man shrugged and held up his hands. “You should let girl do your work.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Andi,” the man called, “why not come with us, huh? You’ve done job. Time to come home.”
“Job?” I repeated.
Andi came up beside me and aimed the gun for his forehead. “I’ve never worked for you.”
“Oh?” The man chuckled and glanced at me. “He knows as well as I know… you are never out.”
“Please let me pull the trigger.”
The man ran at us.
I ducked then heaved my body into his, sending him backward against the park bench. Punch after punch I landed to his face, his blood mixing with the slices breaking out on my knuckles.
The sound of sirens interrupted my blatant mutilation of his body.
“Serg…” Andi kicked me. “…gotta disappear.”
I backed up, chest heaving. “Right.”
With one last kick to his body, I grabbed her hand and ran like hell toward our car, our very easy-to-spot car.
“Shit!” I tossed her the keys. “Start the car.” I opened the trunk and hit the red button. A new license plate slid over the old one; it said New Mexico. Good enough.
I jumped into the car and waited for the cops to pass the street then sped off in the other direction.
“You think they know we’re in this car?” Andi asked breathlessly.
“Andi, NASA probably knows we’re in this car,” I muttered and glanced in the rearview mirror. “But I changed plates so even if they grab a picture of the plates, they’ll think we’re a retired couple living on a farm raising ducks.”
“People do that?”
“Retire?”
“Raise ducks.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas do.”
“Good for them.” Andi nodded. “Any money in that, you think?”
The car hugged the corner tightly as I quickly got us on the freeway. “Are we seriously having a conversation about ducks after killing some people?”
“Correction.” Andi placed the gun on the console. “I killed. You maimed.”
“You killed?”
“Well, technically they’re dead anyway. Either the cops get them, they die in jail, or my father finds them and shoots them. All dead.”
“True.”