Not Without Juliet - By L.L. Muir Page 0,62

another man’s bones. The redhead stumbled back, one hand on his nose, the other flung wide in search of support. Two Gordon brothers were knocked on their arses, as was Betha. She was lost under the pile, but they heard her screeching clearly enough.

“I don’t believe you.” Quinn spit at the man. “How long does it take to say I’m MI6?”

He moved back and gave the man room to get up. He also needed time to recover. That head-butt was the worst thing he could have done to himself. The world was spinning around him, slightly off axis. The crowd watched closely and he could tell which men had bet against him by the frowns on their faces.

Percy, surprisingly enough, was smiling.

Bond wiped a bloody hand across his chest as he stood.

Quinn smiled. At least he’d drawn first blood.

The man hurried forward, and as prepared as Quinn believed he was, he still was unable to avoid the big man’s fist.

He spun around once and though his face was numb and his neck burned, he was pleased to find himself still on his feet. That was, until he realized that the other man was holding him up with a flat hand against his chest. Disappointing, that.

Bond’s big fist pulled back and held. Quinn was pretty sure he could drop like a sack of wheat just before contact.

“I was warned she'd fight me,” said the taller man. “that she didn’t want protection. I thought she understood who I was.”

Quinn couldn’t afford to listen. If that fist connected, it might just kill him. The man had no knowledge of the beating Quinn’s skull had already taken thanks to Gordon hospitality. He might kill Quinn whether or not he meant to.

The fist came slowly. Quinn dropped his butt toward the ground, and when he found himself sitting on it, he also found his head was still attached.

Lucky thing, that.

Bond grabbed his hair in one hand and pulled him to his feet. Standing behind Quinn, he leaned close and spoke low.

“Now quickly, I need you to act like you've passed out. I’m going to cut you. You’re going to play dead.”

“Kiss my arse,” Quinn said, then spit blood on the floor.

The crowd laughed.

“Play dead, Quinn. Ewan’s waitin’ with horses. I'll insist on taking your body back to Ewan."

Bond pushed him away and Quinn spun to face him. They danced in a circle again.

“MI6? Truly?”

“MI6, ye dense bastard.” The man rushed him and put his hands around his neck.

Quinn bore down to turn his face red, but he couldn't resist complaining.

"It's a bit too Romeo and Juliet, don't you think? My playing dead?"

"Well, just be glad you get to play the part of Romeo. I, for one, wouldn't touch her with a ten meter pole."

Quinn went limp, then was glad the man tossed him onto his face so those watching wouldn't notice any twitching.

"Here. Finish him," came Gordon's voice. "Through the heart, Bond James. I'll not have him rousing while he's roasting on the spit. The women doona appreciate it."

"I can imagine," said Bond. "Will you have my wife brought?"

"Aye. Percy. Fetch her."

Someone knelt on Quinn's back. "Sorry about this," the man said.

Hot fire sliced his back. There was no telling how deeply the blade had gone. He could only pray he’d put his trust in a true MI6 agent and not some lunatic whose mind was bent by a wee jaunt through time.

He dared not move, even when warm blood puddled on his back and tickled his side on its way toward the floor. If Bond James Bond wasn’t MI6, Quinn was going to take him apart. Slice by slice.

He concentrated on breathing as slowly as possible—not easy when his mind was reeling. He only needed to think calming thoughts. Immediately, his mind went to Juliet and the panic dissolved.

His lungs were still working. Neither of them punctured, thankfully. His sweat was drying quickly on his face.

The murmurs of the crowd turned to chatter. A dog trotted over and started licking his face. He fought his facial muscles, forcing them to relax when the beasts tongue slipped past his lips.

He hoped the thing wouldn't start licking up his blood, and even the thought of it pushed him over the edge—he couldn't help it when his entire body shivered in revulsion.

“There now, there's a death rattle for ye," said Gordon. "Ah, here comes yer wife now. Let her see that her lover is dead and she should look to you now."

Dear Lord! Juliet! How could he