I stared.
He sucked in another breath then another one before he lifted up his hand, put it to his neck, took it away and stared at the blood.
His eyes came to me. “Flesh wound.”
Before I told my hand to do it, and, mark me, if I had my head together, I still would have told my hand to do it, I lifted it and slammed it, hand flat, into his chest. I ignored Creed’s pained grunt and jumped to my feet.
Pointing down at him, I screeched, “You’re getting a job as an accountant!”
Creed blinked then grinned.
Blood roared in my ears.
“Fuck, thank God Gwen isn’t a badass,” I heard Hawk mutter, referring to his wife. “I would not tolerate shit like that on a job.”
“I hear you, brother,” Jorge muttered.
I looked to cargo pants, boots, skintight Under Armour wearing, dark haired, intense black eyed, hot guy commando Hawk Delgado, got a load of his two phenomenal dimples telling me eloquently he found me amusing and I spat, “Shut your f**king trap, Hawk.”
He lifted his hands in surrender but, I noted, his dimples didn’t go away.
Fuck me.
It was time to save face.
As Creed pushed to his feet, I looked around and asked sarcastically, “Is everyone enjoying the show? Or is anyone thinking maybe now’s a good time to rescue the two dozen women locked in a wooden freight crate? Or is that just me?”
“The DPD and Feds are seein’ to the girls,” Hawk informed me.
“Well, that’s good,” I returned.
“And seriously, Sylvie, you got great aim, babe, but you make a mess,” he continued, indicating the dead men scattered around.
I didn’t look at them, refused to look at them. They had ceased to exist until I got back to my therapist.
But I did shrug.
Hawk grinned.
Then he finished, “And, just FYI, personally, I’m enjoying the show.”
I glared at him.
“Me too,” Mo, who was also standing around and watching, added.
Someone kill me.
Creed threw an arm around my shoulders.
I stepped sharply away from it and jerked my head back to look up at him. “I’m not talking to you and you’re not touching me until I’m not pissed at you anymore.”
His brows shot together. “Beautiful, why the f**k are you pissed at me? I didn’t shoot me.”
“Grab the wrist, yank it out, head butt to the chin, spike heel into his foot, Creed,” I snapped. “I know how to get away from being held at gunpoint. You didn’t need to open fire.”
“I had on a vest and I got f**kin’ good aim,” Creed shot back.
“You also had another shooter on the approach,” I returned.