Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,3

dodged a blow from the left, reaching behind me at the same time and getting off two quick shots that bought me some time and space to assess.

Three more targets, and who the fuck knew if there were more in the warehouse. One thing was absolutely clear.

I needed to move.

I struck out—kicked and jabbed as frequently as I blocked and dodged.

And within thirty seconds, I’d dispatched the first two. But I struggled with the third, who was bigger and stronger and too damned quick. A blow to my ribs had me biting back a gasp of pain, and another to my cheek was less glancing than bruise-inducing.

It wasn’t, however, consciousness-stealing as I’d managed to dart back, to prevent it from hitting my temple.

My glasses clattered to the concrete, but luckily they were for distance rather than up close, so I kicked them to the side and retreated a few steps. Then ribs burning, breaths coming in controlled bursts, I gripped my rifle like a baseball bat and treated my pride and joy as I had always promised I wouldn’t . . .

“Sorry, Luna,” I apologized to my steadfast companion.

Then I smashed the rifle against my opponent’s temple.

He collapsed to the ground, tipping over and hitting the concrete like a tree dropping to the forest floor, rapidly and with a jarring noise. Sliding my weapon back over my shoulder, I took stock of my surroundings.

Stillness surrounded us, making my near-silent movements seem gunshot loud in the space, but I knew it wouldn’t be quiet for long.

Even now, I could hear the slight buzz of the earpieces the men had worn, their compatriots checking in on their fallen companions. Clearly, they wouldn’t get a response, which meant it was likely Dan and I wouldn’t be alone in the warehouse for long.

If they’d sent a crew to capture the files our source had brought—hell, if they’d cared enough to try (and succeed) in killing the source, they wouldn’t give up easily.

They were coming. And they were coming soon.

So . . . it was time to go.

I picked up my glasses, ran over to where Dan was, jumped over the wall, and opened my mouth—

Click.

“Stop fucking around,” I hissed, glaring at Dan even as I assessed him for injuries. He dropped the gun to his side, fumbled to secure it back in his holster, and I could see that blood had soaked through his shirt, making the black fabric stick to his skin. Just took one? Ha. The man was going to bleed out without help.

“Tie this for me,” he muttered, tearing open a field bandage from the kit we all had stored in our boots while on missions. It was hidden in the tongue of our footwear and coated with a special KTS-patented substance that would help with clotting.

He fumbled, starting to wrap it around the wound.

I grabbed the strip of material around his torso, binding it tightly and ignoring his grunt of pain. One, because it needed to be tight or he was going to bleed out on the floor. Two, we didn’t have time for me to dawdle over tying a delicate bow.

Three, I wasn’t exactly known for my bedside manner.

There wasn’t anything soft or sweet or gentle about me. Dan had witnessed that firsthand, so there was no need to sugarcoat anything.

Hard lines and barbed wire, bullets instead of Band-Aids, sharp words rather than kissed knees.

I’d never had any soft in my life, and at this point I didn’t want it.

Soft was useless. Hard could protect, could strike out before the hurt came. Hard was—

Booted feet on concrete.

Fuck.

I tied off the knot, hitched my shoulder under Dan’s, and started to heave him to his feet. But I’d barely begun to use my strength and he was up, looking far steadier than a man who’d just taken a bullet should.

He grabbed his pack, nodded toward the shadows. “Let’s go.”

Respect curled through me.

Unfortunately, as my gaze drifted to the wounded man’s ass, stayed there for a heartbeat too long, it wasn’t the only thing curling through me.

Bullets, barbed wire, and . . .

A hard on for one Dan Plantain.

One I’d had for too many years to count.

Fuck.

Three

KTS Satellite Headquarters

Munich, Germany

01:33hrs local time

Dan

I hissed at the burn of antiseptic trailing over my skin.

“This’ll be two weeks light duty,” Olive said.

My spine stiffened, an argument on the tip of my tongue.

“At minimum.”

Now, the argument escaped. Or at least one syllable before I was shut down. “I—”

“Nope,” Laila said, glancing up from the computer. “The