What? Smoke filled the space. Static. Her mind fuzzed. Her vision blurred. She reached out for Shane, for safety. Gone. Where was he?
Male grunts echoed. Flesh hitting flesh. She pushed the mattress away, grabbing the night table and pulling herself to her knees. Smoke hazed her vision. A ringing filled her ears. Smoke swirled around her.
A grunt pulled her attention from the smoke. Shane battled with a man in all black, fists flying, hands grabbing, bodies struggling. Shane’s knife flashed, wicked and sharp.
Blood sprayed. The attacker dropped to the ground, his eyes wide-open in death. Shane turned to fight another man.
Her hands spread out over the smooth bedside table. The phone. She grabbed it, squinting to dial the numbers. A roaring filled her head. She dialed 911, dropping the phone just as a voice echoed over the line.
Male voices bellowed behind her. Where was she?
Darkness fell across her vision. She lost her hold on the furniture, plunging toward the soft rug. Then, nothing.
Chapter 6
Pain exploded across Shane’s cheek as the second man landed a punch. Flashes sparked behind his eyes. Memories. Noise, fighting, brutal and deadly.
He dropped to one knee, next to the man he’d just killed. The knife was kicked out of his hand to go spinning under the bed. Explosions ripped through his brain. A firefight in Asia. A training field with the dead littering the ground. Flashes of moments in time. Blurry, loud, confusing, the thoughts hit him harder than the bastard throwing punches.
Something ripped through his ear canal. Sounds… so many, so harsh, flooded his senses. Sounds beyond the normal. A car honked miles away. Cats hissed in a fight four neighborhoods over. Memories of other cars, other animals, tumbled through his mind.
Shane tried to yank his attention to the present, blocking his face from the worst of the hits. His limbs seemed weighted down with huge blocks.
A memory slammed him like a sledgehammer to the chest. Jory. Pain. Gone.
Glass crunched as a third man jumped through the window.
Shane caught a glimmer of gold from the corner of his eye. Josie’s hair. Her pretty eyes fluttered closed, and she dropped to the ground, unconscious.
Time stopped. All pain receded. Focus shot through him like an electrical current. He calmed. One thing mattered, only one.
Protecting his woman.
He leapt up, both legs flying to encircle the hitter’s throat. Twisting his knees, Shane cut off the guy’s air supply as they fell to the ground. He didn’t feel the jarring impact. An elbow to the temple knocked the intruder out cold. Rolling, Shane released him and flipped backward to his feet.
No questions, no concerns, nothing existed but the threat in front of him. The third man yanked a Sharkman Fixed-Blade out from behind his back. He stood about six foot, packed hard, with dead brown eyes.
“As combat knives go, that’s a good choice.” Shane said. How could he identify the kind of knife but not know his middle name? “Though I prefer the Black Frog.”
The guy smiled, showing a gold tooth. “That’s a good one, too.”
Shane angled to the side, keeping his body between Josie and the weapon. “Leave and I won’t kill you.” Probably not a true statement. He could think of twenty different ways to kill the guy without moving his feet from their current position. The blood flowing through the guy’s veins made a soft sound. One Shane shouldn’t be able to hear. He’d worry about that knowledge later. Right now, his focus was absolute.
The guy lunged.
Shane pivoted, slamming the heel of his hand against the man’s wrist and smoothly stealing the knife. Two steps forward, and he plunged the knife into the side of the guy’s jugular. Following his prey to the ground, he used both hands to slice open the man’s neck, fighting against cartilage and bone. Knowledge slammed into him that, although difficult, the task was easier than it should’ve been. His strength wasn’t normal, either.
Sirens trilled in the distance.
He stilled, glancing at the phone on the floor. Josie had dialed 911.
The blood rushed through his ears as he took in the bloody scene. He’d killed two men and knocked one out. Something whispered in the back of his head that he should take care of the unconscious man. Kill him so he couldn’t seek revenge.
Shane tried to take a deep breath and regretted it as the stench of death filled his lungs. God, who the hell was he? Why could he do such amazing things? None of the memories flashing back were good—none showed a decent life. His head pounded, and his gut clenched tighter than his fists. His bloody fists.
But instinct ordered him to take out the last man for good. So he stood and took a step toward the prone figure.
Josie groaned.
He stopped cold.