“Smart-ass.” She tried not to gasp as her scalp burned. “Trouble. I kind of like those nicknames.”
He shook her, and stars blew up behind her eyes. “Do you even realize the situation you’re in? You’re already dead. You’re a corpse. All I need to do is put a bullet in you. And what’s better, I’ll get paid to do it. Do you know that, bitch? Do you want to know how much it’s worth to erase your sorry existence from this world?”
“I’ll pass. Thanks.” She’d had to croak on the last word. Her throat and mouth had dried out with her fear.
“No?” He shrugged, the motion tugging on her hair more. “Then I should just shoot you and put you out of your misery. I’m betting no one in this world is going to miss you as much as your sweet heart hopes they will. That’s the problem with you girl-next-door types. All romantic ideas. Face a real life-threatening situation and it’s never as amazing as the movies make it. Have you pissed your pants yet?”
No, but the thought had crossed her mind. “Went before I got in the car. It’ll be a while before I’ve got enough in my bladder. Do you want to wait?”
He cursed and gave her head a shove, then dragged her back to an upright position. She scrunched her eyes closed against the searing pain in her scalp.
He sighed. “I should just shoot you.”
But he hadn’t yet. He was waiting. Hope flared inside her chest and she reached with her hands, searching along Haydn’s side.
“Let her go.” The quiet command carried in the cool night air.
Brandon’s words could carry through a crowded room. He never had to shout. His deep voice just cut under and through it all, and everyone in range felt it resonate in their chests.
Her captor laughed. “It took you long enough to get here.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Yeah?” Forte took in the situation in a glance, but for his adversary’s benefit, he made a show of looking over the tableau the asshole had set up from the ground up.
Haydn lay on the ground, probably bleeding out.
Sophie had her arms around his dog, leaning over him as protectively as she was able.
Asshole stood over Sophie, and while he had a grip on her hair, he obviously wasn’t serious about keeping her under control. Either the idiot didn’t think she’d be a problem or the real intent wasn’t about controlling her.
Her hands were buried in Haydn’s fur, and there was blood on her.
Forte hoped it wasn’t hers. But fear didn’t ice his veins. No. Anger burned him up from the inside out. The cold night air helped remind him of his surroundings. He listened for possible threats approaching from behind and also for signs of backup. He watched not only his immediate opponent but also his allies, however helpless the other man might think they were.
And because Forte had listened to Sophie manage the man, chances were fairly reasonable in favor of the man being an idiot.
“I wanted to meet you.” Asshole definitely had dirty laundry to unload. “Your name, Brandon Forte, has come up a lot recently. Right up there with David Cruz and Alexander Rojas. The three of you have reputations, you know. You’re supposed to be the badass super professionals every mercenary team wants. You and your dogs. Fucking exceptional or some shit.”
Forte raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Not easy to look unconcerned when you had a weapon in your hands, but it could come in handy if you could master the art of it.
To be honest, he hadn’t thought of the possibility of them developing reputations in the circles of influence maintained by mercenary organizations. He figured they’d made a few enemies, yeah. But building reputations had a different connotation to it.
And he should’ve had better insight into it because even Raul Sa had mentioned it. If one established organization acknowledged them, others would, too.
Forte had assumed he and Cruz and Rojas hadn’t needed to know more about the private sector than what it took to assure themselves their dogs were going to ethical companies. They’d been more focused on the welfare of the dogs and what purposes the working dogs would be used for rather than the influence the organization had in the industry as a whole.
If he survived the night, he was going to have to take steps to be more aware. For himself and his partners. “It’s good to know we’re well thought of in the industry.”
The other man scowled, his mouth twisting into a bitter grimace. “You fucks screwed up the prospects of a close friend of mine. Brothers in arms. He’s worth ten of you fuckers. We served together, planned to go into private contract together. He’s in jail now. Because of you fuckers.”
Aw, c’mon. Forte cursed as much as the next man. And he was a firm believer there was a time and a place where a solid curse expressed a sentiment more clearly than any twenty-dollar vocabulary word could. But damn, a lack of variety when a person indulged in cursing was just lazy.