Muscle for Hire(75)
The world spun around her in a blur.
She saw Aslin run toward her. She saw Tilly try to duck her kick. The jolt of her heel slamming into Tilly’s temple reverberated up her leg. She saw Tilly fly backward.
And then Rowan was standing again, staring down at the woman’s motionless form on the ground.
Thank fuck for that.
The thought whispered through her mind on an exhausted gasp. She stumbled back a step, hissing as shards of searing pain sheared through her side.
Pressing her hands to her broken ribs, she raised her face to Aslin and watched him run toward her.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
“Chris is mine, cunt.”
The whispered words lashed at Rowan, a second before the sound of hands and feet scraping on the ground.
She snapped back to Tilly in time to see her reach for the Glock.
Grab it.
Aim it at her head.
“No!” Aslin shouted. He burst into Rowan’s line of sight, launching himself at Tilly. Slamming into her.
At the very moment the deafening crack of a gunshot shattered the air.
“No!” Rowan screamed. Her world went cold.
Ice.
She watched the man she loved crumple over the woman who’d tried to kill her, both falling to the ground. Her heart stopped.
Oh God, no. No.
She ran forward. To Aslin. It didn’t matter her ribs were splintering with every move she made.
It didn’t matter Tilly held a gun.
All that mattered was Aslin.
Aslin.
She ran, unable to breathe. To think.
To live.
She stumbled to a halt when Aslin slowly rose to his feet, the Glock in one hand, a writhing Tilly in the other.
“Lemme go!”
“You’re one more word away from me ending your life, love.” Aslin glared at Tilly, his British accent the most menacing Rowan had ever heard it.
A choked laugh burst from Rowan. Or maybe it was a sob. She ran to him, needing to be closer. To touch him. To prove to herself he was really alive.
Oh God, how could he be alive?
She quickened her limping gait, her stomach churning with sickening horror at the bright red stain beginning to bloom over his right side.
“You’re—”
“Police! Don’t move!”
Tilly began to thrash in Aslin’s hold. Rowan flinched and stumbled to a halt. She turned, another warm wave of relief washing over her at the sight of two police officers running toward them, guns drawn.
“Drop the weapon,” the closest officer yelled, leveling his gun on Aslin. “Now!”
Aslin slowly bent enough to drop the Glock to the ground, keeping his attention fixed on the approaching cops.
“Rowie!”
Rowan jerked around at the sound of Chris’s shout, biting back a wince when pain shot through her ribs.
Her brother ran toward her, relief fighting with worry on his face. Nigel and more than a dozen cast and crew followed.
“Chris!” Tilly wailed, her feverish stare locking on Chris. “I just wanted what’s best for you, that’s all. She was stopping me. Please, Chris. Tell them I’m better for you. Tell them. Tell them you need…” The plaintive cries turned to wordless sobs, and as Rowan watched, Tilly slumped in Aslin’s grip, her face wretched with grief.
“Are you okay, miss?” one of the cops asked Rowan, gun leveled at Tilly as his partner snared the sobbing young woman’s wrists and cuffed them behind her back.
Rowan nodded.
The officer turned to Aslin, his stance making it very clear he was ready to shoot if needed. “You, sir?”
Aslin dropped a quick glance at the small, but slowly spreading bloodstain on his side. “I’ll live.”
“Paramedics are on the way.”
Aslin chuckled, pressing his hand to his side and hissing in a breath. “Good.”
Before Rowan could close the distance between them, her brother slammed into her. “Jesus, sis,” he burst out, engulfing her in a hug. “I told you not to—”
“Chris,” she laughed. Or at least tried to. It was hard when he was holding her so tight. “You’re hurting me, squirt.”
He let her go with his own laugh. “Sorry.”
“Mr. Huntley?” Tilly’s whine made Rowan stiffen. “Please, Mr. Huntley…”
“That’s enough,” the cop holding her cuffs snapped.
Chris pulled Rowan back into his arms. “I’m sorry, Rowie,” he whispered into the top of her head, ignoring the whimpering woman he’d trusted for five years behind him. “I’m sorry.”
With a wince and a snort, Rowan gave his chest a slight shove. “Shut up, you moron.”
“I saw you in the newspaper,” the officer not patting Tilly down said, his eyes narrowing on Aslin. “You’re Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard, right?”