Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(240)

From the perspective of a guy who’s had her pull a gun on him, twice, they really should; even if they don’t know the gun is unloaded.

Benson chuckles and smiles at Chelsea; “Listen sweetheart, why don't we put down the gun before you hurt some-”

“I said let him go. Special Agent Archer, United States Central Intelligence Agency, and for the last motherfucking time; drop the-”

One of the guys holding me suddenly shoves me away and reaches for a gun on his belt holster. It's a blur of motion, but he barely gets his hand on it before the gun in her hand roars.

Holy fucking shit!

I don’t even have time to wonder where the hell she got ammo from before the man grunts as his shoulder rocks backwards with her shot, knocking him to the ground.

There's a quarter second of everyone freezing and not quite believing it - myself included - before I use that to jump into action. I elbow the other guy holding me sharply in the nuts, knocking him over. Benson shouts and fires barely a foot from my head right over me towards Chelsea, and I lunge at him as I plant a haymaker of a fist into his fat face.

I'm running for Chelsea, ducking wildly as she fires right over my head, before I tackle her back behind a dumpster.

“Nice timing, spy-girl.”

“I told you not to run off without me!” She looks furious, but I only grin at how insane this all is.

Suddenly, there are flashing blue and red lights and the sounds of sirens at the other end of the alley; great, the fuzz is here.

“Police! Everyone freeze!”

Fuck, just what we need. I whirl to Chelsea, still crouched behind the dumpster with me, holding her gun with an iron grip; “We need to run.”

She whirls to me; “What?! It's the police, Javier; we're going to-”

“Remind me which one of us has actually worked for Blackriver again?!” I shake her by the shoulders, trying to impress upon her the seriousness of this; “Trust me, if the police are here, they’re with them. We need to run.”

Chelsea rolls her eyes and puts the safety on her gun; “Jesus, you really are insane, you know that?” She starts to roll her eyes again as she begins to stand with her hands in the air. She screams as I tackle her back down as bullets from the guns of both both groups rake the side of the dumpster and the brick next to us.

Jesus, I hate being right all the time.

“Will you fucking listen to me for once!?” I yell; “Can we run now, princess?”

Her mouth presses into a line and her eyes search my face wildly.

“We need to run; now, Chelsea”

She nods quickly, her eyes blazing and her mouth tight as I grab her and we run.



Her hand is firmly in mine as I lead us charging down alleyways, between buildings, and down towards the dark of the beach. Running feels good. Running is freedom, and the fact that I'm holding her hand sure is fucking helping. It's bizarre, but as insane as this moment is with Blackriver and the cops chasing after us and the fact that I just had a gun to my head, I'm almost laughing as we dash through the darkness. I feel more alive and more in control than I have in ages, and having this girl's hand in mine as we pound the sand has me feeling like a golden god.

Her face looks tight but she’s not yelling, and she’s not panicking.

And she came back for you.

Quite honestly, I'm not sure anyone's ever “come back for me.” I'm the guy you leave; the one that takes the hit because I was disposable anyways, and the fact that Chelsea of all fucking people in the world is the one that came back has me grinning like an asshole.

And we have a “thing” now; a common enemy in Blackriver. Whatever comes next, we’re a united front.

And really, this princess ain’t so bad as she seems.





16





Chelsea




This situation is fucked. Actually, I think Logan, Bryce, and Hudson would call it FUBAR - fucked up beyond all recognition.

I've graduated from flirting with a criminal, to hiding from mercenaries, to running from the cops now. If I had any sense left in me at all, I’d stop all this. I'm supposed to be lying low, and keeping a low profile and waiting for further instructions as to what to do for my job.

And again, “running from the cops” is hardly a low profile move.

At the same time, my heart is racing a mile a minute, and the fact that people with guns are chasing us is honestly only half responsible for that; at best. Because the other part of it is that my hand is firmly in Javier Toro's and as we run headlong down the beach, I can't help but let every part of me soar.

We run for what seems like hours but must be more like minutes, though at our pace we've got to be at least two miles down the beach from where we were. We come up on a rocky area of the beach, and as we dash around the rocks and boulders, Javier brings our mad-dash to a halt.