Mature, Ems. Very mature.
Okay, so maybe she was more like her big brother than she thought.
Doing as she was told, Emma followed Trace into her apartment. The small entryway opened up into her living room. Which, after a quick glance, looked exactly as she’d left it.
Trace, however, didn’t rely on a mere glance to determine it was safe. His booted feet padded across the wooden floors as he checked the adjoining kitchen, bathroom, laundry room, and master bedroom.
The only places he hadn’t checked were the balcony on her bedroom’s north wall and her closet. As he made his way to the sliding doors, Emma decided to save them both some time and check the closet herself.
Looking over to where he stood on the empty, outside space Emma reached for the closet door. “See? I told you the gun wasn’t necessar—”
Pieces of wood exploded next to her face. Sharp, jagged splinters cut into her skin as a bullet flew past her head, slamming into the glass inches from where Trace stood.
“Get down!” He yelled, his gun pointing right at her.
But the warning came too late.
A man burst out of the closet, his meaty arm wrapping around her throat and yanking her body back against his. Using her as a human shield, the shooter pressed the barrel of his gun into the delicate skin at her temple.
Oh, God!
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, tears of pure, unadulterated fear filling them instantly. She couldn’t watch Trace die. Shecouldn’t.
“Trace?” she choked out his name. The man’s arm was damn near cutting off her airway.
“Let her go!” Trace hissed through a set of clenched teeth.
“Drop your gun or the bitch dies!”
“You won’t shoot her,” Trace spoke with confidence she most definitely didn’t feel. “You kill her, you lose your only chance at getting out of here alive.”
“Fuck you!” the man holding her yelled back, his hot breath hitting her ear.
Trace’s next words came out calmer. Steadier. And they were directed straight at her.
“Emma, look at me.”
She opened her eyes.
Staring back at her was a warrior. A deadly operative ready to kill. But there was something else there, too. Something shining in those stormy seas of blue.
“You’re okay,” he assured her. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Not if you don’t drop your fucking gun, it’s not.” The man jerked her to the side and began pulling her backward, toward her bedroom door.
“Shoot him,” Emma managed to speak the words clearly as she did her best not to trip over her own feet.
Her attacker tightened the grip on her throat. “Shut the fuck up.”
Emma clawed at his arm, sucking in as much air as she could. The muscles in Trace’s arms remained tense, the veins there bulging from the powerful grip he had on his gun.
“Shoot...him,” Emma rasped a second time.
She knew Trace was afraid of hitting her, but damn it. She’d take a bullet if it meant stopping this man from doing whatever he had planned.
“I said, shut up!”
The man released his hold only to fist the hair on the back of her head. Emma cried out as he yanked her backward, the move sending a rush of fire through her scalp.