Chapter 263
[ 509 words ]
Chapter 263:
She wanted to violently shove Alston away, but her tactical brain knew he was saving their lives with this performance. She forced her muscles to relax and leaned her head against his shoulder, playing the part of the submissive mob mistress.
Rocco looked at the intimate pose. He looked at Alston’s cold confidence.
He cursed loudly and waved his good hand at his men.
“Back off,” Rocco ordered bitterly. “Let them go.”
The thugs lowered their pipes. The tension in the street finally broke. Alston let out a microscopic breath of relief.
Then the world exploded.
A deafening roar of massive engines ripped through the night.
Three pitch-black, fully armored military SUVs tore around the corner at fifty miles an hour. They didn’t brake. The lead SUV smashed directly into a row of metal trash cans, sending them flying through the air like shrapnel.
𝖥in𝘥 𝘯𝘰vel 𝖯D𝗙𝗌 𝗼𝘯 g𝘢𝗅n𝘰𝘃𝗲𝗅𝘀.𝘤o𝘮
The SUVs slammed to a halt, completely boxing in the street.
Blinding, military-grade tactical spotlights clicked on, washing the entire scene in harsh, blinding white light.
The heavy steel door of the center SUV was kicked open.
Jarrod Romero stepped out into the light.
He wore full black combat gear. His face was smeared with grease and dried blood. The heavy, metallic stench of gunpowder and violence rolled off his body in waves. His right arm was held rigid against his side, the outline of the field splint still visible beneath his combat shirt.
Jarrod’s black eyes swept the street like a targeting laser.
His gaze instantly locked onto Alston.
More specifically, his eyes locked onto Alston’s hand, which was still wrapped tightly around Caroline’s waist.
The air in the street evaporated.
A wave of homicidal, apocalyptic jealousy exploded from Jarrod. His eyes turned completely black. The rational, tactical commander vanished, replaced by a rabid, bloodthirsty beast.
Jarrod marched forward.
Two thugs stood in his path. Jarrod didn’t even slow down. He drove his left shoulder into the first man’s chest, sending him crashing into a brick wall like a broken toy. The second thug lunged. Jarrod caught him with his left arm, hurling him aside with terrifying force.
Alston saw Jarrod’s face. His eyes widened in panic.
“Jarrod, wait, it’s a cover—” Alston started to shout.
Jarrod didn’t let him finish.
He closed the distance in a second. His left hand shot out, grabbed Alston by the collar of his silk shirt, and violently hurled the lawyer five feet away.
In the exact same breath, Jarrod lunged forward. His left arm wrapped around Caroline’s back, pulling her small body directly into his Kevlar-plated chest. His right arm remained pressed motionless against his side, the rigid splint a barrier between them.
He pressed his jaw against the top of her head, burying her face into his neck. His left hand clamped onto the back of her skull, holding her there.
He turned his head and glared at the terrified gang members.
“Who touches her,” Jarrod roared, his voice shaking the glass in the streetlamps, “dies!”
The echo of Jarrod’s homicidal roar hung in the freezing air.
Rocco and his men stood paralyzed. The sheer, overwhelming aura of death radiating from Jarrod broke their minds. Their legs began to shake.
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