Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense by Leslie Johnson, Elle Dawson
Authors: Leslie Johnson, Elle Dawson
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pushing the revolving doors to move them faster.
“This way,” I say, heading toward the parking garage, but turn us around when I spot the suit. The garage is being guarded. Time for Plan B, whatever the hell that is.
Picking a new direction, I walk blindly, searching the surrounding areas. I glance over my shoulder as we walk, seeing if the suit has pegged us. Shit. I meet his eyes, and he lifts his watch to his lips, speaking into the device. As soon as we round the corner, I turn up the speed. Soon, I’m pulling Mia behind me in a full out run.
“Wait!” she cries out and begins to slow.
“Not yet.” I grip her hand tightly and pull her along, faster. We’re running for her life. Probably my own now as well.
We make it two blocks when I see a large, empty looking warehouse nestled in the middle of other empty looking warehouses. It’s a block away, on the other side of the railroad tracks. I pull her in that direction, not stopping until we’re on the other side.
“Why are we running? Why couldn’t we take my car?” she pants, the words coming out between huge gulps of air.
I assumed she was in the parking garage as well. “Where’d you park?”
“The garage,” she confirms.
“No good. Suits guarding it. What do you drive?”
“A VW Bug.”
I try not to laugh out loud at the idea of outrunning a man wearing a Federal ID in a Bug. “I think we’re better off here for now. We have to figure out what to do next.”
“Who was that man?” Her words come between labored breaths.
“I don’t know,” I reply tersely, throwing a look over my shoulder. “But I don’t like the idea of him.”
And I didn’t. Not at all.
Chapter 8 – Mia
Jax pulls me behind him even as I’m still trying to catch my breath. The bank box is heavy, and my ribs screech with each step. We reach a door, but it’s locked when he tries the knob. He steps back and kicks it. After a sharp bang, we’re inside.
I yelp when we scatter a flock of pigeons, sending them flying off in every direction. Inside, Jax pushes the heavy wooden door shut as I stand back, bending at the waist, gasping for air after dropping my heavy burdens to the floor. My ribs burn like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I press a hand to them.
He notices my obvious pain. “You okay?” he asks, a lot less breathless than me. “Stretch your arms over your head, it will help open your lungs and relieve a side stitch if you have one.”
I glower at him. He probably works out constantly, training for whatever he does. There’s no fitness component to a desk job and three sessions of yoga and kickboxing a week clearly doesn’t prepare a person for sprinting for their life. In heels. With a heavy metal box. Or a purse the size of Korea. And messed up ribs.
“Yeah, no, I’m okay,” I pant, though each breath brings a new dose of agony. But I don’t want to let on how much pain I’m in. I still don’t entirely trust him.
He looks less than convinced. “Let me check you out,” he says, coming toward me and reaching for my belly, pulling up the tank part of my sweater set.
His fingers sliding across my abdomen send a jolt down low. I jerk away as if splattered by hot grease. “Really, I’m okay,” I say, turning away so I won’t fling myself at him, beg him to touch me again.
My eyes adjust to the dim light of the warehouse, and it looks as though it hasn’t been used by anyone other than partying kids and homeless people in years. A few random mattresses lay here and there, complimented by bottles and garbage. A chill penetrates, and I wrap my arms around myself. Now that the adrenaline rush of the chase is wearing off, I feel very small and scared.
I need to get away from this man. Away from this city that now seems so sinister. I can’t handle this. But where would I go? Who would I turn to? Trust?
Do not trust anyone, Mia .
I still feel the pressure of her fingers digging into my shoulders, the look in her eyes as
“This way,” I say, heading toward the parking garage, but turn us around when I spot the suit. The garage is being guarded. Time for Plan B, whatever the hell that is.
Picking a new direction, I walk blindly, searching the surrounding areas. I glance over my shoulder as we walk, seeing if the suit has pegged us. Shit. I meet his eyes, and he lifts his watch to his lips, speaking into the device. As soon as we round the corner, I turn up the speed. Soon, I’m pulling Mia behind me in a full out run.
“Wait!” she cries out and begins to slow.
“Not yet.” I grip her hand tightly and pull her along, faster. We’re running for her life. Probably my own now as well.
We make it two blocks when I see a large, empty looking warehouse nestled in the middle of other empty looking warehouses. It’s a block away, on the other side of the railroad tracks. I pull her in that direction, not stopping until we’re on the other side.
“Why are we running? Why couldn’t we take my car?” she pants, the words coming out between huge gulps of air.
I assumed she was in the parking garage as well. “Where’d you park?”
“The garage,” she confirms.
“No good. Suits guarding it. What do you drive?”
“A VW Bug.”
I try not to laugh out loud at the idea of outrunning a man wearing a Federal ID in a Bug. “I think we’re better off here for now. We have to figure out what to do next.”
“Who was that man?” Her words come between labored breaths.
“I don’t know,” I reply tersely, throwing a look over my shoulder. “But I don’t like the idea of him.”
And I didn’t. Not at all.
Chapter 8 – Mia
Jax pulls me behind him even as I’m still trying to catch my breath. The bank box is heavy, and my ribs screech with each step. We reach a door, but it’s locked when he tries the knob. He steps back and kicks it. After a sharp bang, we’re inside.
I yelp when we scatter a flock of pigeons, sending them flying off in every direction. Inside, Jax pushes the heavy wooden door shut as I stand back, bending at the waist, gasping for air after dropping my heavy burdens to the floor. My ribs burn like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I press a hand to them.
He notices my obvious pain. “You okay?” he asks, a lot less breathless than me. “Stretch your arms over your head, it will help open your lungs and relieve a side stitch if you have one.”
I glower at him. He probably works out constantly, training for whatever he does. There’s no fitness component to a desk job and three sessions of yoga and kickboxing a week clearly doesn’t prepare a person for sprinting for their life. In heels. With a heavy metal box. Or a purse the size of Korea. And messed up ribs.
“Yeah, no, I’m okay,” I pant, though each breath brings a new dose of agony. But I don’t want to let on how much pain I’m in. I still don’t entirely trust him.
He looks less than convinced. “Let me check you out,” he says, coming toward me and reaching for my belly, pulling up the tank part of my sweater set.
His fingers sliding across my abdomen send a jolt down low. I jerk away as if splattered by hot grease. “Really, I’m okay,” I say, turning away so I won’t fling myself at him, beg him to touch me again.
My eyes adjust to the dim light of the warehouse, and it looks as though it hasn’t been used by anyone other than partying kids and homeless people in years. A few random mattresses lay here and there, complimented by bottles and garbage. A chill penetrates, and I wrap my arms around myself. Now that the adrenaline rush of the chase is wearing off, I feel very small and scared.
I need to get away from this man. Away from this city that now seems so sinister. I can’t handle this. But where would I go? Who would I turn to? Trust?
Do not trust anyone, Mia .
I still feel the pressure of her fingers digging into my shoulders, the look in her eyes as
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