in all black gear riding a moped. It was strange considering it was July, but the person had on a long-sleeved T-shirt, a helmet with dark tint and…what the hell?
Jordan blinked, not sure what she was seeing. It almost looked as if flames were coming up on the other side of the bike. Was it on fire? Wanting to help, she shoved away from the wall, but Vincent held her in place.
She started to ask him what he was doing when she realized the bike wasn’t on fire. The driver was holding a bottle and it had flames rolling off the top. It was a freaking Molotov cocktail. The driver hauled back an arm, poised like a pitcher, ready to throw it right at them!
Her body tensed, her heart rate going into overdrive, but before she could react, Vincent cursed and tackled her to the ground. All the air whooshed out of her lungs as an explosion of fire and glass crashed against the wall above them. Shards rained down on them as Vincent rolled them away, taking the brunt of the falling pieces just as a second explosion of fire shattered lower against the wall.
The sidewalk was unforgiving against their bodies as Vincent kept rolling them until they ran into a parked car. Though adrenaline was raging through her system, she wasn’t hurt except for a few scrapes on her elbows.
Vincent pushed off her before she could take stock of him. He jumped to his feet, every line of his body pulled taut as if he was ready to take off after the attacker on foot. But the squeal of tires had him cursing. Heart thundering, she started to follow his lead, then he crouched down to where she sat on the edge of the sidewalk.
He gently cupped her cheek as he assessed her face then scanned her body. “Baby, are you hurt anywhere?”
She swallowed, struggled to find her voice. “No, just…stunned. Did someone actually throw a Molotov cocktail at us? That’s insane.”
His jaw was tight as he nodded. “They took off but I got the license plate.” He glanced around again at the sound of footsteps pounding the pavement behind them.
“Are you guys all right?” Two college aged boys with dark tans wearing only board shorts and flip-flops hurried down the sidewalk toward them.
“We’re good, thanks.” Vincent said as he helped her to her feet.
An uncontrollable shake rippled through her.
“We called the cops,” one of them said. His blond hair was spiked and messy.
“Thanks,” Vincent murmured.
Jeez, the cops. Of course. She wasn’t even thinking straight. Wasn’t thinking at all. She looked up at Vincent. “Did you get hurt?” She realized she hadn’t even asked him that.
His expression was soft as he shook his head. “No, baby. I’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”
She knew he had. Still, she stepped back and ran her hands down his arms then over his chest, inspecting him, needing him to be okay. What if one of those bottles had hit him? Or both of them? God, they would have been—
“Stop.” That one word was a harsh order.
“What?” Even her voice trembled. She inwardly cursed herself. He was being so stoic and she felt like a shaking mess of nerves.
“I can see you’re playing the ‘what if’ game in your head. Don’t do it. We’re fine and unharmed. No one’s ever going to fucking hurt you.” He spoke with such authority that some of the fear pulsing through her dissipated.
But not completely. What the hell was wrong with people? After living seven years in fear for her life, this random act of violence stunned her so deeply.
She was vaguely aware of the two surfer looking guys talking a couple yards down in hushed tones, but she kept her focus on Vincent and nodded. “Okay, we’re safe. That’s what matters.”
Instead of responding, he pulled her into a tight embrace and she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but it almost felt like he trembled when he hugged her.
* * * * *
That had gone perfectly. Gauging the reaction time of Jordan’s friend had been a plus, but terrifying that
Jordan blinked, not sure what she was seeing. It almost looked as if flames were coming up on the other side of the bike. Was it on fire? Wanting to help, she shoved away from the wall, but Vincent held her in place.
She started to ask him what he was doing when she realized the bike wasn’t on fire. The driver was holding a bottle and it had flames rolling off the top. It was a freaking Molotov cocktail. The driver hauled back an arm, poised like a pitcher, ready to throw it right at them!
Her body tensed, her heart rate going into overdrive, but before she could react, Vincent cursed and tackled her to the ground. All the air whooshed out of her lungs as an explosion of fire and glass crashed against the wall above them. Shards rained down on them as Vincent rolled them away, taking the brunt of the falling pieces just as a second explosion of fire shattered lower against the wall.
The sidewalk was unforgiving against their bodies as Vincent kept rolling them until they ran into a parked car. Though adrenaline was raging through her system, she wasn’t hurt except for a few scrapes on her elbows.
Vincent pushed off her before she could take stock of him. He jumped to his feet, every line of his body pulled taut as if he was ready to take off after the attacker on foot. But the squeal of tires had him cursing. Heart thundering, she started to follow his lead, then he crouched down to where she sat on the edge of the sidewalk.
He gently cupped her cheek as he assessed her face then scanned her body. “Baby, are you hurt anywhere?”
She swallowed, struggled to find her voice. “No, just…stunned. Did someone actually throw a Molotov cocktail at us? That’s insane.”
His jaw was tight as he nodded. “They took off but I got the license plate.” He glanced around again at the sound of footsteps pounding the pavement behind them.
“Are you guys all right?” Two college aged boys with dark tans wearing only board shorts and flip-flops hurried down the sidewalk toward them.
“We’re good, thanks.” Vincent said as he helped her to her feet.
An uncontrollable shake rippled through her.
“We called the cops,” one of them said. His blond hair was spiked and messy.
“Thanks,” Vincent murmured.
Jeez, the cops. Of course. She wasn’t even thinking straight. Wasn’t thinking at all. She looked up at Vincent. “Did you get hurt?” She realized she hadn’t even asked him that.
His expression was soft as he shook his head. “No, baby. I’ve been in worse scrapes than this.”
She knew he had. Still, she stepped back and ran her hands down his arms then over his chest, inspecting him, needing him to be okay. What if one of those bottles had hit him? Or both of them? God, they would have been—
“Stop.” That one word was a harsh order.
“What?” Even her voice trembled. She inwardly cursed herself. He was being so stoic and she felt like a shaking mess of nerves.
“I can see you’re playing the ‘what if’ game in your head. Don’t do it. We’re fine and unharmed. No one’s ever going to fucking hurt you.” He spoke with such authority that some of the fear pulsing through her dissipated.
But not completely. What the hell was wrong with people? After living seven years in fear for her life, this random act of violence stunned her so deeply.
She was vaguely aware of the two surfer looking guys talking a couple yards down in hushed tones, but she kept her focus on Vincent and nodded. “Okay, we’re safe. That’s what matters.”
Instead of responding, he pulled her into a tight embrace and she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but it almost felt like he trembled when he hugged her.
* * * * *
That had gone perfectly. Gauging the reaction time of Jordan’s friend had been a plus, but terrifying that
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