Free Retrieval by Lea Griffith

Sounds like you’ve been planning this for a while,” Sebastian drawled as he prevented her from sitting then secured her with nylon tie-downs. He had to keep her talking and conscious while he checked her out.
    “Shut the back, Bleak.” The rear door began its descent.
    She coughed again. It made him sweat to hear it.
    “That’s just for starters.” A heavy breath followed by a moan before she continued, “There’s added incentive for you: I cook like freaking Paula Deen—I make it through this you’re getting the long end of the stick.”
    Bleak slammed the driver’s side door and gunned the vehicle.
    “Charge set. Be ready to move,” Morrissey called over the links.
    “So you’d be getting the short end of the stick if you married me?” he asked her with a short bark of laughter.
    “Don’t know. Just know your end is super long. Now go away. I’ve been shot, rescued, half proposed to—I’m tired. No time to chitchat even if you are a hottie.” Her voice trailed off, and with her final word, she passed out.
    He shook his head, his mouth curving into a small smile. Damn woman was probably always going to want the last word. He didn’t have time to dwell. The entire time he’d been carrying on with her, he’d been ripping the shirt from her abdomen to check the damage.
    The bullet was still lodged in her side. He had to get her somewhere safe soon to get it out. The bleeding at the site of the wound had stopped, but her cough worried him, as did the blood dotting her lips. Her pulse was strong, but she had internal damage; he just had no idea how extensive. He heard Morrissey’s diversion, and then the percussion of the blast rocked the SUV. Bits of corn, soil, and other debris rained down on the top of the Tahoe.
    “Shit the only other person I’ve seen set a charge like that was Connor Parks. Let’s roll, Sebastian. If we don’t get out of here soon…” Bleak said from the front of the SUV.
    “There’s Morrissey. Let’s roll,” Sebastian ordered.
    Levering himself inside the Tahoe, Morrissey’s face split into a wide grin like a proud papa showing off his newborn son. Bleak took off the second the door slammed.
    “Helluvan’ explosion, huh?” Morrissey asked as he took out field glasses to look and see who, if anybody, was coming at them.
    Nobody was.
    “Ooh Rah.” Bleak said.
    “You had way too much fun with that, Mo,” Sebastian said through a mouth partially closed as he ripped tape to place on a bandage over Sky’s wound.
    “How can somebody have too much fun blowing shitheads to smithereens?” Morrissey asked innocently.
    “You’ve got a point. All right, I think that’s all I can do for her for now. Get us back to Chicago, Bleak. Fast.” He let his head drop to the seat behind him.
    She’d stirred his life into an uproar. With her hair full of dirt, and her normally golden skin alabaster white, she still took his breath away. She was funny as hell, and he had a hard time keeping up with her. Even as he’d been terrified of not getting to her in time, she’d made him laugh.
    He was unable to resist the lure of her silky skin, and he let his fingers drift lightly over her face, trace the contours of her brow, down her nose, over her soft, satiny lips. His finger came away bloody. He wiped her face with a wet piece of his shirt. She was hurt, damn it, and he shouldn’t want the things he wanted from her. His body shouldn’t be hard with want, and his heart had no business quickening when he gazed at her.
    He couldn’t deny the pull he’d felt toward her from the first moment he’d seen her picture. Hell, before he’d even agreed to take the op, he’d been unable to get her out of his thoughts. His body was fully on board, but his mind wasn’t able to wrap around her existence, and what that meant for him.
    It was enough that she was out of immediate danger. He didn’t doubt his ability to keep her safe once he was assured she was going to live through that