Prisoner Mine Read Online Free PDF

groped for his gun, or maybe walkie talkie. Both hung on his right side. Poor Rightie was a rightie and had grabbed Raisa with his dominant hand. No way could he reach the comms clipped to his back pocket.
    Zeke wouldn’t give him the opportunity to get to his gun. His fist clenched, ready to center the arse’s temple.
    A blow rang Zeke’s bell. The point of impact radiated from the back of his skull to the front. It snapped his head forward. The dim hallway tunneled to a small circular window.
    Raisa's red face knitted in rage. Her knee shot forward. It sank into Rightie’s crotch.
    Zeke closed his eyes. He dropped to a knee.
    He pivoted and punched.
    A groan wheezed from Leftie’s lungs. When his eyes opened the man’s cheeks had paled several shades. The bloke clutched his stomach. Zeke sailed an upper-cut into his jaw. He didn’t watch the man fall.
    Zeke whirled to Raisa, ignoring the stars that shot past his widening field of vision. She needed his help…only…she didn’t.
    Raisa cradled her throat with one hand. The other braced the wall while she rammed the scuffed points of her stilettos into the bastard’s lower torso again and again. The man hunched into the fetal position like the pussy he was, cupping his balls.
    They had no time to revel in the quick beating they’d given the four men. Nor was there time to wait until the stars stopped shimmying in his periphery. The longer they stayed the more chance they had of getting shot.
    Zeke scooped Greer off the floor and then tugged Raisa's wrist. He urged her toward the door, squatted, retrieved the pussy’s gun and walkie, and then ran for freedom.
    Stark panic paled Raisa's cheeks. She stabbed a finger toward the security pad on the door. Zeke foisted the weapons and radio into her hands, and then grabbed the edge of the suit coat still wrapped around Raisa. She gasped, but didn’t budge while he fished forty thousand from the jacket pockets and tossed it onto the unconscious guard next to the door.
    Raisa canted her head to the side.
    “They won’t look for us as hard with the money,” he whispered as he punched in the security code. He didn’t expect her to understand, but maybe his tone would communicate something.
    When the light turned green Raisa shoved the door open with her hip, then held it wide for him and Greer. Zeke hustled out the door and to the car. The clack of Raisa's shoes stayed on his heels.
    He wrenched the back door wide and eased Greer into the seat. Sweat-damp hair clung to her face. It stayed there. Her seatbelt was more important. He reclined the seat slightly to keep her from slumping and pulled the strap across her chest.
    Zeke stood and motioned Raisa into the car. When she didn’t leap inside he found her gaze…right above the barrel of the guard’s gun.
    Her chest rose and fell on choppy breaths. The hunk of black metal shimmied with every gasp. Wide brown eyes danced left and right, searching for...escape? She’d trusted him enough to get her out of the whore house, but apparently not much further.
    Hands at his side, Zeke softened his gaze, but held his ground.
    Raisa's gaze danced from him to Greer to the back door of the night club several times, and finally landed on him.
    “Friend.” He held out his hand for the gun.
    Her gaze narrowed.
    Zeke pushed back the need to take control of the situation. He let her decide how they’d proceed.
    After several stilted seconds Raisa's breathing slowed. The quiver of her hands tapered. She eased the barrel to the ground and stepped to Zeke. Chagrin quirked her mouth as she released the gun. The cool barrel and heated grip weighted his palm. She set the radio next to the gun and dove into the backseat.
    Thank fuck for the unracked slide.
    Without it he wouldn't have been so gentle. Shot on accident was still shot.
    Zeke jumped in behind the wheel, stowed the guard’s stuff in the center console, and drove. He drove through Queens, dodged traffic in Manhattan, and