Once.

Twice.

A body slumps to the ground.

It’s a blur of motion, it happens so fast. I stare at the dead man at Daniel’s feet, his neck at an odd angle. Daniel fires one more shot, puts a hand to his side, and fires one more time. There’s a thump nearby, and Daniel grunts, then holsters his gun. “We’re good. You can come out now.”

Come out? I haven’t even had time to think about firing my gun. In a daze, I get to my feet, noticing that one of the bullets struck inches above my head. If I’d been standing, I’d be dead.

“Come on,” Daniel says. “We don’t want to be here in case their buddies come back.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I rush to his side, stepping over the dead man at his feet as Daniel casually picks up one of his shoes and frowns at the bullet-hole in the toe. He shoves them on as I look around for the other dead man. There, a short distance away, with a perfect bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

Jesus. Daniel moved so fast.

He takes me by the arm since I’m not moving fast enough, and we leave the grocery behind, heading back into the slums. Daniel looks over at me. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I’m still dazed, at his speed more than anything. I wanted to help, and I was useless. Less than useless. For the first time, I’m starting to realize what Daniel has been saying. Not only is my life in danger when I go with him, but I’m putting him in danger, too, because he has to watch for me. It’s not a good feeling.

“You still got that grenade?” He reaches into one of the side pockets of my flak jacket and pulls it out, and my eyes widen. That explains what hurt my ribs, though I wouldn’t have belly flopped if I’d have known I was belly flopping on top of a live grenade. Maybe that was why he didn’t tell me.

“What’s it for?” I ask him and glance around. “Are there more guys?”

“Nah. We’re going to send a message to our buddies.” He pulls the pin and pitches the grenade like a baseball into one of the windows of the old grocery.

“What’s the message?” I ask as Daniel grabs my arm and we start walking away again.

Two seconds later, there’s a loud boom and debris rains down. He looks over at me, boyish with glee. “Our message is ‘Yippee ki-yay, motherfuckers.’”

“Predictable,” I tell him, but I grin until he winces and clutches his ribs again. Then I realize . . .

Daniel’s been shot.

Daniel

"ARE YOU HURT?" SHE ASKS.

“You offering to play nurse?” I wiggle my eyebrows lasciviously. “I love that uniform. I think it’s the white shoes.”

"Would you be serious for one minute?” She tugs at my shirt, and I turn my head to hide a wince. So I got shot; since I’m upright and able to walk, it must’ve winged me. I’ll need a little alcohol and superglue, and it’ll be fine. The most urgent thing is to get Regan to a safe house.

"Come on, let's find a nice place where you can feel me up later. When we have more privacy. I'm not into public shows.” Adrenaline’s pumping hard throughout my body. If she’d been willing, I’d have taken her on the floor of the grocery.

She rolls her eyes but follows. "I don't think you're being funny right now.”

"When do you ever think I'm being funny?” I press my hand against my waist to staunch the wound because I'm leaving a trail of blood behind me like bread crumbs. I hope this doesn’t end in us getting shoved into an oven. “I’m curious. I want to analyze my jokes so I can get more laughs per words in the future.” That sounded like something my sister would say, and I allow myself a small chuckle. Regan doesn’t realize it, but I’d have suffered a lot more wounds than a slice through my side to get that information.

My laugh pisses her off, and she snaps back. “It’s not like I have actual concern for your well-being for any reason other than you're my ticket out of here, so if you're injured I'm screwed.”

I make a tsking sound. “If I thought that were true, I’d have to lie down from the wound in my heart. Thankfully for both of us, I know you’re joking.” She hmphs which prompts a return wink. I can tell she’s developing a soft spot for me. It might not be a sexual one, but she likes me. The smirk on my face dies off when we get close to Pereya’s. Our bags are stacked outside, which means he’s had someone watch for us and is now telling us to get the hell out of here.

“What’s going on?” Regan asks as I grab both bags without stopping. The motion causes one of the bags to brush against my side, and the pain shoots outward causing me to stumble and groan. “See, you are hurt.” She tugs on my arm as if she thinks we can go back to Pereya’s safe room.

Stopping, I cup her cheek and that intimate movement stills her actions. “We’re not welcome there right now.” She makes a distressed sound. “I’m not hurt. Really. I promise if I were, I’d tell you.”

“Would you?” Her big, forest green eyes look up at me with trust and…is that longing there?

I give myself a mental head slap to dislodge a dozen unsuitable thoughts—such as her actually having feelings for me that arise out of something other than gratitude and wanting to kiss again. Hell if she needs more practice, I’m her man.

I content myself with rubbing my thumb along her dirt streaked cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen to you while I’m still breathing. Swear.”

We stare at each other for what seemed like an eternity or at least two cycles of the moon before she drops her gaze. “Okay,” she says softly.

Her soft acquiescence stirs a response in a place far above my belt line. If we weren’t running for our lives, if I didn’t have my sister to save, if everything were different, I’d sweep Regan into my arms and carry her off to the nearest horizontal surface to show her how sincere my words are. Not for the first time, I wish that I had met Regan when I was still in the army, full of cockiness and the belief nothing could ever harm those I truly loved. Those feelings are long gone, and the oppressive weight of guilt and fear that replaced them has become the new normal. My response to Regan staggers me, so to regain my equilibrium, I grab my junk and make a smart ass comment.

“There’s a part of me that is in real pain, baby doll, if you’re feeling like you need to do something.”

“Really, Daniel? Did you have to ruin it?”

Yeah, baby, I do because neither of us have time for this strange pull between us. Giving her a strained smile, I head off down the hill. Like a good soldier, she follows. For all the shit I’ve thrown her way, Regan has done what I’ve told her without question. No one stops us on our way down Monkey Hill. Maybe word has spread of our shootout or maybe we look dangerous. Dusty, dirty, and bloody, we look like two people who’ve walked out of a battle and aren’t afraid to mow down anyone who tries to stop us. At least that’s how I hope we look because the truth is that Regan and I are weak as kittens right now. We need food, shower, and sleep. In that order. At the base of the favela, I look around for some transportation because we need to put some distance between us and Monkey Hill. Ipanema, Luiz, and papers are about an hour away to the southeast. In between are more favelas, hills, and forests.

Glancing to my left I see an older model fiat and the flanelinha is nowhere to be seen. I tug on Regan’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“You’re not stealing this, are you?”

“No, I’m borrowing it.” I take my gun and smash the driver’s side window. Climbing in, I reach over and flick open the lock. “Get in.”

Shaking her head, she climbs inside. “Someone really needs this car, I bet.”

“Then they should’ve paid a flanelinha to watch it.”

“A what?”

“Car attendant. Pay someone to watch your car so that some shitty criminal doesn’t come along and steal it.”