Provoked Read Free Page B

not true. Hanson had plenty of blood on his hands. “Let’s all pretend this never happened and go on our ways.”
    Kane settled his stance. “Drop the gun or you’re really going to piss me off.”
    What a terrible idea. That was no way to negotiate with a drunk on a mission. Should she get out of the car and try to defuse the situation? Seemed like a bad move, but staying inside wasn’t a great idea, either. The Bug was dead, and at some point, she needed to get out. Or at some point, one of the menaces around her would break a window. While she didn’t trust Kane, him getting shot and leaving her with the two brutes held little appeal.
    With a quick prayer, she unlocked the door and stepped outside.
    “Get back in the vehicle.” Kane kept his gaze on the man in front of her.
    Yeah, probably a good idea. Keeping the door open and her body protected by metal, she bunched her knees in case she needed to jump back inside. “We all need to stop this, right now. This has gone too far.” Though Hanson’s men had intended to take it further. Fear and cold set her teeth chattering.
    “I’ll ask you again—what did you do to the Volkswagen?” Kane’s hands remained relaxed at his sides, his voice calm, his tone slightly irritated.
    Chuck leaned against the front bumper of the car, the metal protesting his massive bulk with a loud crunch . “Shoot him, Alex.”
    Kane sighed, the sound carrying on the soft wind. He dodged to the side and cut in, grabbing Alex by the neck and slamming his head into the Volkswagen. A sickening thud filled the night, and Alex slid to the ground.
    Amber gasped, her gaze on the streak of red now smeared across the faded metal hood.
    She swallowed, her entire body going stone-cold. Gravity dropped her to the seat. As her butt hit the torn leather, her brain fired awake. Panicking, she grabbed the door handle and yanked it shut, slamming her fingers on the lock button. What was she going to do?
    Wide-eyed, she stared out the front window. The clouds deserted the moon again, allowing streaming light to illuminate the entire area.
    Kane scratched his head, his gaze on her, one eyebrow lifted. With a shrug, he turned toward Chuck. “Before I knock you out, would you mind telling me what you did to the car?”
    Chuck stepped away from the Volkswagen, his red flannel coat bright in the moonlight. “Why?”
    “I need to know if I can fix it, or if I need to borrow your truck.” Relaxed, calm, Kane’s posture nevertheless hinted at a hard edge.
    “You’re not takin’ my truck.” Loud and slurred, Chuck’s voice carried on the wind. Visibly gathering his courage, he shot forward, his head down. Three long seconds later, he smashed into Kane’s gut in what should’ve been a powerful tackle.
    Kane didn’t move.
    Chuck dropped back on his butt, and snow sprayed over the hood. The clunk of his head against the Bug’s grill vibrated the entire car.
    Kane frowned, rubbing his chin and eying both downed men. His gaze lifted to her as he stalked toward the grill.
    She swallowed and pressed back into the torn leather. What were his abs made of? Steel? He had to be wearing a bulletproof vest to have knocked Chuck out so easily. Reaching out, she twisted the key several times. Please, God, let the ignition start. Nothing happened.
    Kane reached the grill. “Pop the hood, Beag Gaiscioch .”
    Little Warrior? Amber lifted her chin—boy, did he have her pegged wrong. Poor, crazy, tough guy. She rolled her window down an inch so he could hear her. “Listen, ah, thanks for the rescue, but I’m no warrior, and you need to leave me alone.” Rationalizing with the crazy man probably wasn’t going to work.
    “So you do admit to your heritage.” He gestured toward the hood. “You speak Gaelic.”
    “My grandmother is Irish, and she insisted I learn.” Amber reached for the lever. No reason not to let him take a look. “You need help, and I have some ideas.”
    “Good.” The hood popped open,