Falcon

 

Falcon knew he had to be very careful. One wrong move and Bridgette would most likely bleed out on the floor or, best case scenario, end up in the emergency room. He’d thought for sure he’d given himself away when he heard the man shouting out at him.

 

Thank God he’d had the instinct to cross the room quickly and quietly and wait pressed against the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen.

 

He’d been beyond pissed when he’d woken up to an empty bed. At first he’d thought Bridgette had just gone back to the spare bed, but a quick search through the house had confirmed his worst suspicions.

 

He knew exactly where she’d gone. Back to that goddamn bakery. After she’d sworn up and down that she wouldn’t. After he’d told her what would happen.

 

And it had been too much for him to hope he’d get there in time before anything too bad could happen. Of course not. She fucking had to run off and right into Martin’s arms. If she hadn’t believed him before about the danger, she would now. At least one good thing would come of this, he’d thought grimly.

 

When Martin’s guy forced Bridgette through the door, though, he realized things were much worse than he’d initially thought. He hadn’t expected the henchman to have such an effective hold on Bridgette. He hadn’t thought to call for backup, or even grab a gun. Idiot, he cursed himself. He knew what he was dealing with here.

 

At least the moron hadn’t looked to either side. He’d left himself wide open for an attack from behind.

 

Falcon crept forward, already analyzing how best to approach this. He’d have to make sure Bridgette could get herself to safety, meaning his first challenge was getting that knife as far from her body as possible. He’d have to sacrifice efficiency for caution here, so he might get a few cuts himself. But that was a small price to pay for Bridgette’s life.

 

He lunged forward, wrapping an arm around the man’s neck and his other hand firmly around the man’s wrist. He bent the guy’s arm away from Bridgette’s throat, forcing the arm to stay straight.

 

The suddenness of the attack was enough to cause the henchman to release Bridgette’s hair. And she had the good sense to get the hell away from him, which made the rest of Falcon’s work easier.

 

He tightened his arm around the man’s neck, constricting and holding him there until the man slumped in his arms. Falcon let him drop limply to the floor then, and he stooped down to wrest the switchblade from his hand.

 

He turned his attention back to Bridgette, who was cowering across the room, shaking hard, her eyes wide and shining with tears. He just stared at her for a moment, waiting for the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind to subside. At that moment he was sure the only words he’d be able to get out were a long chain of expletives, and he wanted to make sure he could fully articulate how stupidly she’d acted.

 

A sob tore through her chest. Then another. He watched her slide down the wall until she was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees, looking like she was just trying to hold herself together.

 

Falcon felt some of the angry edge in him soften. But he was still pissed. “Why the fuck would you come here?” he demanded. “You see this shit?” He held up the switchblade. “Martin doesn’t play games, Bridgette! What, you didn’t fucking believe me before? You think I did this to myself?” He pointed to the scar on his cheek. “That a fucking cat or some shit gave this to me?”

 

Bridgette said nothing. She just continued to cry into her knees.

 

He hated her seeing like that—broken down, scared. He’d hardly ever seen her like that before. She used to hate crying in front of him, and any time he’d walked in on her when she was upset, she’d clammed right up, wiped her eyes, and told him she was fine, don’t worry, or some other bullshit.

 

But goddamn it, he’d told her. He’d told her it wasn’t worth it. He’d told her not to come back.

 

“Shit, Bridge,” he muttered, flipping the switchblade shut and slipping it into his pocket. He moved toward her until he was close enough to kneel down and pull her into his arms. She let him, her body easing comfortably into his.

 

Her face was warm and wet against his shoulder. He pulled her head against him, crushing her to his body, hoping that holding her so tight would help her realize she was safe.

 

“It’s fine now,” he murmured to her. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe while I’m here.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped against him. Her arms twined around his neck, and she pulled herself even closer to him. “I shouldn’t have gone. But you don’t get it, Kyle. If this place goes under, I have nothing. I’m in the hole with a business loan, and we’re barely turning a profit. It’s getting better, but Christ, if I have a few bad days with no business, I’m done.”

 

“Fuck, Bridge,” he growled, “if your bakery goes out, you’re still here. You pull this shit and fall into the wrong hands and you don’t live to see the end of the week. He was going to kill you, you know that? Martin doesn’t let anyone walk away. I told you that.”

 

Another sob tore through her. She tried unsuccessfully to stifle it.

 

Falcon sighed and leaned his cheek against her hair. “You should have told me you were coming down here. I could have come with you. I could have stopped that rat bastard from ever laying a hand on you.”

 

“You never would have let me walk out the front door,” she mumbled against him.

 

Falcon said nothing. She was probably right.

 

They sat like that for a few minutes, their only communication the contact of their bodies.

 

When her sobs had died down to sniffles, Falcon pushed himself to his feet and offered a hand down to help her up. She stood, shaky but solid enough.

 

He watched her gaze wander back to the unconscious man sprawled out on the floor. He couldn’t quite make out her expression.

 

“What happened?” he asked. He moved swiftly over to the man, pulled his bandana from his head, and used it to secure the man’s hands behind his back.

 

Bridgette told him how she’d come into the bakery. How he’d threatened her and how she’d tried to run. How he seemed convinced that she knew all about whatever Martin was looking for, like she was keeping it for herself and planning on selling it.

 

It finally dawned on Falcon. Martin’s men had been casing the joint because whatever it was Martin was after had to be stashed in the bakery. That was probably why they’d torn her storage room apart.

 

Falcon pulled out his phone and made a call to Shark, telling him to round up Bill and Leo and get their asses over to the bakery as soon as possible.

 

“What happened?” Shark demanded.

 

Falcon watched Bridgette. Her eyes were still fixed on her attacker, though she’d moved back against the far wall. “Bridge got her ass into trouble. I’ve got the situation handled here. The guy’s out cold. I figured we can get a few answers out of him and see exactly what we’re dealing with.”

 

“Sure thing, man. Be there in ten.” Shark hung up.

 

Falcon paced around the man on the floor, trying to get a good picture of him. He looked like he might be a low-level enforcer. Martin must have still been thinking that he was dealing with a baker and her boyfriend, otherwise he would have sent more guys. Falcon leaned down and patted the guy down just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

 

He wasn’t even packing either. Shit, Martin must have thought it was amateur hour over here. It was good for him and Bridgette because if he’d come face to face with even one armed guy, they would have been screwed.

 

“What are you going to do with him?”

 

Bridgette’s question interrupted his thoughts.

 

“Ask him some questions.” Falcon glanced back at her just in time to see her quizzical look.

 

“Ask?”

 

Falcon shrugged. “Ask questions. Beat the shit out of him. Some combination of those things.”

 

Bridgette snorted. “I meant after. You know, when you’re done with him, you, what, shoot him in the back of the head? Put him down for a dirt nap?”

 

Falcon barked a laugh. He didn’t know if it was her deadpan expression or the ridiculous euphemism. Maybe it was the way she asked the question so casually, like she was asking about the game last night. “Fuck, Bridge, I’m not running with the mob.”

 

It was her turn to shrug. “How should I know? And I’m serious. You’re not going to just let him walk out the front door, are you?”

 

He couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly she’d recovered. Apart from the redness around her eyes, there was no trace of vulnerability left in her. She didn’t let life knock her down for long.

 

“I’ll have Leo or someone take him for a long ride way out in the countryside. Why do you care? You worried about him?”

 

Bridgette scoffed. “Fuck no.”

 

Falcon couldn’t help but grin at her. Yeah, that was his girl, all right.