Anson whipped the steering wheel hard to the left, careening around the corner. He’d been following the caravan on a parallel street, but when the sound of full-out war exploded in the evening air, he knew the threat of attack he’d overheard one of Montez’s men discussing had become reality. He’d had two chances to save Natalia, and now it could be too late.

“Fuck!” he yelled, twisting the wheel yet again in order to avoid colliding with a car that had pulled perpendicular to the road, effectively blocking the path of Montez’s vehicles. Bullets whizzed everywhere, puncturing metal and splintering glass, ricocheting off the pavement and bricks of buildings lining the street.

Jumping from his Jeep, he ran towards the battle. Cars lined the street, bodies fallen where men had piled out of vehicles only to find a bullet with their name on it. The first SUV, Montez’s car, was riddled with jagged holes; bullets had punctured the metal in too many places to count. Passing what had to be one of either Ortez’s or Hernandez’s men’s vehicles, he ducked low, snagging the gun from the lifeless hand of one of the warring cartel members. Every training course he’d ever run, every mission he’d ever been involved in not only played through his head, but had him acting without hesitation. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn who won the turf war, he only cared about one person, and she was in the car that was obviously the primary target.

Firing both in front of him and behind, he ran to the vehicle and, ignoring the driver’s door, yanked open the door to the back seat. It looked as if a bomb had exploded inside the interior. Blood was everywhere.

He could not believe his eyes. Despite the glass shards that glittered in her hair, torn bits of stuffing from the ruined upholstery clinging to the blood that coated her flesh, Natalia was alive. Though Montez’s fingers gripped her hair, strands caught around the barrel of the gun he was holding, she wasn’t cowering in fear.

“Help me!” Montez demanded, yanking her forward.

“Go to hell!” she screamed, pulling back despite his hold on her.

Anson lifted his gun as Montez did the same. Not willing to shoot and possibly hit Natalia, Anson moved forward to better his chance. Before he could pull the trigger, Montez had the gun at Natalia’s temple. Anson’s heart stopped as Montez pulled the trigger and… nothing happened.

“You bastard!” Before Anson could even twitch, Natalia drew her arm back and slammed her fist into Montez’s nose. Blood spurted and his hand dropped, releasing her hair.

Never looking away from his face, ignoring the bullets that continued to pierce the car, she calmly ran her hands over the bodice of her dress, smearing the cloth with Montez’s blood. “You always did prefer me in red. How do you like it now, you limp dicked bastard?”

“You cunt!” The words were ugly but barely audible, and Anson understood why as he saw the drug czar’s shirt was covered in blood, more oozing from a wound in his neck.

“Natalia, we have to go!” Anson yelled, drawing Montez’s gaze to him.

“You! What the fuck are you doing here?” the drug czar demanded. “Help me!”

“Fuck you,” Anson snarled, ignoring Montez’s look of disbelief that the gringo he’d allowed to dance with his slave was no longer groveling in subservience as the wounded man’s eyes began to glaze over. “We have to go, now!” he repeated, reaching to pull Natalia off Montez.

“Wait!” she screamed, twisting in his arms.

“I’ve got you, come on. Shit!” he cursed when a bullet streaked between their heads, shattering what remained of the rear window.

Anson grabbed her around the waist, pulling her against him as he tried to back out of the car.

“No!” she screamed yet again. “Let me go!” She attempted to twist from his grasp, her feet kicking. Anson gasped as he felt a sharp pain, loosening his grip enough so that she was free.

“Fuck, Natalia!” He reached for her again, but not before she’d drawn back her arm and he had to bite back his own moan as her fist connected with Montez’s crotch, drawing a deep, agonized groan from the man.

“For my family. The Bautisto Alvarez family. Burn in hell, you fucking bastard!” Natalia grabbed the gun that was hanging from Montez’s fingers. She reached into the man’s coat, pulling out a fresh magazine, ejecting the empty one and slamming the full one home.

Another bullet blasted into the car and Anson groaned. “Shit!” Enough was enough. Grabbing her chin, he forced her to look at him. “No more fucking around! We’re leaving now.” She nodded, but before they could exit the car, the opposite door opened, causing Montez to tilt out, one of his men barely catching the injured drug czar. Looking up, Anson said, “La tengo, entiendo Montez!” Not giving the man a chance to question why a gringo had Montez’s woman, Anson pulled Natalia completely out of the car. “Shoot anybody who so much as moves a goddamn muscle, got it?” At her nod, he grabbed her hand. “Now!” he shouted, firing his own gun, hearing her fire Montez’s as he half dragged her to the Jeep.

She scrambled over the console, standing to fire over the windshield as he climbed into the vehicle. More men spilled out of the SUVs behind Montez’s, guns blazing, bullets slamming into the Jeep’s frame. “Shit!” Anson shouted. He yanked the gear shift and the vehicle careened in reverse, fishtailing from one side of the street to the other until he gave one final turn of the wheel to spin it completely around to face the opposite direction. Pressing the gas pedal to the floor, he yelled at her to hang on as they fled the scene, leaving unbelievable carnage in their wake.

If they’d been in the States, there would be dozens of police vehicles, sirens blaring, racing to the scene. However, they weren’t in the United States—they were in a country where the law was corrupt, content to look the other way as long as money appeared in officials’ bank accounts. The empty streets were counter to the massive crowd that had attended the fair. That was actually fine with Anson as he didn’t need to compete with other cars or dodge spectators. What he needed to do was get as far away as possible—as fast as possible.

Reaching to his right, he grabbed Natalia’s arm, yanking her down into her seat. “Are you all right?”

“I-I think so,” she said, her voice no longer loud, the rage that had filled her in Montez’s car obviously dissipating with every block they traveled. “How… oh, God, you came for me!”

Not taking his eyes off the road as he made another turn, he nodded. “Of course I did. I told you I came to get you away from Montez.”

“Is he really dead?”

“If not now, he will be. He was covered in blood and had been shot in the neck.”

“He needs to die.”

Anson heard the pain in her voice and he nodded again. “Yes, he does.” He wanted to assure her that everything would be all right and yet he couldn’t. Nothing would be all right until he got them the hell out of Argentina. Twisting the wheel hard to make the next right turn, he groaned.

“Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” she said.

“What? No, it’s just blood—”

“Yes, your blood,” she said. “Pull over.”

Shaking his head, he continued driving. “I’m fine. We’ve got to get as far from the city as possible.”

“Anson, you’re shaking and you’re so pale—”

“I’m always pale.” He chuckled, grimacing as even that caused a stab of pain.

“No, you’re bleeding and if we don’t stop the blood, you could bleed to death.”

“I said I was—”

“Look out!” she yelled, reaching for the wheel and jerking it to the right, causing the Jeep to swerve. Anson shook his head. His vision had blurred for a moment, masking the view of a goat that had run into the street. It was only then that he felt a burning pain. Glancing down, he saw that his shirt was soaked in blood.

“Well, fuck,” he said, shocked to discover that the sharp pain he’d thought had come when one of Natalia’s stiletto heels had connected when she was fighting him was instead the result of being shot. The adrenaline that had poured throughout his system at the scene was evidently dissipating as he felt a wave of nausea and dizziness that caused his stomach to heave.

“Exactly,” Natalia said, still keeping her hand on the wheel. “If we don’t get you patched up, we are indeed fucked.”

“Hotel,” he said, forcing himself to ignore the fire in his body and concentrate on finding refuge. “Hotel de Rosa Roja, in San Telmo.”

“Really? Why is everything always fucking red!”

“What?”

“Never mind, I know where that is,” she assured him. “Stop and I’ll drive.” When he once again shook his head, she sharpened her tone. “Don’t make me bloody your nose. Stop the fucking car before you kill us both!”

“God, you’re bossy,” he said, lifting his foot from the gas.

“And you’re stubborn. Pull over!”

When he pulled to a stop, she jumped out of the Jeep and ran around the front as he climbed out. “Here, let me help,” she said, slipping an arm around his waist, causing him to groan. “Oh, sorry.”

“That’s all right, just let me catch my breath,” he said, bracing his left hand against the Jeep, fighting back the next sickening wave of nausea that had instantly gripped him.

“You can catch it later. Get in the Jeep.”

“Yep, definitely bossy,” he said, moving around the Jeep, biting back another groan as he climbed in.

“Shut up,” she said, her tone without rancor as she took his left hand. Anson’s heart stuttered at the contact, and yet when she pressed his palm against his right sleeve, slick with blood, and said, “Keep pressure on it,” he realized she hadn’t meant the gesture in any intimate way. She swiped her hand against the skirt of her dress, adding yet another smear of red to the white fabric before she climbed behind the wheel, pulling back onto the street.

Anson leaned his head back, his eyes half closed as he berated himself for being incapacitated. It wasn’t a circumstance he was familiar with, and he discovered that he didn’t like it. Still, he wasn’t a foolish man and knew that he needed to face reality. He needed to assess the damage the bullet had inflicted before he could make the next move. It wasn’t long before the Jeep slowed as it entered a warren of narrow streets.

“Last room on the end,” he said. “You can pull around the back.” Once she had, Natalia came around to help him out. “Get the guns,” he said, once again taking a moment to rest.

“Now who’s being bossy?” she asked and the smile her words brought disappeared as she slapped his hand away from the duffel he was reaching for in the backseat. “I’ve got it.” Opening it, she slid the guns inside and this time when she slipped an arm around him, she did it carefully. Together, they rounded the corner and she said, “The key?”

“I’ve got it,” he said, attempting to shove his left hand into the right front pocket of his jeans only to discover there was no pocket. Again, his hand was slapped away.

“Keep your hand on the wound. I’ll find it.”

Fuck, he might have been shot but he wasn’t dead. That became evident when her hand slid down his leg to slip beneath the outer covering that served as chaps for the gaucho pants he’d purchased to wear to the fair. His cock stirred as her fingers dipped into the deep pocket in the loose white pants. Anson grimaced, silently berating himself as he remembered exactly where she’d been for the past six months. Eyes the color of emeralds lifted to his and he also remembered how she’d slugged Montez.

“Bossy and might I say, you’ve got one heck of a right cross, Ms. Alvarez.”

She seemed surprised, a quick grin appearing before she said, “And don’t you forget it.”

“I’m not likely to forget anything about you,” he said, meaning every word.

Natalia rolled her eyes, pulling her hand free with the key in her grip. “You’re already becoming delirious. Let’s get you inside.”

“This might hurt a little,” she warned once they were inside and standing in front of the sink. She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his pants and began pulling it up.

Anson gritted his teeth as fabric that had stuck to the wound pulled against his flesh. Natalia hesitated and he said, “There’s a knife strapped to my right calf. You’re going to have to cut the shirt off.”

Natalia squatted down and pushed his pant leg up, pulling the knife from its scabbard. With as much care as possible, she began to slice the shirt. Anson saw her pause for a moment as swirls of deep black appeared beneath the split fabric that had covered his right arm. Even the thick smear of blood couldn’t conceal that he had a tattoo, the black ink vivid against skin that was growing paler with every moment. She glanced up and their eyes met for a second before she once more focused on her task, slicing through the cloth until she could pull it off, tossing the ruined garment onto the floor.

“Is there an exit wound?” he asked, unable to see clearly due to the blood that was still oozing.

“Turn a bit and I’ll look,” she said. When he’d made a half turn, he felt her fingertips running along his flesh. “No, I don’t see one.” She paused and looked up at him. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not good,” Anson said. “That means the bullet is still inside.”

She nodded, turning to reach for a washcloth, soaking it in the hot water she’d turned on a few minutes earlier. “That means it’ll have to come out.” He hissed a bit when she began to wash the blood away.

“It’ll have to wait. We need to get as far away from here as possible. I have a feeling that was but the second battle of what is likely to be a very bloody war.”

Though she kept washing his side, she said, “What do you mean, the second battle?”

“My pops informed me that the Ortez and Hernandez cartels blew up one of Montez’s labs and burned it to the ground. It is sure to cost Montez a lot, and whoever takes over for him is bound to retaliate.”

“You’re well informed, but I’m afraid the cost is much higher than one lab. Okay, hold this as tight as possible and turn again.”

Anson took the second washcloth she’d handed him and pressed it to the wound. He again gritted his teeth as he turned once more. She began to wash his torso and back, and he asked, “What do you mean? The cost is higher?”

“I mean that when no one could give him the identity of the woman they believe is responsible for leaking information to Ortez, Montez ordered the deaths of every prostitute in Ciudad Oculta. It’s his way of sending a message that no one fucks with him.”

Anson’s gut clenched. Was that the answer to all of Montez’s problems? Kill anybody without regard to their innocence? God, he hoped the bastard was dead. “Another reason why we need to leave. I’ve got a first aid kit in the bag. Just squirt some antibiotic ointment on the hole, wrap it and we can go.”

Natalia rinsed out the cloth she’d used to wash him in the sink, shaking her head. “No. I’m impressed that you are still standing, but if you continue to move around with a bullet inside you, it will only do more damage—”

“It can’t be helped. We can’t take the chance of finding some doctor who won’t immediately inform Montez’s men of our location.” He moved towards the duffel she’d dropped on the bed only to find his uninjured arm taken.

“Anson, I can remove the bullet.”

He couldn’t help that his eyebrow lifted in skepticism. Nothing they’d learned about this woman indicated she had any medical training.

“I’m serious,” she said, obviously seeing his disbelief. “Since the age of twelve, I’ve spent my entire life preparing for things like this. I’ve trained and know what to do. The only question is, will you trust me?”

The question hung in the air as he considered his options. About to respond that he’d take his chance with the bullet remaining where it was until they got somewhere that wasn’t Buenos Aires, he saw her drop her eyes.

“You’re bleeding again.”

She was right; blood was slipping down his arm and he knew that he was in trouble. When she looked up to meet his eyes, he nodded. “I’m placing myself in your hands, Natalia,” he said, praying that he wouldn’t regret doing so.

He leaned against the sink countertop as she prepared for the operation. She stripped the bed of everything but the bottom sheet and then yanked the shower curtain from its rings and spread it across the bed. Layers of towels went on top of the curtain. He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed that she’d even thought of protecting the mattress, or worried that the action suggested she expected this to be a messy procedure.

“Take off your clothes,” she said, placing another towel on the bedside table before opening the first aid kit she’d pulled from the duffel. Turning around and seeing that he was having trouble pushing down his pants, she came to him. “Here, let me help.”

In any other situation, Anson would have been thrilled to have a beautiful woman undress him. However, he was beginning to feel faint and a bit afraid that he’d pass out and fall on top of her. He couldn’t imagine her being able to lift him. It didn’t help his dizziness when he looked down and realized that the pants were not going to come off over his boots.

“I’m afraid that unless you want me to cut these off as well, you’re going to have to sit down.”

Anson managed a nod and she helped him to the bed. He was about to sit when she shook her head. “Wait a second.” Reaching up, she pulled down his pants, followed by his boxers. “No need to have to lift up,” she said, matter-of-factly. He couldn’t argue the point and she guided him to sit. Once he was completely nude, she helped him to lie back, turning him onto his left side. Only then did he sense the first bit of hesitation in her voice.

“How high is your pain tolerance?”

“Good,” he said, not sure if that was the truth or not. He’d never had a bullet dug out of him before.

“Seriously, Anson. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker. The bullet has to come out, but it can wait long enough for me to run out and get something to kill the pain.”

“No. I don’t want you out of my sight,” he said. “I can’t protect you if I can’t see you.”

“Anson, I hate to say this, but you can’t protect me now and I’m right here. Look, we are in the middle of a crowded area with lots of bars and such. Not even Montez can pull together a plan to find us this fast. I’ll just take a few minutes.”

“No! I won’t take the chance of losing you.”

He heard her sigh and was about to repeat his refusal when he felt her brush his hair off his forehead. “And I can’t take the chance that you’ll scream so loud that somebody breaks the door down. I can’t shoot and perform surgery at the same time.” She paused and then said, “You asked me to trust you and now, I’m asking the same. I swear, I’ll be quick.”

Anson hated that he had no choice but knew she was right. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will.”

“Pull one of my shirts over your dress. You already look like you’ve been in surgery and forgot your scrubs.”

“All right.”

He watched as she rustled through the contents of his duffel and pulled out an olive green t-shirt. Anson was a bit surprised when instead of doing as he’d suggested, she reached behind her to unfasten the halter and then began to pull the dress over her head. He almost groaned when she turned her back to him before continuing. Her skin was the color of bronze and though he admitted he would have loved to see her breasts, to discover the exact color of her nipples, he instantly felt his blood boiling. Sickly yellows and greens swirled together and he knew they hadn’t come from the gun battle. The unmistakable band of color that ran across her back could only have been caused by being struck by a belt or a strap. No, what he was seeing was physical evidence of Montez’s abuse. He wanted to sit up and pull her to him, to assure her that no one would ever harm her again, and yet he was as weak as a fucking kitten. Instead, he watched as she pulled the t-shirt over her head. It hung to her knees, one sleeve falling off her shoulder. Once covered, she turned back to pull his belt from the pants she’d helped him out of and put it on. He knew she’d be embarrassed if he mentioned what he’d seen, so he gave her a piece of advice instead as the belt fell from her hips the moment she let go after buckling it.

“Use the knife. Add another hole,” he suggested. And once she had, snugging the belt to her waist, a long length of leather hanging free, he added, “Natalia, take a moment to wash.”

“I don’t have time—”

“At least your hands, arms, and legs.”

She looked down and seemed surprised to find that dried blood was already flaking from her exposed skin. It took a few precious minutes but needed to be done. There was nothing she could do about her hair—that would take several good scrubbings. Instead, she twisted it up in a messy knot, shoving a pencil she found in the nightstand drawer into her hair to hold it in place.

“There’s money in my pants pocket,” he said.

She foraged for the money, pulling out a large roll and peeled off several bills. Picking the sheet up off the floor, she placed it over him, stopping short of his wound.

“Thanks.”

“No. Thank you. I thought I was going to… Thanks for coming for me.” Grabbing the room key and going to the door, she reached for the knob but turned back. “Don’t you dare die on me, Steele.”

“Not likely, it’s only a flesh…” Seeing the expression on her face, he stopped making light of her obvious concern. “Sorry. I’ll try not to. Be careful, Natalia. Don’t you dare get caught.”

She nodded and left without another word. Anson closed his eyes and tried to imagine each step Natalia would take, every place she might stop before she returned.

“That’s enough.” Anson’s attempt to keep hold of the bottle failed as she easily pulled it from his grasp. “Hopefully, you’ll pass out, and I won’t have to fight to keep you from moving. I’d hate to slice more than necessary.”

“You’re not inshill… inshillwing… mush faith, Nata… Nat… woman.” He’d downed almost half a bottle of a ninety-proof fernet. It was the most disgusting liquor he’d ever drunk, tasting of licorice, and yet had obviously done the job as he knew what he wanted to say but his words were jumbled and very slurred.

“It’s not a good idea to disparage your doctor before surgery,” Natalia said. He felt her lifting his right arm above his head, propping it on a pillow. “It might cause her to not be so gentle.” As if to emphasize her words, he gasped and clutched the sheet as she upended the bottle, pouring a stream of liquor over his wound.

“Fuck!” He managed to say that word quite clearly after the immediate burn dissipated a bit.

“Don’t be a baby,” she said, her tone one that said she was teasing. He felt her stroke along his arm, pausing short of the area she’d be probing. “I’ll try not to hurt you too much. Try to relax.”

Fat chance. And yet, he said, “Go for it, doc.”

His vision was a bit fuzzy but he watched as she poured alcohol over the small blade she’d purchased and then flicked a lighter. A flame ran over the metal and he had a fleeting thought of steel going into a Steele. He actually chuckled and then gasped as he felt the blade, still hot from the extinguished flames, touch his skin. He felt a pressure and knew she’d begun. Closing his eyes, he gritted his teeth, determined not to make this any more difficult for her. She worked steadily, telling him what she was doing every step of the way. That, and the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed, helped distract him from the pain.

“Don’t move. I see it. It’s buried pretty deep in your triceps muscle. You’re going to have some pain straightening your arm but at least it didn’t shatter any bones.” He groaned as she began to probe in an effort to dig the bullet from him. Every movement of the tweezers caused him to see stars and had him fighting not to pass out.

“Don’t fight it, Anson. There’s no need for you to be a hero… you’ve already been one today. Let yourself go. I’ll be here to keep us safe.” He wanted to argue but his body knew better. As he felt the first tug, he slipped into unconsciousness.

“Welcome back.”

Anson groaned. His head was throbbing, as was his arm. He squinted, the light in the room stabbing into his eyeballs. “I’m not dead?”

She laughed, and that sound made all the agony bearable. “Oh, ye of little faith. No, Anson, you’re not only alive, you are bullet free.”

He groaned as he attempted to sit, and she immediately placed a hand around his shoulders. “Easy. I don’t want you to pop any stitches.”

He looked but could see nothing but the several layers of gauze she’d wrapped around his arm. “You sewed me up?”

“Of course.” She poured some water into a cup and lifted it to his lips. “Slowly,” she admonished when he tried to gulp the water down. “It won’t be pleasant if you throw it up.” She patiently helped him until he’d finished most of the cup.

“Thanks,” he said. He looked up and saw that she had obviously showered and changed. Her hair was no longer stiff with blood or twinkling with glass, pulled up into a high ponytail that swung with her every movement. Instead of his t-shirt, she was wearing a dark blue t-shirt that fit her so much better and yet wasn’t anywhere near as tight as the dresses he’d seen her wearing. The shirt was tucked into a pair of jeans that hugged her ass quite nicely. She had a pair of hiking boots on her feet.

“You clean up nice, doc,” he said. She looked surprised at the compliment. “Thanks for everything, Natalia.”

“You’re welcome. Are you hungry? I’ve got some food—”

“You left again?” he interrupted, then saw her face harden and changed his tone. “I could eat.”

Natalia nodded and prepared his plate, cutting his food into bite-sized pieces. Anson figured he could feed himself but when she held a fork of rice to his mouth, he decided that he wasn’t above taking advantage of a gorgeous woman’s bedside manner.

“I heard some news when I went out,” she said softly, offering him another bite. “It’s not good.”

Anson nodded, just now realizing that the hand that had been so steady holding the scalpel was now trembling as it held a plastic fork. Something told him he knew what she was going to say. “Fuck, the bastard is still alive, isn’t he?”