Page 7 of Xavier

Before they could slide the door closed on the van, Xavier reached them, plowing into the closest one like a linebacker taking out the quarterback.

He sent the man flying across the pavement and then spun toward the guy’s partner, who was struggling with the woman.

A high-heeled foot shot out of the van’s door toward the man’s face, the pointed stiletto making contact.

He cried out at the exact moment Xavier grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backward.

Blood ran from the injury into the guy’s eye. He swung a wild fist, missing Xavier entirely.

Xavier spun him around and yanked his arm up behind him, between his shoulder blades.

Footsteps behind him gave him just enough warning to shove his captive hard before he spun to face the other guy, but not enough to dodge the fist to his gut.

Xavier barely bent over, compartmentalized the pain in his belly, and plowed his right fist into the man’s cheek.

The attacker’s head whipped back. He staggered a few steps.

Not waiting for the guy to regain clarity, Xavier swung with a left upper cut to the man’s chin. He sat down hard on the pavement.

“Look out!” the woman cried out.

Xavier turned as the guy with the puncture wound to his forehead rocketed toward him.

At the last moment, Xavier stepped to one side, catching only a glancing blow from the man’s shoulder.

Having missed his target, the man’s momentum sent him into his rising partner. Both men went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

More worried about the woman than the men on the ground, Xavier reached out to help her out of the van onto her stiletto heels. He slipped an arm around her back, and using his body as a shield, hurried her toward his truck. “Get in and lock the doors.”

“But my—” she dug in her heels and tried to turn back.

Xavier’s arm tightened as he moved her forward. “It’s not worth your life. Go.” He gave her a firm nudge that sent her forward without him.

Once she was on her way toward the safety of his truck, he turned to face her attackers.

They’d made it to their feet and to the van.

The bigger man jumped into the driver’s seat. His partner dove into the sliding door and slammed it shut.

As he punched the accelerator, the driver shouted through his open window, “Fucking snitch! It ain’t over!”

Tires kicked up gravel as the van blasted down the back alley, turned, and disappeared.

Xavier looked for a license plate. The van didn’t have one. He committed the color and size to memory and hurried back to his truck.

The woman sat in the driver’s seat, her eyes wide in her shadowed face, her hair a dark tangle around her face.

As Xavier neared the driver’s door, the sound of the lock disengaging echoed off the buildings on either side of the truck.

Before he could reach for the doorhandle, the woman pushed the door open.

The interior light shined down on her.

He recognized her as Lissette Gautier, the woman he’d been warned about.

She sat tense in the seat, one hand on the steering wheel, her gaze shooting to the back of the building. “Are they gone?”

Xavier nodded. “They’re gone. Any idea who they were?”