The Risqué Target by Kelly Gendron

made it about an inch before stalling and coming to a complete stop. He rolled onto his back. He couldn’t see into the van at all. He had to make sure his Target wasn't hurt—a thought he found ironic, if there’d been time to laugh about it. He grabbed the headrest with one hand and the steering wheel with the other, raised his feet and used his building frustration to pound on the partially opened window. After several blows the thick glass finally shattered like rock candy, scattering shards all over him. He squeezed his large frame through the window.
    He found the van’s driver out cold with a huge gash across his forehead. Tantum assumed he was dead, or at least out of commission. He ran to the back, reaching for the door, but stopped.
    Nala stood with a gun in her shaky hand, aimed at the man who’d pulled her into the van.
    “You okay?” Tantum asked.
    She smirked at him. “What? You think I can't handle myself?”
    “Didn’t say that. Just checking.” He went over to the other man, who was leaning against the van. Actually, the van was holding him up. Without a thought, Tantum cracked him in the face with his fist and the man fell to the ground. He shook his fist out, but smiled. After the dragging over the pavement, hitting the man responsible felt damn good.
    “What'd you do that for? We could've interrogated him, found out who sent him and why.” Nala rolled her eyes.
    “He wouldn’t say anything. Besides, he pissed me off. Nobody takes something of mine and gets away with it.”
    Nala turned her weapon on him. “What do you mean, something of yours? The only thing he took was me.”
    He thought of several answers, all of them calculated to evoke delicious fury from her. But before he could choose one, she staggered, caught her foot, and tried to straighten.
    He stepped toward her.
    The gun drifted downwards. She jerked it up directed at him, but her eyes fluttered oddly. She was going to pass out at any second. “I-I don’t… belong to you.”
    He lunged forward, knocked the gun aside before it could hurt anyone and captured her in his arms before she hit the pavement. “You do belong to me. You know it as well as I do.” Her freckles stood out against the pallor of her skin, and her pale blue eyes struggled to refocus. He placed his fingers against her neck and felt her pulse racing.
    Her face tensed as the pain she’d been hiding overcame her. “Never. I will never belong to you,” she whispered, a feeble attempt at protest.
    “Where are you hurt?”
    “My—” she groaned, giving in. Her tiny nose scrunched up and her lips thinned. “My shoulder.”
    His hand went to her left shoulder, the one she'd been guarding. He pressed on it, and she screamed. The sound tore at his heart, and that scared the hell out of him. He snatched his hand back. Fuck, it's dislocated . Her pain sent a strange sensation to the pit of his gut. It enraged him. He wanted to make it stop, but he’d have to sedate her first. Strong narcotics were needed for the manual reduction of a shoulder. He wanted her to pass out, so they could get out of there before the cops showed up. Bystanders were starting to pool around the car. “Close your eyes, Nala,” he coaxed, and to his abatement, she did. “That's it, sweetheart. Just let the darkness relax you. It’s okay to go to sleep.”
    “It-it hurts,” she muttered in a soft, defeated voice.
    His chest tightened. “I'll make the hurt go away, but you need to sleep.”
    “No….” She gasped for a breath. “I-I can't….” She fought the no doubt excruciating pain and tried to sit up, but she couldn’t, and finally she leaned back into his arms.
    Tantum cradled her close to him. He bent close to her ear, shielding her from the audience of nosey onlookers. “It's okay. I'll keep you safe. I promise.”
    It was the truth, and in that instant, he knew no harm would come to his target, at least not on his watch. All at once, as he looked at the beautiful