His Nasty Virgin

JESSE

Rule number one about combat: never go in with guns blazing.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

Rule number two about combat: never go in alone.

I broke both rules in thirty seconds and honestly didn’t give a shit. There was too much on the line. Vivian needed me. I pitied any man foolish enough to stand in my way.

The restaurant in question was deeper than it was wide, accommodating four columns of tables with approximately ten rows. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the cartel was likely keeping Vivian somewhere in the back, provided they hadn’t already moved her to a secondary location, of course.

The attack came as a rush. Cartel members shouted profanities, drawing their weapons just as the police behind me charged in. They were there for me, but their intended targets quickly changed when they clocked the bigger, more immediate threat.

Mayhem broke out. Officers and cartel members alike opened fire. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. I ducked out of the way, quickly overturning the nearest table to hide behind as a shield. This was going to get messy, but I had to push forward no matter what. I drew my gun, a standard-issue Beretta, waiting for the opportune moment to fire.

I was outnumbered and outgunned. I only had fifteen rounds, so I needed to make them count. There was no time to come up with a plan. No time to think. I was running on instinct alone.

This was nothing compared to my time at war. This was a simple gunfight, yet I was terrified. Not because I was afraid for my life, but for hers. She was all I could think about as I popped up from behind my barrier and shot a man in the gut. Her voice was the only thing I could hear as I hopped to the next table, slowly but surely pressing forward.

I didn’t know what I’d do if anything happened to Vivian. She was everything bright and sweet and good in my life. If they dared to lay a hand on her if they’d harmed her in any way…

Nothing on Earth would be able to save them from my wrath.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a cartel member cowering behind a nearby table. They were out of bullets, pinned down by the hellfire the police were raining down on them. I waited for an opening and vaulted over the table, snatching him up by the collar and pinning him on his back.

“Where is she?” I shouted. “Where’s the girl?”

He was too stunned to speak, but I didn’t have the time or patience to wait for an answer. I punched his jaw, hoping to jolt an answer out of him.

“No hablo ingles!” he sputtered, blood staining his teeth.

My nostrils flared. “Donde la mujer?” I shook him hard.

The man put his hands up in surrender, fear clear in his eyes. He was too afraid to speak, so he merely pointed with a shaky finger toward the kitchen in the back. I threw one more punch to knock him out cold in thanks.

I ran for it, practically throwing myself at a cartel member who was foolish enough to try and block me. I lunged, knocking him to the ground. He was quick to get up on his feet, though, dashing at me with his fists swinging. There wasn’t enough room to dodge, so I had no choice but to absorb the hit, taking it straight to the gut, which was enough to knock the air from my lungs and make my eyes water.

But I wasn’t down for the count yet. Not by a long shot.

I fought until my knuckles were numb my muscles were burning, and my bones vibrated with the impact of every blow, both given and received. The rest of the world faded, and the need to get to Vivian my pair of blinders. The gunshots were nothing but background music, the men in my way mere obstacles.

They were waiting for me in the kitchen, a whole swarm of them buzzing around me like vultures, waiting for the moment to strike. I counted five of them, though it very well could have been six. It was hard to tell past the adrenaline blinding me to my surroundings.

They surrounded me. Some of them had knives. Others were frantically reloading their guns. The last few ran at me with nothing but their clenched fists.

I sprang into action, but not with as much speed as I hoped. I wasn’t as young as I used to be. Back in my heyday, a fight like this would have been over in less than a minute. I needed to fight smart, not hard. I knew I couldn’t waste energy on needless haymakers and pointless defensive moves.

What I needed was to be accurate and consistent. What the cartel had in numbers I made up for in experience and skill.

A punch to the throat to paralyze vocal cords. A kick to the groin sent a man crying for his mother. A swift dislocation of his arm rendered his trigger finger useless. A forceful chokehold to leave the last assailant unconscious.

When the dust settled, I was the only one standing.

I silently promised myself that when this was all over, I was taking a vacation. A nice long one. I was well overdue.

I looked around in dismay. Vivian was nowhere in sight.

Crash.

I heard movement coming from the walk-in freezer. I swiped a fresh gun from the belt of one of the unconscious men on the floor and approached slowly, silent like the night. I needed to get the drop on whoever was inside. It was them or me.

With a finger on the trigger and one hand on the latch, I moved in one smooth movement, pulling the door open swiftly before aiming inside. I was fully prepared to shoot when-

“Wait!” a woman screamed.

I dropped my gun instinctively, the sound of Vivian’s voice snapping me out of my trance. Her hands were up and trembling violently.

“Jesse? Jesse, thank God! I’m so happy to see you-”

I cut her off with a deep kiss, holding her like I’d never let her go again. Her skin was distressingly cold, and her lips were likely stiff because of it. Vivian clung to me, sighing happily as she kissed me back.

I checked her over quickly. “Are you hurt?” I asked. “Did those bastards do anything to you?”

“I’m fine, Jesse. I promise.”

A noise came from behind Vivian, and I looked over her shoulder and saw another woman huddling close by.

“Jesse, this is Molly. Molly, Jesse.”

“P-pleasure,” she said dryly. “Can we p-please go h-home now?”

The police and cartel were still fighting out front, and I didn’t want to risk Vivian and her friend getting caught in the crossfire.

“Stay low,” I instructed. “We’ll have to take the back exit. Whatever you do, don’t stop moving.”

Vivian gasped. “Behind you!”

Something heavy hit me across the back of the head, knocking me to the ground. The room spun; the floor slipped out from under me. I couldn’t hear anything past the loud ringing in my ear. Before I could come to my senses, someone had me by the collar.

They hoisted me up and tossed me across the room. I skidded across a metal preparation table and landed in a hard pile on the cold tile floor. I struggled to my feet, disoriented. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me that I’d bruised a rib. I could feel it, the throbbing pain taking hold of every nerve in my body.

My assailant charged me with a chef’s knife in hand, bringing it down to take a chunk out of my leg. I rolled out of the way and pulled myself up in a hurry, dodging swipe after swipe. He moved with such force that I could feel the air split as he waved his blade around, the edge just barely nicking me each time.

“Vivian, run!” I shouted, praying she had the good sense to listen this time.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vivian lunge toward me. Terror, unlike anything I’d ever experienced ripped through my core. I caught her in my arms, horrified by the red soaking into her shirt.

The guy I’d been fighting stepped toward us, brandishing his knife. With a wicked grin, he swung at both of us. I was fully prepared to use my body as a shield when thunk! Molly threw a heavy cast iron skillet at the man’s head. It knocked him out and sent him crashing to the floor.

Blood was everywhere. So much so that I couldn’t figure out where her wound was. I felt around hopelessly, attempting to staunch the bleeding but with no success. I could feel her fading, growing limp and weak arms. Vivian’s breathing was labored, her eyes fluttering closed.

“No!” I exclaimed. “No, no, no. Vivian, hang on.”

“The ba-” she croaked incoherently. “The baby.”

I shook my head. “Baby? What baby?”

With a shaky hand, Vivian took mine and placed it over her stomach. It took me far longer than I cared to admit to understand what she was trying to tell me.

Joy followed by immediate dread.

Happiness with a harsh slap of horror right after.

A healthy dose of confusion.

“You’re pregnant?” I whispered gruffly.

Vivian nodded, her head lolling to the side. She was pale. Too pale. I was losing her. I was losing them.

I shook her gently, trying everything in my power to keep her awake. “Vivian. Vivian, stay with me. Don’t do this to me, angel. Come on, just-” I looked up, frantically searching for help. “I need an ambulance in here!

Someone! Anyone!” But nobody came.

All I could do was hold her. I’d never felt more useless in my entire life.

“Why did you do that?” I whispered, brushing her hair with trembling fingers. “You shouldn’t have done that,

Vivian.”

“To save you,” she mumbled weakly.

“Save your strength, angel. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Jesse, I-” Her breath came out as a wheeze. “I love you.”

Vivian closed her eyes and didn’t open them again. I shook her again to jolt her back into a conscious state, but it didn’t work. My pulse spiked.

“Vivian? Come on, angel. Wake up. Wake up!” Hot, angry tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t lose her. Not like this. I couldn’t stand the thought of Vivian dying in my arms.

I didn’t even get to tell her that I loved her, too.