KEEP MOVING. FLYNN CHANTED IN his head, as he pushed through the pain searing through his gut.

The grip on Alanna’s hand was his lifeline. He pulled her through the sliding door and climbed their way over the broken deck to the gangplank. Most of it was mangled, but their feet flew across the wooden beams and onto the dock. Bullets pierced the air, hitting the planks around them. One zinged off a pole by Flynn’s head.

“Stop shooting!” a deep voice bellowed from inside the yacht. “I want her alive!”

Alanna kept pace with him through the marina. Thirty yards to the entrance, he felt the wood vibrate under his feet from the men following down the docks. He spared a glance over his shoulder and counted five of them.

“How did you know where I was?” Alanna jumped over a coil of ropes.

“Later. Just move!” Flynn grimaced and picked up the pace. Alanna was right beside him at every turn.

They raced past the marina’s entrance and bolted down the sidewalk heading north. Their target was the crowded nightclub scene, about three quarters a mile down, where they could blend in. Disappear.

“Aren’t you hurt? How are you running so fast?”

“I’m fine. Keep moving.”

They ran past the various government offices, all closed this time of night, on the main stretch hugging the coastline. The breeze from the bay cooled him on the nearly 3,000-foot sprint.

When he glanced behind them again, two were left, falling behind—though that didn’t make him feel better. The others were probably in their cars by now, sure to catch up quickly.

They crossed the street and ducked down an alley, splashing through puddles and grime from a recent rainfall. Besides the sound of their feet, only the humming of traffic a block away filled the air. Or perhaps his adrenaline was so high it was all he could focus on. But the feel of Alanna’s soft palm in his was the main constant. He’d never let go.

“We should check your wound,” Alanna panted. “I don’t want you to bleed out.”

Flynn slowed his pace. Alanna’s cheeks were flushed and her hair tussled. Still beautiful. Her eyes were wide, her coffee irises full.

Without stopping, Flynn lifted his shirt, winced, and looked down.

Alanna lost her breath.

Where a gaping hole should’ve been was a steel plate, dented and scorched from the bullet that ricocheted off. When it first hit, he thought the bullet had gone straight through the plate he’d ripped off the electrical panel on Breezy Dreams. Thank the lucky stars the bullet had grazed the thin steel, but it still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

“How…” Alanna’s jaw dropped. “You’re a genius. But, what if they shot you in the face?”

“Are you going to question every part of my plan?”

They moved through a maze of darkened alleys and backstreets, toward the sounds of deep bass and crowds. Finally, they found a street lined with bars, the names lit up in neon. Each with a line of people waiting out front.

Alanna grabbed his arm. “Wait. They won’t let us in dressed like this. And I’m not twenty-one.” Her eyes scanned the lines. The guys wore T-shirts and designer jeans.

Flynn frowned. Not that different from what he was wearing, except for his cargo shorts and the bullet hole in his shirt.

Yet the women wore short skirts or tight leggings, not to mention all in heels.

Alanna still sported her buttoned blouse, but the linen pants and canvas shoes were covered in grime and dried blood. She unraveled her braid, running her fingers through it. Then she winced and pulled her hand back.

Her left two fingers had cuts at the base. Thin, red lines slowly seeped blood, now smeared across her knuckles.

“What’s this?” Flynn brought her hand up to the alley’s minimal light.

“They were going to cut them off.”

Holy shit. A fire sparked in his chest, radiating to his face. Fucking monsters.

The jewels jingled in her shaking hand. Shock was setting in. They needed to clean those cuts, but first they had to shake their followers.

“Put on the necklace.”

Alanna’s eyes widened. “What? In public?”

Flynn took the jewels and stepped behind her. She lifted her hair, and he fastened the clasp around her neck. The heavy gems molded to her neckline. Her skin was soft, covered with a light sheen, too enticing not to taste. He leaned down and kissed the junction between her neck and shoulder.

Her blush deepened, even visible at night.

“With this…” He framed her face. “No one will notice your clothes.”

He took her right hand and led her to the first club, where a large bouncer guarded the double doors. Flynn kissed Alanna’s knuckles, guiding her in front of him. The bouncer took one glance at her, and his eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. The girls at the front of the line stopped chatting, and gawked. Without a word, the bouncer opened the door.

Her flawless face and jewels were better than any ID.

Before Flynn followed her inside, he scanned the street to see if the thugs had caught up. Nothing.

Not yet anyway.

Inside, he cringed. Flynn wanted to cover his ears, but focused on Alanna’s hand curled in his. Strobe lights and a techno-colored light show ricocheted off the walls. The music’s bass bounced around in his head like mallets, vibrating through his chest. Fog covered the main floor in a cloudy carpet, and a long bar with an adjoining plush seating area filled with people on the other side.

A perfect place for Alanna to blend in. If I don’t lose it in here.

Too many faces. Too many blinding lights. No way in hell could he focus long enough to find the rear exit. To count the feet to the door, or even find a place to hide. Overload was imminent. He covered his ears, barely drowning out the cacophony.

Alanna turned and looked into his eyes. The lights crisscrossed over her face, fading in and out of darkness. Her beautiful features were distorted and eerie, almost monstrous in the dark atmosphere. The strobe lights only revealed glimpses of her expression, disjointed and haunting. He tried to smile, but there was too much.

She grabbed one of his hands and maneuvered through the crowd, like a veteran general relentlessly targeting the back of the club. Through the throngs of near-naked women and rhythmic grinding, her grip was tight, determined. A tether on his sanity.

They turned a corner, and barreled through green-padded doors. The noise cut in half. His heart still raced, but at least the beat no longer reverberated in his chest. The overhead fluorescent lights weren’t flickering, and that damned strobe light was gone. Flynn leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

“Are you claustrophobic?” Alanna’s soft voice soothed over him like a warm glaze. She kept a firm hold on his hand, now hot and clammy.

Flynn shook his head, focusing on counting the number of ceiling tiles. “SPD.”

“What’s that?”

“Sensory Processing Disorder…common with people like me.”

“Guardian angels, you mean?”

Flynn lowered his eyes to hers, and smiled. “You think I’m the angel?”

Alanna blushed and looked at her feet. Her hair dangled over the side of her face like a dark licorice-colored curtain. “I’ve nearly been killed a half dozen times in the last few days, and you’ve saved me at every turn.” When she glanced up at him, she moved closer. “What would you call that?”

Flynn sighed, more to catch his breath than anything else. “Infatuation. Dumb luck.”

Alanna grinned and lifted his shirt. Her fingers spread across the steel plate. “Your shield says otherwise, Archangel Gabriel.” Her thumb trailed over the dent where the bullet had ricocheted off. “That has to be more than just luck.”

Flynn covered her hand with his. “Michael was the warrior. Gabriel was the messenger.”

Alanna shook her head dismissively. “You all come from the same place.”

She reached up further and untied the string that held the plate around his neck, letting it clatter to the floor. Flynn checked his stomach, a dark purple shadow forming with a nasty welt in the middle. And sore as hell.

“We should ice this,” she soothed, inspecting the area.

Flynn chuckled. “There’s your proof. According to literature, archangels are immortal.”

Her eyes glistened in the narrow hallway. The bad, fluorescent lighting did nothing to diminish her beauty. Her hands rested on his waist, soothing and soft.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “For coming back for me. You have no idea how much that means to me. There’s no point in hiding who I am any more. Not from you. Those men are after me because I’m—”

Flynn cupped her face and silenced her with a kiss. Everything around him stopped. No music, no bass beat, no dizzying panic. Just the soft cushion of her lips on his, and that delectable coconut taste. When he stopped, her cheeks were flushed. “I already know, Alanna. I would’ve returned for you anyway.”

Her smile lit up the room. She kissed him again, this time releasing all inhibitions. With a flick of his tongue, she opened for him and pressed against him. Pain zinged through his bruise, but he didn’t care. Holding her was his medicine. His fingers slipped behind her neck, entwining in her hair. Everything turned hot. Her hands smoothed up his back under his shirt, his skin stinging where her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades. A sting he relished.

The double doors burst open. Alanna gasped.

A young Filipina with embellished black eyeliner and purple lipstick shoved past them, smirking in a sweat-covered, sequined shirt. “Take it to a stall, face suckers.” She disappeared into the restrooms.

“You’re too precious for a place like this,” Flynn said, catching his breath.

Alanna wrapped her arms around his middle. Her cheek pressed into his chest. But she didn’t say anything.

“We need to get you some place safe tonight,” Flynn said.

“That would be wherever you are.”