Chapter 173

Chapter 173
Sheryl's POV

I sat at the dining table, waiting for him. The sound of footsteps from the bedroom doorway made me glance up. My brow immediately furrowed.

Rhett stood there, his upper body completely bare, a white towel hanging dangerously low on his narrow hips. He was using my light pink towel to dry his hair, seemingly with no intention of joining me for dinner. Instead, he walked to the table and poured himself a glass of water.

I quickly lowered my gaze back to my food, trying to ignore him. But every time I looked up, all I could see was the perfect definition of his chest and abs—a body I knew intimately. I knew exactly which positions he preferred, which angles he liked best...

Unbidden images flashed through my mind. I couldn't take it anymore.

"What are you looking for?" I finally asked, setting down my fork.

He gave me an innocent look that contrasted sharply with his half-naked state. "Hair dryer."

The combination of his bare torso, wet hair, and feigned innocence was too much. I felt my ears grow warm as I pointed toward the bathroom. "Second drawer."

His lips curved into a subtle smirk. As he turned toward the bathroom, I called after him.

"Why aren't you wearing the bathrobe I left out for you?"

"Too small," he replied with that same innocent expression. "It's your size."

I rubbed my temples in frustration. "What about your own clothes?"

"Wet." The matter-of-fact way he said it meant he planned to stay half-naked all evening.

Our apartment was a small one-bedroom. Even if he slept in the living room, I'd have to see his bare body every time I walked through. After thinking for a moment, I stood up.

"There's a shop downstairs in the lobby. I'll go buy you something to wear."

He raised an eyebrow as I headed to the door to put on my shoes. As I stepped into the hallway, I heard the hair dryer start. I hurried toward the elevator.

Now I understood his game. Rhett was trying to seduce me with his body. It had always worked—his unique aura and good looks had always drawn me in—but I wasn't falling for it now.

The lobby was moderately busy with about a dozen people chatting, drinking coffee, and enjoying the evening view of the street. I stood at the self-service kiosk, selecting a men's bathrobe and toiletries on the electronic screen.

Just as I was about to pay, I heard the roar of motorcycles outside. My body tensed instinctively. The last time I'd heard that sound in this neighborhood, some punk on a bike had snatched my change purse right after I'd landed at the airport. I turned around cautiously, looking toward the entrance.

Then everything exploded into chaos.

"EVERYBODY DOWN!" A man's voice thundered through the lobby.

"AAAAAH!" Screams erupted as people dove for cover.

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest as I instinctively crouched down with everyone else. Stealing a quick glance toward the entrance, I had to stifle a gasp.

Several tall, muscular men blocked the doors. The leader stood just inside, pointing a black handgun that swept across the cowering figures in the lobby. During my short time in Turin, I'd heard about the bad neighborhoods nearby, but this—armed men brazenly storming an apartment building—was beyond anything I'd imagined.

The gunman shouted, "Everyone move over here! NOW!" He gestured with his weapon toward the area by the kiosk—exactly where I was.

Seven or eight terrified people shuffled over, heads down, trying to make themselves smaller targets. I kept my head low, trying to blend in with the crowd and stay away from the barrel of that gun. Dying in a foreign country like this would be such a stupid way to go.

"All of you!" the gunman bellowed. "Wallets, phones, everything valuable—hand it over!"

When people hesitated, he fired a shot into the glass counter. "BANG!" The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. Amid renewed screams, everyone frantically tossed out their valuables.

With trembling hands, I threw my wallet forward, then paused when I reached my phone. The man crouching in front of me had broad shoulders that partially shielded me from view. I barely remembered to breathe as I slowly moved my phone toward my chest, into what I hoped was the gunman's blind spot.

My first thought, strangely enough, was that I didn't want Rhett to come downstairs. Please, don't come down here.

My shaking finger had just touched the screen when—

"Shit!"

BANG!

"Aah!" The bullet shattered my phone screen, sending fragments flying. I screamed, my face draining of all color.

When I looked up at the shooter, his dark eyes blazed with savage intent. As my face came into his view, a deep male voice crackled through the radio on his chest.

"That's her. Bring her to me."

"Yes, sir," he responded, then aimed his gun directly at my forehead. "You. Come here."

I stared at the black hole of the barrel pointed between my eyes. My heart raced, cold sweat breaking out across my back.

Slowly rising to my feet, I asked with a trembling voice, "Me?"

"Yes!" He beckoned with his finger. "Come here."

He gestured to his men to collect the wallets and phones. I guessed they might be planning to use me as a hostage for their escape—or worse, they might be targeting me specifically.

I hesitated as I stepped forward. The man impatiently pushed his gun closer. "Move!"

My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. Just as I neared him—

BANG!

A gunshot exploded from behind me!

"Argh!" The man in front of me cried out in pain.

As blood sprayed, a warm hand covered my eyes. Before I could react, an arm wrapped around my waist and lifted me off my feet. The world spun as I was pulled away, my nose filling with a familiar scent.

When I regained my senses, I was being held tightly against a chest, tucked beneath a couch behind the bar counter. As I tried to look up, a large hand gently but firmly pushed my head back down.

"Don't move." The voice was soft yet commanding.

I lay against his rising and falling chest, breathing in his crisp, familiar scent. Tears immediately welled in my eyes. My fingers clutched his shirt as I whispered, "They're robbing the place."

"I know," he replied, keeping me pressed against him while his sharp eyes monitored the corner of the counter.

Only then did I notice the gun in Rhett's hand, his knuckles white with tension. I froze. I'd never known he could handle firearms.

But this wasn't the time to dwell on that revelation. The lead gunman had been shot, and his fury was unleashed. His black-clad companions opened fire on the bar counter.

The wide counter and couch provided decent cover—bullets couldn't penetrate both simultaneously—but the deafening noise and terrified screams made me curl tighter against Rhett.

He glanced down at me, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

"Why haven't the police come yet?" I asked, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "Surely someone called them with all this noise?"

"They'll move in once things quiet down," Rhett said, stroking my hair.

I noticed his fingertips tapping rhythmically on my shoulder. Suddenly, his fingers stopped—and so did the gunfire from the entrance.

In that moment, I watched as Rhett shifted his position, finding the perfect angle before raising his gun and pulling the trigger with deadly precision.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Three shots in rapid succession.

"AAAGH!" Two men by the door cried out in pain.

I stared at Rhett's calm, handsome profile, suddenly realizing what he'd been doing—counting the attackers' shots. He'd waited for them to reload, creating the perfect opportunity to return fire.

His counterattack only enraged them further. Another barrage of bullets tore into the counter.

Rhett lowered his gun and patted my head. "See that?" He nodded toward a half-open door to the stairwell.

Between us and that door was a hallway that was completely exposed to the gunmen's line of sight. If we tried to make a run for it, we'd be riddled with bullets.

I nodded, not understanding what he was planning.

"That's our only way out," he explained calmly. "When I count to three, run toward it."

Seeing my look of disbelief, he cupped my cheek and smiled gently. "Run straight ahead and don't look back."

I grabbed his shirt desperately. "What about you?"