Under the Full Moon (Crimson Romance) by Bobbi Romans

Moss jumped out an open window.
    “They have guns and you don’t. Get your dumbass back on this bus,” Beth demanded, threatening to follow the guys if they didn’t listen.
    Pssshhht
    Grace breathed a sigh of relief when the radio cackled to life.
    “We’re almost to you now, Branch. Just tell everyone to lay low. Help’s on the way. Base out.”
    “Ten-four, read you loud and clear, my friend.”
    A boom ricocheted around the bus. Branch fired back, though did so blindly since he’d already commented he couldn’t actually see anyone. Yet the rounds he fired had the bus vibrating from the sheer volume.
    Out of nowhere they heard a stream of curses and grunts. Grace peeked from sheltering behind a seat to see both Trick and Damien dragging two beat souls towards the bus. One man appeared far too frail to be involved in the physical fights he must have placed himself in. The other, a kid younger than even Trick, fought tooth and nail to escape the death grip Trick had on him. Answering her unspoken question of whether those were the only two behind the attack, more shots rang out. Unfortunately, none from Branch’s gun. Both men being drug over to the bus collapsed in Moss’s and Trick’s arms.
    Grace screamed for them to get their asses back on the bus. Whoever the hell was the third attacker had sharp shooter aim. Then out of the blue, the attack ended. The boondocks area they were in became deathly silent. Branch continued scanning out the back of the bus while Damien and Trick clamored back on.
    Sounds of screeching brakes were music to her ears as Branch, more to himself than anyone in particular, announced, “Better late than never. Cavalry arrived.”
    Damien made his way to where she crouched. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he scanned her up one side and down the other.
    “You are unharmed?” More of a growl than actual words.
    “I’m fine. Quit worrying so much about me. I’m a woman, not a moron. I took cover. Unlike someone I know who went into a gun fight with only a wicked sense of smell,” she pointed out for good measure.
    “Who showed up dragging who?” His raised brow proved she wouldn’t win this battle.
    “’Bout damn time you ’tards finally bothered to show,” Branch said gruffly to the men racing towards the bus.
    “Anyone hurt?” a tall lanky man with an accent Grace couldn’t quite place asked.
    “No, but the bus took extensive damage. Boss man is going to have to drop some serious dough on the repairs.” Branch walked around surveying the damage.
    Grace cleared her throat, a hint introductions needed to be made.
    The towering man walked over and extended a hand in greeting. Well, attempted to, but Damien jumped in front and near hissed at the man.
    “Please excuse rude ass over there and allow me to properly introduce myself and these other lugheads. You’ve met Branch,” he thumbed over to their driver, “and the blond Viking wannabe with the streak in his hair is Punge. I’m Coyt, and who might you be?” he asked extending his hand towards her.
    “Mine, asshole. That’s who she is.”
    “Damien!” Grace whispered, tugging back on the arm he’d tossed in front of her. “Excuse us. We’ve all been through a bit of a … a,” she motioned her hand around to the damaged bus and shell casings scattered about the grounds, “and are a tad unsettled. I assume you are the backup Mr. Branch called? From B.E.A.R.?”
    Apparently her use of Mr. with Branch sent the trio of gargantuan men into fits of laughter. Grace bit back an exasperated retort. She’d needed answers, not laughter. Her nerves were shot, she was tired and these men had seriously found and jumped on her last nerve.
    She cleared her throat again. Thankfully, they all seemed to settle down and at least feign some seriousness.
    “I’m sorry. It’s just not often … ” Coyt started.
    “Ever!” the blond called Punge announced, chocking back more laughter.
    “No one has
ever
referred to Branch as