BULLETPROOF HEART

BULLETPROOF HEART : THE ROOFTOP KISS

BULLETPROOF HEART - CHAPTER 5: THE ROOFTOP KISS

The door downstairs blew open with a kick. Not a polite knock.

"Clear!"

Marcus already had Amara on the rusted fire escape. Rain had made the metal slick. Three floors up, Port Harcourt spread out wet and dark below them. No streetlights here.

He pulled her flat against the concrete wall of the roof, behind a huge black water tank. His hand over her mouth again, but gentler this time.

"Shhh. Breathe through your nose."

Below, flashlight beams cut through the broken window of Room 7. Voices. Angry.

"Empty! They were here! The bed is still warm!"

Amara's whole body was trembling against Marcus. Not just from cold. From being so close, pressed behind a water tank with a man who had just learned his brothers were murdered by the same man hunting her.

His black t-shirt was soaked through. Her hair dripped onto his arm. The tactical bag with the hard drive was between them, their only leverage and their death warrant.

One of the men downstairs shouted, "Check the roof!"

Footsteps on metal. Someone climbing the fire escape.

Marcus looked at Amara. No words. He pointed: _up and over_. The tank had a ladder. If they could get to the next building, they could drop to the market stalls.

But the ladder creaked. Loud.

Amara grabbed his hand and squeezed. Her eyes said everything: _I'm scared._

Marcus leaned in, forehead touching hers. It was the most intimate thing he'd done in two years.

"Hey," he whispered, so low only she could hear. "You remember Rule 3?"

"No falling in love?" she whispered back, trying not to cry.

"Yeah. I'm about to break it. So you better not die on me now."

Before she could answer, the first mercenary's head popped over the roof edge. Flashlight up.

Marcus moved faster than she could see. One hand pushed Amara down, the other slammed the butt of his pistol into the man's hand. The flashlight fell three floors, smashing.

Second man came up, shouting. Marcus fired once - not at him, at the rusted metal sheet next to him. The clang and spark made the man flinch and fall back down the ladder.

"GO!"

They scrambled over the tank, onto the next roof - corrugated zinc, loud as drums under their feet. They ran, sliding, Marcus holding her hand so tight it hurt.

They jumped. Short drop to a lower roof, then onto a pile of empty crates in the market.

Darkness swallowed them. The market at 3 AM - empty, smelling of fish and tomatoes.

They collapsed behind a stall, both breathing hard, both soaked.

Amara laughed. A crazy, shocked, alive laugh.

"We jumped!"

"You jumped," Marcus said, and despite everything, he laughed too. A real laugh, deep and rusted from disuse.

She was sitting in mud, wearing only his t-shirt, hair a mess, with killers thirty meters away, and she was laughing. He stared at her like he'd never seen a woman before.

Then his hand came up, cupped her jaw, and wiped mud from her cheek with his thumb.

"You are insane," he whispered.

"You like insane," she whispered back.

And for a second, with gunmen hunting them and a 5 billion dollar secret in a bag between them, everything stopped.

Marcus leaned in. Slow. Giving her time to pull away.

She didn't.

Their foreheads touched. Noses brushed. Breath mingled. One inch from a kiss.

Then his phone buzzed. Not his phone - the hard drive in the bag. A tiny red light blinking.

It had a tracker.

"Marcus?"

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched, that one inch feeling like a mile.

"That drive is calling Dele right now," he said, pulling away. Pain in his voice. "We have ten minutes before every man he owns is here."

Amara grabbed the bag, her own hands now steady. She pulled the drive out and stared at it.

"Then we don't run anymore," she said. "We call someone scarier than Dele."

"Who?"

She smiled, dangerous.

"My father. The man Dele stole the company from in the first place."

Marcus stared at her. Then at the blinking light.

"Amara, if your father is who I think he is -"

"He's waiting at the old church in Borokiri. If we can get there before sunrise, we win."

Below, engines roared. More SUVs.

Marcus stood, pulled her up with him, slung the bag over his shoulder, and checked his gun. Six bullets left.

He looked down at Amara - barefoot, muddy, fierce in his shirt - and made his choice.

"Hold the bag," he said. "I'll carry you."

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*END OF CHAPTER 5* 🔥