Haven [Marvel | Bucky Barnes]

Chapter 7

The sound of gunfire exploded with deafening bursts around them, echoing off the rows of townhouses. Iris barely had a chance to so much as gasp before a solid, heavy body was wrapped around her, nearly shoving her to the ground while crushing her within the tight grip. An involuntary shriek did manage to tear from her throat as that very body shuddered with a pained grunt, the high-pitched, metallic sound of bullets ricocheting off metal painfully loud as she clapped her hands over her ears.

And then it was over.

As the sound of tires screeching broke through the last couple shots, she felt her protector shift, his head lifting to track the car as it peeled away. It was only then that Iris lifted her own head, her chest heaving as terror and adrenaline was suddenly surging through her system. James still had his right arm curled protectively around her, keeping his body between her and the now fleeing threat, his other arm still raised as though to shield them both. As the dark sedan roared away she could feel his tensed body trembling, ready—eager even—to pursue their attackers. Iris' fingers tightened where they had grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, steadying herself as he straightened, her grip and his arm pulling her upright with him.

An expression of cold rage flashed in his steel-blue eyes, the blankness brought on by the emotion sending a shiver through Iris.

She'd never seen anything like it in his face before. She'd always had the feeling he was dangerous, right from that first day when he'd knocked on her door. But now she knew it. She could see it in the terrifyingly blank expression on his face and the purposeful, powerful way he moved, his frame no longer tensed but loose and predatory.

Then her eyes latched onto his other arm where he still had it half-raised in front of them and she froze, drawing his attention back to her as her legs threatened to give out from under her in shock. The left sleeves of both his navy plaid button-up and his dark long-sleeved shirt were littered with holes—they were all but shredded. But that's not what had drawn her stare.

It was the bright glint of mirror-bright metal shining beneath the ragged fabric. She could feel his right arm tighten around her the instant he noticed her staring.

"Iris?" It was a choked sound, barely more than a whisper, but it drew her attention away from his arm—his metal arm. The blankly murderous expression was gone, leaving him looking pale and stricken, though that didn't diminish the hard set of his jaw or the concern in his face as he looked down at her. When he spoke again his voice was stronger, but there was a note of despondency to it that Iris almost missed. "Are you hurt?" She didn't register what he said at first, forcing him to ask again before she managed to shake her head emphatically no. And then a shuddering breath rushed out of her, and before she could stop it, she was pressing herself back against him, burrowing into his side as what just happened sank in, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist, renewing her deathgrip on his shirt as she clung to him.

Someone had been shooting at them. As she forced in breath after deep, quaking breath to try and calm herself, a pair of solid arms encircled her as James pulled her closer, his cheek pressed into her curls.

For a split-second, she wished they could stay like that.

But as the first sound of sirens grew in the distance it was as though the more practical side of her switched back on. Pulling away, she looked in the direction the sirens were coming from, her mind whirring. She looked up to James again. He was also glancing toward the approaching police cars, the flashing lights illuminating the cross street in the distance. That wary, calculating look was back on his face.

"Go," she breathed, her hands pressing against his chest to push him away from her. It drew his gaze back to her. He looked at her without comprehension, his brow furrowing deeply as his lips parted to question her. But she didn't let him say anything.