I ducked, Bentley doing the same, as gunfire erupted around us. POP. POP. POP. Shouting. More shots. I couldn’t tell who was shooting and who was yelling. It was a standoff and Bentley and I were in the middle of it.
We headed for the Lotus, the closest form of cover. Low to the ground, we both skidded to a stop on the wet pavement beside the driver’s side door, both of us breathing heavily.
“Shit! Shit!” Bentley swore, glancing around at the chaos.
My ears were ringing from the gunfire. I saw Rollins race across the clearing between the Range Rover and Mick’s black truck, his big body moving faster than I thought was possible. Shots hit the blacktop at his feet but it didn’t stop him. I lost track of him as men in swat gear opened fire near the Range Rover. POP. POP. A splattering of bullets flew across the area. I ducked instinctively, despite being clear of the line of the fire.
Suddenly something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned, my eyes skimming the airstrip and hangers. That’s when I spotted him, running the opposite direction. In the chaos, Mick was getting away.
Hell, no!
I pushed off of the ground and took off running, staying low to avoid notice. I heard Bentley call my name but I ignored him. It was time to finish this guy off.
Blood pounded in my ears and sweat rolled down my back, but my mind was on one thing and one thing only - hurting the man that had touched Sam.
A foot from Mick I sprang up and jumped, taking him to the ground. He went down, me on top of him. We hit the wet cement hard, knocking the breath from both of us. The monster in me didn’t notice. It roared, seeking revenge and blood.
With an animalistic snarl, I flipped Mick over and rammed my fist into his face. I felt his flesh give and solid bone connect with my knuckles. Mick tried to get a punch in, but I hit him again, pulling my arm back and slamming my fist into his eye socket. He howled with pain but recovered quickly, punching me in the ribs like a powerhouse heavy weight.
I grunted but buried my fist in his jaw, smacking his head sideways. He snapped his head back and swung again. This time when his punch landed in my ribcage, I felt a sharp crack and a shot of pain. I roared but didn’t stop. My fist took his cheek, rattling his teeth. He swung again, catching me in the same rib. I almost doubled over as pain sliced through me but I held on. For Sam. For revenge.
Mick’s face was bloody, streams of it pouring from his nose, but he was also high, hyped up on whatever drugs he had taken. That made him strong. Unstoppable. A villain with super powers.
He sprung to his feet, knocking me off him. Bullets were still being exchanged around us, the sounds of fighting still going on. We ignored it. This was just between him and me now. The past just met the future and it was time it was settled.
Despite the agony in my ribcage, I took on a fighter’s stance, ready to plant another fist in Mick’s face. Sweat dripped down my face, falling into my eyes and dripping down my nose. I ignored it and swung, aiming for his gut this time. But he caught my arm in a mighty grip and held it, capturing me. His other fist hit my ribs again. I grunted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he injured me. Before I could recover he swung me up like I weighed nothing and slammed me to the ground. Every nerve and muscle in my body screamed as I hit the concrete, my spine connecting with solid surface.
Without stopping Mick jumped on me, burying his fist in my gut. I hissed, but refused to give up. I rammed my elbow into his face, knocking him sideways off me. He was back on me in seconds, grabbing the front of my shirt and yanking me up.
“How’s Sammy?” he smirked, blood dripping from his nose onto my shirt. “Still sweet? I hope so. I can’t wait to eat that sugary goodness right up.”
A violent roar erupted from me. I swung, catching him in the temple. I heard a pop in his neck as his head snapped to the side. The hit knocked him senseless for a second. I brought my fist up again, ready to end it, but never got the chance to deliver the blow.
Mick reached under the leg of his pants and pulled a small handgun from an ankle holster, drawing it on me.
“GUN!” someone shouted.
I glanced over to see Bentley running toward us, his gaze on Mick. “GUN! GUN!” he screamed at someone nearby. “He’s got a gun! Shoot him!”
Mick didn’t care. He swung the gun, pointing it at Bentley. At the same time a stray shot came from the left, whizzing past Bentley’s head. It was just enough to distract him for a second. Enough time for Mick to take the shot.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I heard the yelling of the FBI agents. I saw Mick squeezing the trigger, aiming at my best friend. In that second my heartbeat slowed down to near nothing. I felt the wet pavement under my hands and the mist on my face. I closed my eyes and opened them again.
I knew what I had to do. For Bentley. For Sam.
I scrambled to my feet and jumped in front of Mick just as he pulled the trigger.
Chapter Thirty–Seven
-Sam-
A cold shiver raced over my body like someone had just walked across my grave. I closed my eyes, hoping it was not a sign that something bad had happened to Bentley or Walker.
Taking a deep breath, I shook off the feeling, refusing to feel anything but hope. I started pacing back and forth across the kitchen. Four steps to the island. Four steps back. Four steps to the island. Four steps back. I did it again and again, checking my cell phone every few seconds. I wanted a text. A call. Anything to let me know that Bentley and Walker were okay.
“You want a drink?” Lukas asked from the kitchen table.
“No,” I said, hating that I was stuck with him instead of being with Walker and Bentley. Lukas’s parents were on a cruise, leaving their house empty. The perfect place to hide out until all this mess blew over. It looked like Lukas had been celebrating their absence the last couple of nights. There were beer cans everywhere and the place smelled like a frat house. Empty pizza boxes were piled high on the counters, a few flies buzzing around them.
I ignored it all and paced. I didn’t know what else to do. The waiting. The not knowing. It was killing me. I wasn’t sure I could handle it anymore. I needed to know that Bentley and Walker were okay.
I glanced at my phone again. Nothing. They should have called by now. What is wrong?
I set my phone back on the counter and took a deep breath. My throat was thick, choking me. I sniffed, wetness filling my eyes. “Where are they?” I muttered to myself.
“Sam. They’ll call. Just calm down.”
I ignored Lukas. I was afraid to say anything to him. I might break down and cry. Pour my heart and soul out just because he was there and I was hurting. I couldn’t do that. There was only one person I wanted to pour my heart and soul out to and he wasn’t here. He was out there somewhere, fighting for me.
I resumed my pacing. Four steps one way. Four steps the other. Back and forth. Four and four. I couldn’t sit still. Not while Walker and Bentley were in danger.
I ran through scenarios in my head. Bad ones. Walker getting into a wreck. The car flipping, rolling down the highway, wrecking at the high speeds I knew he liked to drive. Him lying on a street somewhere, bleeding and hurting. I couldn’t stop the images. They invaded my mind. I pictured Walker taking Mick down only to have the tables turned on him, getting beaten. Or worse.
Oh, god.
I rubbed my forehead, forcing the terrible thoughts away, needing to replace them with something good.
“Amazing, Sam. It would be amazing with you.” I remembered Walker’s last words. They echoed in my mind like the lyrics of a favorite song. Why I was thinking about them now, I didn’t know. I wasn’t even sure what they meant.
Amazing.
The word whispered through me, warming me from the inside out. I stopped, all the air leaving my lungs. Kids. The pill. Oh, god. Having kids with me would be amazing. That’s what he was trying to say. That’s the word that chased him out of my room after we slept together. Amazing.
> I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand, tears filling my eyes.
He loved me. Cole Walker loved me.
As soon as the thought hit me, my phone vibrated on the counter. I rushed to pick it up, my fingers gripping the cheap cell phone tightly.
I glanced at the caller ID. It was Bentley. I took a deep breath and said a quick prayer, hoping that he would say everything was okay.
That Walker was okay and would return home to me.
Chapter Thirty–Eight
-Walker-
The gun blasted, a loud report hitting my eardrums with power. I felt shock waves roll through my body, realizing I was about to die. My life flashed in front of my eyes, but not the bad stuff. Not the stuff I had done or wished I had never experienced. Only the good things. The things that made dying painful.
I thought of Sam, remembering the first time I met her. She was just a kid, blonde with a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. She seemed so fragile back then but time only proved me wrong. She was tough, a real survivor. I thought of the times she had confronted me over the years, her eyes full of boldness, her soul full of spirit. I could remember how she looked, writhing under me, her long hair gleaming like black silk against the sheets. I wanted to touch it again, to tangle my hands in it just one more time before I died. I remembered it all, every second with her. I swore I would do anything - give up everything - if I could only live and be with Sam.
The bullet left the chamber, a piece of death flying through the air straight for me. I took a deep breath and let it out, not ready to meet my maker. I slammed my eyes closed, waiting for the pain, hoping it would be fast.
I heard a whizzing noise go past me, inches from my head. It reminded me of the sound of a bee that once stung me as a kid. I could almost feel it brush the ends my hair, it was so close to my body.
I was knocked sideways, shoved by Bentley. The ground rushed up to meet me, the momentum of falling impossible to stop. Air was knocked from my lungs as I landed on my right shoulder. My head slammed against the asphalt, pain ricocheting through my skull.
I heard a shout then the sound of another gunshot. I forced my eyes open, seeing Rollins running my direction.
A second later, I heard a thud and someone drop to the ground near me. Bentley jumped over me, shouting for help as he raced toward the man on the ground. Rollins kept his gun trained on the person, speaking into a black wire attached to his vest.
“Suspect down. I repeat, suspect down.”
The old-school jacket he had on from earlier was gone. A black bullet-proof vest now took its place. An FBI badge dangled from a chain around his neck, proclaiming he was one of the good guys.
I pushed myself up to a sitting position, glancing from Rollins to whoever was on the ground. Bentley was blocking my view of the man’s upper body but I could see the guy’s legs and shoes.
It was Mick.
“He’s still breathing,” I heard Bentley say.
Rollins walked over to where Bentley was kneeling by Mick. He holstered his gun and pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his rear pocket. Shit! Shit! He’s arresting Bentley!
Sickness rolled through me at the thought that we were going to jail, but Rollins ignored Bent and gathered Mick’s wrists instead, slapping the handcuffs on him despite Mick being unconscious. Two men in full tactical gear watched from nearby, their guns trained on Pam Man.
As soon as Mick was cuffed, Bentley stood up and turned toward me. Without handcuffs. What the hell is happening?
“Walker, you okay?” he asked, crouching down beside me when he got close enough.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing myself up, gritting my teeth when the world started spinning. “You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“Not now,” Bent said out of the corner of his mouth. “Just follow my lead.”
I grimaced as Bentley helped me to my feet. My damned ribs were throbbing and drawing in a breath hurt like hell. Something wet dripped from my nose onto my upper lip. I swiped a hand across my face, smearing the wetness. Glancing down, I found blood on my hand. My fucking nose was bleeding.
I started to wipe it again when I heard the sirens of an ambulance, barreling into the airstrip. Suddenly it occurred to me that it was quiet. There were no gunshots or shouts. Glancing around, I saw Tuan was in cuffs and his men were on the ground. All of them had their hands zipped-tied behind their backs while government agents stood guard over them.
Bentley and I headed toward the ambulance. The bright red and blue lights blinded me, sending pain dancing through my head. I squinted my eyes and felt the world tilt. Damn, I was a mess.
“You hit the ground pretty hard, Walker. Probably got a concussion. Sorry about pushing you. I just didn’t want the asshole to get a shot at you,” Bentley said, humor in his voice.
I grunted. So Bentley saved me. He was never going to let me live it down.
I limped the rest of the way to the ambulance with Bentley’s help. He handed me off to the EMTs and they started poking and prodding my head and ribs. I brushed them off, getting impatient. There was nothing wrong with me. I was fine. Perfect. It was over. I needed to leave. I needed to get out of here before the FBI woke up and arrested me.
I had to get home.
~~~~
The EMTs wrapped my ribs and poked and prodded my head, not happy with me when I refused to go to the hospital to be checked out further. A black-clad FBI agent stayed with me the whole time. Not talking. Not making eye contact. Just standing guard over me.
I knew I had at least one broken rib if the pain in my side was any indication. And I probably had a mild concussion, but I would be fine. It wasn’t like it was the first time I had sustained injuries from a fight.
When the EMTs let me go, the FBI agent led Bentley and me to an empty hanger. We were questioned and told to stay put. That’s where we stood now.
“So the good news is we got ‘em,” Rollins said, standing across from me in the hanger. Turns out the FBI had been using it for the past few months as a covert location to watch the comings and goings of Tuan and his men as they flew in and out of the private airstrip.
Leaning against a metal file cabinet, I hid my grimace of pain and waited for Rollins to continue. FBI agents moved around us, adding to the noise of the rain hitting the roof. Tuan, his men, and Mick were hauled away to their new home – a jail cell to await trial.
“My superior just reported in,” Rollins said in his extremely deep voice. “Mick’s house was raided too.”
“They get the evidence they need to lock Mick away for good?” Bentley asked, standing across from me with his arms crossed, his feet spread wide. At home among the FBI agents.
“They found some pretty messed-up stuff in there,” Rollins said, pausing to sign a piece of paper someone handed him. “Drugs. Evidence of what he’s been doing for Morrow and Tuan. He kept records of everything. Times. Dates. Pictures. He was covering his ass, that’s for sure.”
I wasn’t surprised. We knew the guy was dirty, we just didn’t know how deep it went.
“There’s more,” Rollins said, his voice making me stand up straighter despite the pain in my side. He pulled his lower lip between two fingers, studying me. I knew deep in my gut that whatever he had to say wouldn’t be good.
“What? What did that fucker do now?” I asked.
Rollins paused as if he was unsure he should say it, but then charged ahead. “He had pictures of Samantha as a little girl. Some while she was sleeping. Others more recent. The guy was stalking her big time.”
Red-hot rage built in me again. The beast in me wanted to find out where the FBI took Mick and put another bullet in him, this time one that counted.
“Holy hell,” Bent mumbled, rubbing his forehead.
“He’s going away for a very long time,” Rollins said. “Your sister and your…” he looked at me, “friend are safe now. It’s over. Mick will go on…”
A Fed stuck his head out of a small office nearby, interrupti
ng Rollins. “Hey, boss. Big man on the line,” he said, holding out a cell phone.
“You two wait here,” Rollins instructed, pointing at me then Bentley as he started walking backward toward the makeshift office.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I had given my statement to the Feds at least three times, getting pissed each time someone asked me for details on my involvement with Tuan and Mick and the car theft. Answering all their damn questions just delayed me from leaving. I had something better to do than hang out with a bunch of FBI jack-offs.
I wanted to see Sam.
Bentley had already covered my ass on the grand theft auto charges. Apparently the Feds had known about my … abilities … for a long time. They had okayed my involvement on this job long before I got into Rollins’s car. I didn’t know whether to be proud that they knew of my skills or be scared shitless.
After they questioned me, I was sworn to secrecy, threatened within an inch of my life if I spilled what went down tonight. There was still a laundry list of people they were watching and hoping to take down, Morrow being one of them. I was told that if I leaked the information, all my past transgressions would come back to haunt me. I wouldn’t see Bentley or Sam again unless it was from behind the steel bars of a prison cell.
No chance in hell would I let that happen.
Now that I was safe, I had another piece of business to take care of. As soon as Rollins was out of earshot I turned to Bentley.
“What the fuck, Bentley!” I hissed, pushing off the metal cabinet and taking a threatening step toward him. “You’re working for the fucking FBI?”
Bentley scrubbed a hand over his face and the blonde stubble on his chin. “I had no choice, man. The cops picked me up for stealing a pimped-out Maserati about a year ago. I was sitting in jail, waiting to get my one phone call when a big guy appeared out of nowhere, wearing a damned ‘70s suit. He had a deal for me. Work as a snitch for the FBI or go to prison. They needed someone who knew cars, who had grown up around gangs and drugs. I fit their bill perfectly and I really didn’t want to go to jail so I said yes. That guy was Rollins.”