28. Spencer
Chapter twenty-eight
Spencer
Greer pulls up behind us, in front of our apartment building. He has a scowl on his face and approaches looking like he’s about to kick something.
“I didn’t do it,” I say automatically.
He scrunches up his face in angry confusion. “Do what?”
“Someone eat your Snickers or something? It wasn’t me this time.”
“This time?”
“I mean it wasn’t me. At all. Ever. I wouldn’t do that; stop looking at me like that.” I wait till he goes first because I don’t want him at my back in this mood. I don’t trust him not to put a “kick me” sign on it. Or forego the sign and just kick me. He’s efficient like that.
“Hunter called and said that he’s got another case for us. Remember when we only had two each, maximum?” Greer grumbles, shoving his thumb into the elevator button harder than necessary. Then a second time, for good measure. “Are the criminals multiplying or something? Fuck, they irritate me.”
“Ah, the good old days. What’s it this time?”
“It’s connected to the kidnappings Six and I have been working on for too fucking long. Once I find these assholes, I’m going to leave pieces of them floating in the Parramatta. Cauterise the wounds so they have to watch their own fucking limbs bobbing in the water before I kill them.”
“Brutal, but effective. If you need help carrying body parts, I can help you out.”
“How generous of you.”
“I am super generous and offended you would think otherwise.”
Kendrick snorts quietly and then drags me backward and into his arms. “When did Six say he was getting here?”
“No idea.” Greer uses his arm to stop the elevator door closing so we can get out at our own pace. “He had to pick something up for his brother, and then he was heading here. If he’s late, it just means more for me.”
“Yeah, that won’t backfire at all.”
“When it comes to beef bourguignon, it’s each man for himself.” He fishes out a set of keys that has the whole teams’ sets on it and unlocks the door. “Also, that pistachio ice cream you make.”
I make a face because as much as I love Kendrick’s food, I draw the line at pistachio anything . They especially don’t belong in dessert. Or on Earth. In existence. “It’s nice to know where your loyalty ends.”
“Isn’t it?” He turns to give me a grin, and I freeze, something behind him catching my attention. Everything slows down, and I go to pull out my gun, but it’s too late.
“There’s no need for that, gentlemen,” the man says, his own handgun pointed right at us. He stands from the dining chair where he’s obviously been waiting a while for us.
He’s too far away to disarm him without the risk of one of us getting shot. “Come inside and shut the door. Anyone tries to run, and I’ll shoot them in the back. It’s been so long since I’ve had a fun target; don’t tempt me.”
I have no doubt I’m looking into the face of Jack Ferguson. He’s scragglier than his pictures, beard longer and unbrushed. Wild eyes, like a man with nothing left to lose.
“Everyone in, now.”
Kendrick’s hand brushes my hip, and I step closer to him. Jack marks every one of our moves. I have to remember that he’s trained. And he’s big. Bigger than his picture suggests.
“Step away from each other. Any contact and I’ll shoot.”
I exchange a glance with Kendrick. I can’t risk him, not again. We’re all armed, and there’s not a damn fucking thing we can do while he’s aiming at us. But there are three of us and only one of him. No matter how good he is, the second his attention lapses, I’m going to kill him.
“Take your guns out, slowly, and slide them across the floor. Over there, out of reach.” He gestures to our left. “Make sure you get as far as the coffee table, or I shoot.”
A muscle in Greer’s jaw twitches in rage, but we all do as we’re told. I’m not even carrying an extra right now. Just a blade strapped to my ankle. Despite how dangerous our jobs are, one weapon generally gets the job done. We don’t work out in the open, not like this. Getting caught with our pants down like this is fucking embarrassing.
“Did you have to sit on the furniture?” I say with a grimace after my gun lands right next to Kendrick’s. “Now I’m gonna have to burn everything. It’s such a pain in the ass to lug chairs into that elevator, you know?”
Kendrick sends me a sharp look that I ignore. I want this guy’s attention on me. Kendrick is getting out of this unscathed, no matter what I have to do.
Jack smirks, not perturbed in the least. There goes the idea of getting him mad enough to make a mistake. He’s ex-Special Forces, and he’ll stay calm under pressure. Calculating. Patient. Too many traits I don’t value in a guy that wants to put a bullet between our eyes. It’s only appreciated when they’re on our side.
“You don’t like making your guests feel comfortable?” Jack says conversationally. “You could use better chairs anyway. These are too rigid. Why don’t you get over here and tell me what you think about them.”
I don’t move. He shifts his aim in Kendrick’s direction. “Now.” Pegged my weak link too easily. Fucking asshole .
Jack kicks the chair away from himself and moves closer to the kitchen counter. Still out of arm’s reach. Clever. Too goddamn clever. We’d never get close enough without him getting at least one shot off. And I doubt he misses.
A discreet glance at Greer tells me he’s ready to do something stupid. I don’t particularly want him to get hurt either. He’s my brother in all but blood, and I refuse to have to be the one to tell Six he’s not coming home. A subtle shake of my head relaxes him at least a fraction. I still don’t trust it.
“You,” Jack says, waving his gun at Kendrick. “Get over here and tie him up.” He yanks rope out of a duffel bag near his feet and throws it on the floor between Kendrick and where I’m seated. He came prepared. I fucking hate that. “I know my knots; make sure you do them properly. If not? I do like what happens when a high-calibre bullet hits a target at this close range. Have you ever seen it before? The pressure causes a spray that’s like a masterpiece in a museum.”
I can’t breathe properly through the panic and my rapidly beating heart. Anger sits heavy in my gut. At him and at myself too. We should have been more vigilant. The idea of him getting into our apartment and ambushing us never occurred to me. An attack? Yes. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for days now. But never once had I thought he’d catch us unaware like this. Not good enough.
Kendrick’s fingers glide over my skin as he wraps up my wrists behind the chair. He’s right there, I can feel him, and it helps despite what he’s doing. Being helpless in this situation, however, isn’t helping.
“I’ll get you out of this,” Kendrick says under his breath, a bare whisper that I only just catch. More anger spikes in my chest, curling like a heavy ball of fire.
I should be the one getting us out of here, not tied to a goddamn fucking chair. It’s my responsibility to protect him. I can’t do this again, be in this position where I’m helpless to do anything but watch him get hurt.
I catch Greer’s eye, and I know he’s about to make a move. He’s still got that jittery look. Does he think he’s gonna get there before he gets shot? I have faith in the deadly skills he has, but we’re not infallible, and we certainly can’t dodge a goddamn bullet.
“Now what?” I ask, trying to draw Jack’s attention. “Gonna shoot us and walk off into the sunset? You have no idea what kind of people will come for you once you’re done here. There are more dangerous people than us out there.” Once the rest of the team gets a hold of him, he’ll wish he was dead. Moira’s quite inventive, and Six is scary when he’s pissed off. He has a long fuse, but anyone standing at the end of it better run. And if someone touches Greer? There is no fuse, just an explosion.
“Are you trying to scare me?” Jack asks, smiling lazily. “You stole my prize, and I’ve come to collect. I’ll be far from here by the time anyone comes looking for you.”
He’s certainly a cocky motherfucker. And wrong. “It’s so cute that you think that.” If he kills us, there’s nowhere in the world he can hide. He’ll be joining us in Hell, and we’ll make sure to torment him forever, now and in the afterlife. It’ll give us something to do. “We’re the nightmare, not you.” The only thing comforting me right now is that Kendrick and I will go together. No one is getting left behind. Though that’s worst-case scenario and not one I plan on letting happen.
“You’re the one tied to a chair.”
“I can kill you while blindfolded and tied to this chair.” Just need to get him to aim somewhere else. Besides, I’m not alone. That’s the beauty of teammates that are family I trust with my life. I don’t need to kill him; they’ll do the job just fine. All we need to do is get him in the right position. “Too scared to find out and see, aren’t you? You need that gun to make yourself feel like a big man. You’re really just an insecure child that gets off on killing people weaker than you.”
There’s finally a flicker of anger in those eyes, and Greer makes his move. He shoulders Jack in a blur, and they stagger into the kitchen counter. A shot goes off, but it’s wide and hits the far wall. An excellent start—the fucking moron —but the problem is that Jack is a hell of a lot bigger than Greer. While he’s holding his own, he needs backup.
Kendrick is already pulling at my bonds, undoing his work. Not quickly enough. C’mon, c’mon.
Fear thrums through me like a drum beating against my skull. I force myself not to wriggle my hands and make it any harder for Kendrick.
Greer punches Jack in the face, with little to no impact on the behemoth. He gets one in return, and then his head is slammed into the sharp corner of the counter, leaving blood dripping from it. Greer wobbles slightly and then jerks an elbow into Jack’s solar plexus. He wraps his hands around Jack’s throat while he’s dazed, squeezing hard enough his knuckles go white. He doesn’t let go even as Jack tugs at his wrists. That strength won’t last forever; Kendrick needs to fucking hurry up.
Jack reaches around behind himself, and I see the glint of silver before Greer can react. I bite back the yell that wants to rip from my throat. It’s too late and distracting him will only make it worse. Jack swipes out with the blade and gets Greer right across his cheek, blood spraying from the cut. Greer cries out, more of a surprised grunt, and then grips the wrist holding the weapon, twisting until Jack drops it. He headbutts Jack and with a mighty roar, shoves him away. Greer punches his jaw and flattens his hand before slamming the side of it into his throat with force. Jack falls to a knee with a choke and then gets Greer’s knee to the face with a crunch from a breaking nose. Greer forces him to roll over and then straddles his back, yanking his hands up and against his back.
“You’re under arrest,” he pants, blood running down his face. It’s in his mouth and dripping from his jaw. His skin is open almost from his earlobe to just below his bottom lip. He’s going to need stitches, and fast. “Just shut the fuck up, or I’ll use every word you say to finger you dry in court.” He pulls cuffs from his back pocket, his bloody hand slipping a few times before he gets them around Jack’s wrists and clipped on. “Or do. I don’t give a fuck; I wouldn’t mind doing it now, just with a gun.” Every word has to be agony.
“Ken,” I say urgently. Greer needs to be looked at. Someone needs to call Six. He should be here soon. Greer said he was on his way, didn’t he?
“I know.” The ropes are loosening, tension easing, and they start to slide down my hands and off my wrists.
The door bursts open, and a stranger enters the fray. “Jack, I heard gunfi—”
Kendrick curses, and then he’s on his feet, rushing him, slamming the guy against the doorframe. He strikes out at Kendrick, who grunts at the impact. The attacker is reaching for something. Is he armed? Fuck . I tug desperately at my bonds. Panic clutches at my throat, threatening to choke me.
Kendrick wrestles with the hand that’s holding the gun. The guy jerks his arm down, and a shot rings out, and everything stops. Every second is like slow motion as Kendrick makes a pained sound and staggers back, a hand against his side. No.
No .
The ropes drop, and I’ve never moved faster in my life. Yanking the drawer open and grabbing one of the guns inside, I aim and shoot without thought. It goes straight through the man’s head. A little off to the side, but accuracy’s not my current concern. As long as he’s dead, I don’t care how it happens. I’m at Kendrick’s side before the piece of shit even hits the ground.
Kendrick leans heavily against the wall, and I clutch at him, hands trembling. He slides down, leaving an obscene smear of blood on the white.
“Ken? Ken, talk to me.”
“It’s a little… uncomfortable,” he says, voice tight. My laugh is nothing but a gurgled, wounded sound. “Can I just…” I help him lie down, stretching out on his back. It gives me better access to him. “That’s better.”
Better for who ? My hands tremble as I lift his shirt, searching for the wound. Where is the bleeding coming from? There’s too much. So fucking much. “Where did it hit you?”
Movement to my left makes me turn, body tensing in anticipation of a fight. There better not be anyone else trying to get their cut, because they’ll leave this place in a body bag, in fucking pieces.
It’s just Greer, standing and moving away from the struggling Jack. He gets two wobbly steps before he collapses onto all fours. “Shit,” he whispers harshly, head bowed. “Ken, is he—”
“I don’t know.” Like Greer is faring any better in this scenario. Where the hell is Six?
“Called—I called—” Greer doesn’t finish the sentence, but I get the gist. An ambulance. Hopefully one that’s already around the corner because he needs help right now.
Kendrick grips my wrist weakly. “S’alright,” he slurs. “Think it just grazed me. A few stitches and I’ll be right as rain.”
“Bullshit.” If he’s trying to convince me he’s fine, he needs to do a better job than that. A graze doesn’t cause this much blood. Nothing is right. Everything is wrong. Heat prickles at the back of my eyes, and I don’t bother controlling them, tears wetting my cheeks. “Where does it hurt? Where are you bleeding from?” It needs pressure added to it. I can’t fucking find the bullet hole. There’s blood everywhere. I need to make this right. I need to help him.
There. Not a graze but almost. Right there on the side. Relief doesn’t come because it doesn’t matter. He’s still bleeding, and I need to staunch it before help arrives. Otherwise, he won’t make it to the hospital. Christ shit fuck. Yanking my shirt up and over my head, I scrunch it up and press it against his wound. Kendrick groans quietly, his stomach convulsing from the pain.
“I know it hurts, but we need to keep it there, baby.” Did it go right through? Is there another—shit. I don’t have another shirt, so I scrunch up what I can of the one he’s wearing and add pressure to the hole against his back. If he bleeds out here before help comes, I’ll never forgive him. No. I’ll never forgive myself. I was supposed to protect him and keep him safe. How could I have failed a second time?
“You called me ‘baby,’” he mumbles, words barely graspable.
I brush my palm across his forehead, getting his curls away from his eyes. They’re too dull, not quite focused on anything. “I’ll call you that whenever you want, just stay with me.”
“Not going anywhere. Need you too much.” His eyes close, and fear grips me again before Kendrick squeezes my wrist.
Still here. Still awake. Still breathing.
A noise from Greer catches my attention. He’s lost a lot of colour in his face—what I can see of it through the blood covering half of it. He needs immediate medical attention. They both do.
Greer opens his mouth, his throat working like he’s trying to say something, and then he drops sideways. He hits the floor at the same time Six rushes through the open door.