Rage

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Cece

L iam insists on trailing me through the shadowy graveyard, even though he can hardly put weight on his damaged leg. The scent of wet blood screams that this is a bad idea. But there’s no way he’s leaving until he knows Xander is okay, so here we are, crouched behind a weeping angel, peering toward the light.

Shouts from across the space tell me that, at least for now, Xander is free. “I’m going to get close to the light. Stay here. Xander’s probably looking for us, and they’re looking for him, so now’s our best shot to see what they had planned.”

Liam squeezes my bare ankle, and my breath hitches. “Just run while you can. You can get out of here. I’ll worry about Xander.”

Anger flares. “Why? Why should I run instead of staying and fighting?”

“Because you’re Eddie’s baby sister. He’d kill me if I got you killed.”

I keep my scoff quiet. “You have no idea what Eddie would think of that. If I don’t get out of here with both you and Xander in one piece, I can guarantee my brother will never forgive me.”

“You’re worth more than we are. If you knew the amount of blood we each had on our hands...”

“If you knew the amount I had on my hands, you wouldn’t bother saying such stupid things,” I mutter, and taking my opportunity, I slip away, slinking between stones, ears pricked, only hearing Liam’s soft curse as I vanish from his line of sight.

The fallen floodlight is set to rights, and concern that they’ve caught Xander has me rushing from stone to stone with less caution than I should use. So, all I can do is curse my impatience when I trip over a small figure crouched beside a stone cross and go flying across the dirt and headfirst into a grave.

Is it mine? No idea. But I’m six feet deep and five feet tall, so this isn’t ideal. The lump I tripped over comes to the edge, and I’m staring up at a little kid with big blue eyes and a steady hand on his Sig-Sauer.

“Hello,” I call up, trying to figure out what this kid is going to do with that gun.

“Name,” he barks, his voice high and gruff. Poor thing. At least I was a teen before I was doing similar shit.

“Not important. You going to shoot me?”

“Depends. Are you Cecelia Rodriguez?”

“What do you think?” I ask, motioning at my semi-destroyed, mud-and-blood-spattered formal gown.

The kid looks me over, squinting, so I take my chance, racing toward him and bounding up, kicking off to hook one knee on the edge while I grip both his ankles and tug. He goes flying over me, the gun firing off a few rounds before he hits the bottom with a grunt.

Scrambling the rest of the way out, I look down at the poor bugger. “Sorry, kid. But I’ve got some boys to rescue.”

He sits up, pointing the gun at me again, mud smeared across his childish features. “I’ll kill you,” he says.

“Not today. Who should I watch out for in the future?” I ask, hoping his pride will give me the answers I need.

“Gregor Morozov,” he says, his finger sliding to the trigger as I hit the deck. Rolling away from the grave as another shot rings out, I dodge behind the backhoe they used to dig those holes.

Shit. Morozov. Eddie’s going to be pissed. He invited Nat into our family’s biggest secret, and now she’s trying to kill me. I hope those wedding deposits are refundable.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, I need to find Xander.

Following his trail is child’s play after the training I got from my abuelo over the years. Which makes it even funnier that Morozov’s guys haven’t caught him yet. At least the dead body of Pinky tells me Xander is well enough to take on a henchman and win.

Either way, it’s obvious the Bratva don’t send their people to the jungle for live fire training against la Chota for their eighteenth birthdays. I’d asked for a convertible, but it turns out that tracking and guerilla warfare tactics are more useful in my line of work, so maybe Abuelo was onto something.

Xander figured out that Liam and I were free, but apparently, he knows Liam has a hero complex, so instead of making a run for it, he turned back into the graveyard, a smear of blood here and there leading me right back in the direction I started.

I never thought loyalty could be annoying.

His trail disappears near an ancient-looking mausoleum, so I climb up to the roof, the rock scraping off the fresh scabs on my wrists and ankles. Once I’m up there, I pose like a gargoyle and scan. Halfway between the gate and the graves, three figures crowd together, likely trying to decide if we made a run for it or not. If it weren’t for Morozov junior stuck in a grave, they’d assume we’re long gone.

Sadly, I wasn’t as stealthy as I’d hoped, so we’re still mildly fucked. Less fucked than we were an hour ago, but still, they’ve got weapons and nobody with major blood-loss. I can’t say the same for our side.

Motion catches my eye, and with quiet feet I patter to the other side of the mausoleum just in time for Xander to reach it, his steps light as he slips from shadow to shadow. Wishing I could watch him longer, I flop my top half over the edge and tap him on the shoulder.

The muzzle of a Glock finds me before Xander’s eyes, but when he sees me, he stows his purloined gun immediately. Then he pulls me off the roof and drags me against his hard body. “Tell me I can kiss you,” he says, his face pressed to my crown.

Is this a good time for a kiss? No. But is it exactly what I want to do after worrying that he was dead? Yes. Yes, it is.

“You can kiss me,” I whisper, suddenly shy.

Because this is Xander Liu. He might not have been my childhood crush, but he was pretty much everybody else’s. And when his dark eyes meet mine, his charisma captures me. I’m lost in his full attention.

He kisses me like I’m the center of his entire world. The energy that coils around him and drags people into his orbit instead shatters into individual tendrils, each of them wrapping around just me. The sheer inevitability of our attraction has me plastering myself against him, opening for him, wanting him in ways I shouldn’t. Especially not in the dark of a cemetery with enemies in the distance. Especially not with his best friend, who I also recently kissed, not so far away.

I can’t fight it, too caught up by the magnetism of the man, by the violence in this kiss that echoes my own. One of his hands digs into my hair, tilting me the way he wants, the other gripping my elbow like he’s afraid I’m going to run away. But I’m not. There’s no way. Instead, I drop one hand lower, the weight of him heavy against my palm, a nearly inaudible groan falling from his lips.

“Damn,” he whispers, kissing my cheek, my neck, the top of my collarbone while I stroke him through his jeans.

“Xander,” I mutter, wanting more, needing more, but knowing we need to get the hell out of here first.

“I know, sweet thing. But damn, I don’t want to stop,” he says, his tongue lining the top of the bodice, my head thrown back against the stones to give him access.

“Xander,” I croak, this time with a touch more force, and he stops his exploration of my skin, instead pulling me flush against him, his cock heavy against my belly.

“I know, I know. Give me a minute.”

We pant, and I can’t help but strain to hear where our Bratva friends might be, a whistle sounding, followed by the yips of those distant coyotes again. “I kissed Liam, too,” I whisper when it quiets.

Instead of anger, I just get a soft groan. “He’s going to lord that over me.”

“Huh?”

“That he got to taste you first. He’ll never let me live that down.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Nah. Your body, your choice. Just be honest with a guy. You’re doing exactly that.”

“And if I wanted to kiss Liam again?”

“Then I’d ask if I could watch.”

I barely stifle my laughter. Yet somehow, despite all the dark and deadly nonsense tonight, this conversation almost makes it worth it.

“I’d let you join in, you know.”

He loosens his hold, letting me see his crooked grin. “Thank god for that. Let’s go find the grouchy bastard and see if he’s game.”

“I’ll lead the way.” Taking a few steps, my skirt snags on one of the stones. “Fuck. Next time I’m kidnapped, can it be while I’m wearing tactical gear?” I ask the heavens.

A knife appears in answer to my prayer, Xander grinning. “Not quite the same thing,” he says as I take it from him. Away from the shadows of the mausoleum, I can see both his head and his arm are bandaged, and I add those to our growing list of injuries. But he seems in better condition than Liam, so a half-win.

Using the knife, and perhaps too much glee, I chop at the dress until it’s well above my knees. Then I tie the bits into a parcel, because you never know when a length of good silk will come in handy, and continue toward where I left Liam.

I’m calling it, though. This version of the dress is much, much better.