CHAPTER ELEVEN
Griffin
O n the helicopter, Shane sits with a tablet and a stylus drawing over the building’s blueprints like he’s playing a video game.
“Where are the four guards, Shane?” I ask him.
“Still inside,” he confirms with confidence.
“I had a team grab the other two,” Connor says. “Are we killing them?”
The bird goes silent except for the blades humming above.
“No.” I’m in charge now. All blame points to me. “Not right away. Let’s see how this goes down.”
Working for Riordan O’Rourke has put a taste of blood in Connor’s mouth that he’s finding fairly addictive. I’m watching him closely, but I think he’s becoming a bit psychotic. Yet, it’s what we need right now dealing with enemies all over the place.
We all had to step up our ruthless game to run a house of savages. Even Shane.
“What happens if Brandon escapes after we land?” I ask, looking at my brothers.
“My team will grab him, too,” Connor says, sitting back. “They’re in position.”
“I don’t care what Brandon does to your guys, he’s not to be killed, Connor,” I order, gritting my teeth. “Unless we find Ava alive.”
Connor checks his gun, and I wish we had Trace and Rhys with us. They are more skilled marksmen. But Unhinged Connor will have to do.
“What kind of condition do you think we’ll find Ava in?” Shane asks.
Something strikes my heart, and I suddenly can’t breathe. Glancing from him to Connor, I ask, “Do either of you know what Ava looks like?”
Shane and Connor exchange glances, then Connor shakes his head at me. “Ares didn’t show you a picture?”
“Her looks didn’t exactly matter if I was being forced to marry her.” I wipe the sweat beading up on my right eyebrow.
Somewhere my subconscious fled on a detour. After taking one look at six-foot-four, olive skin, strapping Ares, I probably thought to myself: Good genes run in that family.
“How many women do we think we’ll find with Brandon?” Shane calls out our stupidity. “From day one, Brandon’s had her.”
“He’s right.” Connor sits back. “If it’s got tits, that’s our girl.”
A fierce sense of possessiveness rumbles through me. No, she’s MINE.
“I’d still like to see a picture to make sure I drag the right lass to the altar.” I glance at Shane, who scrolls on his phone. “Anything?”
“She doesn’t have a driver’s license. No social media. Any reference to her online as far as being Ares’ sister doesn’t include a photo.” He shows us his tablet.
“What the hell does that mean?” Alarm bells go off in my head. “Damn you brats, what the fuck? We’ve been hunting down people forever!”
God, how could I have not asked more questions? I heard Greek Mafia princess and every stereotype crashed into my mind.
Galas. Clubs. Travel. Spoiled. Entitled. I hated her from minute one.
After all the trouble this has caused, I look forward to making her miserable.
“The target is in range,” the pilot says.
Shane pulls off a new satellite photo of the roof. “All clear.”
Dressed in black from head to toe with helmets and darkened visors, souvenirs from our last rescue mission, I give the signal to land. “Put us down on the roof, Seth.”
We went over the plan back at my new townhouse. We brought bolt cutters, a mini blow torch, ropes, knives, tiny remote cameras, and lots and lots of ammo.
We’re each strapped with two handguns, but I’m using an AK-47. I’m the fucking boss. It’s more for show, but if I’m shot at, I will fire back with a vengeance. There’s a rule, you don’t dare point a gun at a mafia don, let alone shoot at one.
We land and scramble out onto the roof. The bird immediately lifts back up and flies off to the holding location.
“The cloaking still on?” I whisper to Shane about his jamming radar signals that make the bird invisible to cops.
“It’s holding,” he answers.
“We go on my mark.” I take the lead.
Connor pushes me aside. “No. We go first. You’re... You’re a king now, Griffin.”
I also shouldn’t be here. Only, I wasn’t going to send my brothers in to be killed. Alone. Not for this. Not to rescue a bride I don’t even want.
That would make Thanksgiving rather awkward with Ma from now on.
But he’s right. If we’re all here, I don’t go in first. I dip my chin and step back. This isn’t the time to debate attack formations.
“Smash and grab, brothers,” Connor says and pats his chest with the same outer bulletproof vest we’re all wearing.
“If the guards shoot at us, shoot back. If they surrender, we tie them up, that’s it,” I give the final order before we go in. “These brats are someone’s fucking sons who we have to rule over. Let’s not make more enemies today, gentlemen.”
My brothers each give me a thumbs-up.
Connor goes first, as I silently follow Shane down wooden steps of the abandoned apartment building. Each floor holds two units. These were our blind spots. The square footage we couldn’t see because all the windows had thick blackout shades.
Connor melts each doorknob, careful to catch it so it doesn’t hit the floor. For each apartment on each floor, we repeat this. Shane uses his heat sensors to mark each unit clear while I hang back, giving them both cover from above and below.
Floors 4 and 3 go smoothly. Nothing but empty apartments.
Floor 2 goes the same.
My throat starts tightening as we walk down the stairs to get to the main floor. They have to be there. Connor’s ground team hasn’t reported anyone coming out the front or back. They also killed the box truck’s ignition.
There’s only one floor left for a shootout against five guys including Brandon. This is going to be messy as hell. I was hoping to catch some guards sleeping in these apartments so we could tie them up and even the score.
Fuck.
The first-floor apartment, bigger than the others, is the only unit on the main level. And it’s...empty. As far as people. But it’s lived in.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to Connor, shattered that maybe his guards are hiding, waiting to blow my head off.
After a full sweep, confirming it’s empty, we stand in the hallway where Shane goes white.
“Aw, fuck. Basement,” he whispers.
“It’s okay.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Come on. This is it. He was here this morning. No one’s left the building.”
“Is there another way out of this basement?” Connor asks Shane, gripping his arm.
“I don’t know,” he deadpans.
We all stare at each other knowing we might as well be walking into a gladiator pit.
Fuck, for a second, I waver. Is it worth it? It was never supposed to come to this.
Then I hear a sound that stops my heart. A female screams at a blood-curdling pitch. It charges me up like fucking jumper cables.
Ava. Mine.
“Go, go, go!” I yell, this time out of instinct.
The screaming rattles my nerves, and I kick open the basement door. Helmets on, guns raised, scopes looking for targets, we walk down each rickety wooden step one at a time. I take up the rear once again.
We’ll use whatever the hell is happening as a diversion, sneak up on the motherfucker who is hurting...
Hurting my wife.
Pure adrenaline mainlines through me like never before. Someone is touching what’s mine. The woman who’s been promised to me.
The screaming gets louder and more desperate with each passing second.
Rage and fury blinding me, I push my brothers aside to rescue Ava.
The keenly unique sounds of flesh being ripped apart and a knife hitting bone make my legs weak.
Oh, fucking fuck. He’s killing her.
Brutal sadness wrecks me.
We backed Brandon into this corner and now he’s killing her.
He’s killing my fucking wife.
Ares is going to murder me for this.
At the bottom of the stairs, my brain struggles to process what the fuck I’m looking at. Four guys in suits lay dead in different places in this basement with a stone floor and studs for walls against cinderblock.
The guards are dead. What the fuck?
Against the back wall I see...a human-size cage.
That motherfucker kept Ava in a cage down here. That’s why we never saw her. I’m going to kill Brandon Keller and fucking enjoy it.
The sound of Ava being stabbed eats away at me. I’ve done this long enough. My brain prepares me to see her mutilated body on the ground. My precious Ava. A woman I despised an hour ago. But she didn’t ask to be kept in a cage and then brutally murdered.
I turn the corner, clenching my stomach, the scope on my rifle locked in on Keller’s body heat. The only reason I don’t turn the corner spraying bullets is because I want Brandon Keller to know it’s me.
I shove off my helmet and let it fall to the ground, the clanging noise ringing through the silence.
The sound of stabbing stops.
I turn the corner and hiss out in a low, gritty voice, “Don’t fucking move.”
Someone covered in blood holding a knife is kneeling over a body also covered in blood. My heart and brain go haywire, the expected vision not lining up with the reality my eyes are taking in.
The person holding the knife slowly turns to me, every second feeling like an hour.
“Drop the knife!” I yell, out of instinct.
Our eyes connect, and I nearly drop my gun.
“Hadleigh?”