Chapter 23 Wesley
Wesley
When the game is life and death, you might as well stack the odds.
Madison left her flat.
Muttering a curse under my breath, I call up the tracking app on my phone.
Her car is still in the lot behind the building, which eases my worry somewhat, but I don’t like that she left.
I don’t like the panic that threatened to swallow me whole when I realized I didn’t have eyes on her. And now she isn’t answering my texts.
The only real solution I can see is having her by my side at all times—otherwise I might go out of my mind with worry. I’ll wait with her while she packs, then we’ll go together to pack up my things and continue on to the safehouse.
Most people aren’t so blasé when you tell them there’s a price on their head. And while I don’t want her living in fear per se… some fear would be nice to see. Fear makes people careful, and I want her to act with caution.
I park my van in the spot it feels I literally just left—I didn’t even make it all the way to the hotel before getting the notification that she left her flat and turning around—and wander to the back.
A narrow alley separates her building from its neighbor, and I know from practice exactly where the cameras are to avoid.
But when I get to the small car park in the rear, there’s no sign of Madison.
I frown and double-check my phone—I didn’t see a notification from the cameras that she’d returned inside.
And I don’t see her at her car. I see… Why is there a suitcase on the back seat?
I reach for the door handle and find it unlocked—and my stomach sinks.
A high-pitched yelp sends ice through my blood.
I whip around, trying to determine where the sound came from, and my feet start moving before I’ve fully processed.
The area back here is closed off by the surrounding buildings.
There are a few security cameras, but it’s dark and much more private than the front street.
Several alleys snake away from the lot, and I charge in the direction the sound came from.
My heart nearly stops in my chest when I round the corner and see Madison in some bloke’s arms. About five yards away, he’s dragging her backwards towards a waiting vehicle blocking the entrance—one hand around her mouth, muffling her screams and profanity, and one arm wrapped around her, trying to subdue her as she fights him like a wildcat.
I recognize Madison’s gun on the ground between us, so I dart for it, lift it and aim it at him. Luckily, he’s at least a full head taller than her, so she’s not directly in the line of fire. “Let her go!”
When he sees me, he stops, frozen by an unexpected witness. Madison, however, renews her struggle. I see a flash of her teeth just before he howls.
In that instant, when her attacker is distracted enough to loosen his grip, I watch, dumbfounded, as Madison totally flips the situation.
It’s like seeing Eleanor or Nicole practicing the moves Dimitri has been drilling into them for months.
She gets her feet under her, drops into a strong base, brings her arms together and flares her elbows.
With enough room under his arms now, she slips from his grip, dropping to the ground and twisting to land on her back.
No time to be amazed.
As soon as she’s completely free of him, I aim the gun at his stomach, flick off the safety, and pull the trigger. The hammer falls and the gun snaps, but the kickback feels wrong. There’s no ringing in my ears from the muzzle blast. The gun didn’t fire.
Bloody hell.
Madison recovers from the confusion before the attacker or I do, landing a kick to his groin from her position on the ground underneath him that makes my body jerk in totally uncontrollable sympathy. The man goes down, and Madison scrambles away.
“It’s not loaded!” she squeaks, darting towards me and safety.
“I gathered,” I growl back, tossing it to her as I close in on the man, who is recovering quicker than I would’ve from a kick to the dick. As he gets to his feet, he pulls a switchblade from his back pocket, making me falter.
I reassess the situation, falling back on Dimitri’s training more easily than I would have thought. It’s calming, this feeling of knowing what to do in a high-stakes situation.
Assess, plan, and act. Be quick so your opponent does not have time to do the same.
He’s a massive bloke, thick around the middle and a few inches taller than me. He’s also got a knife. I’m quick and I can throw a punch, but I don’t have a knife.
Mistakes will be made in every fight, but losing your upper hand is usually the last one.
That’s one of my favorite “Dimitri-isms” from the running log we keep to document his unintentionally poetic, violent advice.
And he’s right, so it’s a good thing I haven’t lost the upper hand. I’ve still got a trick up my sleeve.
I charge, taking advantage of my speed. Predictably, he slashes at me, but his elbow flares before he moves, and it’s easy to tell what trajectory the assault will take.
I’m there, ready, blocking him and ramming my fist into the inside of his wrist. It causes the nerve there to spasm, and his knife clatters to the ground.
I get behind him so I can wrap an arm around his thick neck.
He starts thrashing against me instantly, and I have to flex with all my might to keep my hold.
A hard jab to my liver steals my breath in a white-hot burst of agony that radiates outward. As I reel from the blow, the man breaks free of the chokehold and turns on me. He smiles with the gleeful menace of a man who knows he’s going to win a fight he didn’t start but very much wants to finish.
Unfortunately for him, this one’s over—he just doesn’t know it yet.
I was never really trying to overpower him; I prefer to outsmart them, anyway, and I’m partial to a bit of sleight of hand. When the game is life and death, you might as well stack the odds.
While he focused on the bicep against his windpipe, he missed the prick of the micro-needle from the custom-built ring I always wear, and the double dose of etorphine straight to the side of his neck. The fast-acting opioid is normally used for bringing down animals, but right handy in a pinch.
As he settles into a pose meant to threaten, intimidate, and ready his own attack, I watch the effects of the sedative settle around his eyes, causing them to flutter closed. He shakes his head, confused by the sudden, unexpected sensation of darkness closing in.
He reaches for me, but he loses his balance and his entire body pitches face-first into the ground. The crack of his head against the pavement rings down the alley, a disgusting, violent sound that’s a relief. If the sedative hadn’t gotten him, that would’ve.
As I heave huge breaths, I wince and clutch my abdomen. Fuck, that smarts. Dimitri’s training involves learning how to take a hit, but every time I think I’ll be prepared for the breathtaking pain that accompanies a sharp elbow to a relatively soft organ, I’m proved a liar.
“Wesley?” Madison asks behind me, voice wavering.
Her voice stirs that creature inside me that’s all instinct and violence. I turn, grab behind her neck and pull her into a rough kiss meant to remind us both that she’s all right. She’s in one piece. “Are you hurt?” I demand, scanning her body for blood.
She grabs my biceps tightly, digging her nails in. “I don’t think so,” she chokes out. “I’m okay. Thanks to you… Is he dead?”
“Heavily sedated,” I reply, releasing her against my will and crouching down to check the man’s pockets. Empty. My stomach sinks—he’s a pro.
I stare down at him. The urge to take his life for daring to put his hands on my girl is strong—and it would be so easy—but there’s a reason I left him alive.
There’s a reason it’s always part of my plan to leave them alive.
Dead men tell no tales. “We need to question him—to find out why he attacked you,” I tell her.
She nods, understanding. “How long will he be out?”
“A few hours. But we have to get out of here,” I say, throwing a nervous look over my shoulder. More could be coming. Since we don’t know what motivated him, we have no way of knowing what the danger is. “I’m going to send my team in to collect him.”
Her lower lip wobbles. “He c-came out of nowhere while I was getting my suitcase out of my car… I got away and I ran, but he caught me…”
I grab her wrist, rubbing the inside with my thumb. “We don’t have time for explanations. We have to go. Now.”
We hurry down the alley, back towards our vehicles, and I go to my bike. Madison hesitates.
“Get on,” I urge, holding out the helmet for her.
“I’ve never…” she begins, taking the helmet and eyeing the motorcycle with fear. She glances behind her at her car. “Can’t I just follow you?”
I shake my head. We can’t risk it. We don’t know who that was, or who sent him. What if they have her car’s information? What if there are more? Motorcycles are the perfect getaway vehicle. They can weave through traffic, fit down tight alleys, and they accelerate faster than most cars.
Madison glances up, then goes pale. “Gun!” she screams, pointing behind me.
I whirl. At the mouth of the alley, a man gets out of a tan sedan and crouches behind his door for cover.
I grab her, curling around her protectively, and drag her down just as a gunshot rings out. The metallic plink tells me it went wide and hit her car. A second later, a car door slams closed, and I know we have seconds until he’s on us.
I haul her up and hop onto my bike. This time, there’s no argument.
She throws her leg over, falling gracelessly onto the seat behind me, and leans her full weight against me, hugging me so hard around the middle it makes breathing a challenge.
But it’s good. I need to feel her to balance us, and if she’s hugging me, I know she’s all right.
I hit the starter, and the engine roars to life, revving and drowning out her screech of alarm as I peel out of the alley where the first assailant’s car is blocking the path.
The gunman won’t be able to follow us past that car.
Moving too fast to pause, we careen out into the street, cutting off a small lorry and eliciting angry honks.
I speed up even more, weaving through traffic and avoiding red lights so I don’t have to stop.
The blood is pumping so hard in my veins it’s audible over the sound of the wind rushing in my ears.
There’s so much adrenaline and fear and panic, I can’t even enjoy the experience of having Madison as my backpack.
I keep checking my mirrors, but we’re not being followed by anyone.
So I zigzag across town, arriving at the Ulysses Grand and pulling right into the parking garage under the building.
Usually I find a spot on the top level for easy access, but now I keep going until we’re several levels down, in an area where no one parks unless they have to.
Down here, the agility of a motorcycle will outmaneuver that of a car if we get into a tight spot again—and it’ll be obvious if someone is lying in wait, since there are only a handful of occupied spaces.
As I pull into the furthest corner and gently slow our momentum, I realize that Madison is trembling. Her grip on me is tight, right up until the instant she senses it’s safe to dismount. Then she’s gone. Not waiting for assistance, she scrambles off my bike so fast that she falls onto her arse.
“Fuck,” I curse, shutting off the bike and putting down the kickstand. “Are you all right?”
I swing my leg over just as she picks herself up. I reach for her, and she backs away a step, her usually warm eyes darker than normal in the low light of this parking cave.
“Madison—”
That’s all I get out. She launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and dragging me down so she can smash her lips onto mine.
The adrenaline in my veins roars its response, shifting from fear to desire in an instant.
I clutch her tightly, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing her to me, letting my instincts take over—the ones that need to hold, touch, take and claim. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s mine.
My need for her becomes an overwhelming thing. I need to be as close as possible. I need to be inside her. That’s the only way to satisfy this urgent terror. The only way to prove to myself she’s all right—that we’re both all right.
I start to thread my fingers into her hair, but she pulls back, gasping. Her pupils are so dilated that her eyes appear black. She stares at me, chest heaving, then drops to her knees without a word.
“Madison—” I choke out again, this time in shock and surprise as I stumble back half a step and hit the side of my bike. The stand is sturdy, so it barely jostles.
She doesn’t say anything, but there’s an edge of mania in her eyes as they stare up at me in a silent plea. The fear is being edged out by lust and relief so acute and potent it must feel like love. So I don’t stop her as she reaches for my zipper.
There are so many sensations throughout my body; my system is confused and a little numb.I’m fairly certain I’m not all the way hard, but Madison doesn’t care. She takes my cock out of my trousers and immediately takes the tip into her hot, wet mouth.
I shout and weave my fingers into her hair.
The sensation is powerful, and the knowledge that she’s on her knees for me is heady.
My legs give, and I land on the seat of my bike before I can recover to stand on my own.
Her tongue swirls around the most sensitive part of me, stroking the nerve endings and eliciting a deep, rough sound from low in my chest.
Her lips are so soft, and her tongue is wet and silky against my skin—this is so much better than the roughness of my palm—so it’s not long before the blood shifts, moving to fill my cock.
It grows in her mouth, making her hum in desire and approval.
The vibrations of the sound shoot straight up my spine.
She releases me with a fleshy pop of her lips. The sight of her staring up with those warm brown eyes through her lashes is nearly enough to do me in. And that’s even before she makes her demand.
“Fuck me,” she says, rasping and breathy. “Need it. Need you.”