Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Griffon Kane. Former Delta, current cause of my irate anger.
Motherfucker. Of course he’d have a girlfriend that looks like she does and acts like she does.
Lucky bastard.
Some assholes just have everything.
Some assholes like me get the fuck-stick our whole life.
For Christ sake, she jumped in a truck and put her damned self in harm’s way to save my sorry ass.
A stranger.
I can’t think about that now—shit needs to be done. People extracted. Medical help for Griff.
Sleep, for fuck sake.
God.
I need to lock myself in a dark room for a week.
When was the last time I slept ?
Feels like years ago.
I rub the back of my neck, and try to ignore the weight of my bones. It’s a real bitch when the adrenaline wears off before you’re done with your work.
When I duck down and shove my head inside the plane, the rain sounds like jackhammers on the upturned belly.
This weather is unrelenting. I thought the heat was bad before, but now with the wet season upon us, I’m starting to hate rain.
A set of angry eyes slash my way as I look around inside. Griff said his diver’s big ass was stuck—the man was right. This dude is a fireplug. They must have lubed him up to get him in the plane to start with.
Glaring at me, he rattles the seat that’s blocking him from the exit. “You gonna get me out of here?”
“Depends. Where’s the pilot?”
“Crawled out there while the circus was going on.” He slashes a hand through the air. “Fuck if I know where he is.”
I duck back out and look around.
Oh, hell.
The sight of a foot sticking out from under the plane has me frowning.
“Hey, buddy. You okay?”
When I crouch down and look under the upside down plane wing the man skitters back like a crab. Two owlish eyes peer out of a ghost-white face.
“Hey, man, I’m one of the good guys. Let’s get you out of here. You’re in shock.”
“No! Get back! I’m armed.”
He jabs something at me.
“Whoa!”
I hold up my hands and try not to breathe at him. I’ve never been shot by a flare gun, and I sure as hell don’t plan on trying it now.
I’ve got enough burn scars.
“How about I back away? You can come out when you’re ready.”
I take a few steps back as Griff slogs his way over to me, water splashing from his boots. His hand is clasped over his ear, his color is bad, and he’s groaning.
For a man like him to look like he does, it must be bad. Proven by the fact that when he reaches my side, he lurches forward and pukes.
Yuck. “Oh, you fucker, that’s gross. Could you do that somewhere else?”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Like on your boots?”
“Get out of here. Go make sure your girlfriend doesn’t get into any more trouble. I’m going to see what I’ve got in the truck to use to cut your guy out of there.”
Banging comes from inside the plane. “Fucking hurry up you assholes!”
I’m pretty sure Griff doesn’t hear the other man’s demand, he’s puking his guts up again.
This time, I grab Griff’s arm and pull him toward my truck. What’s left of my truck. Technically not my truck. Agile Security & Rescue’s truck.
The second one our team has destroyed since we arrived in Vandemora.
The last one blew up.
This one is doing a Grand Canyon impression on its passenger side.
Guess I should be glad that dent is not in my head.
Thanks to her .
When I look up, she’s watching us. Standing in the rain, shivering.
The touch of her gaze is visceral. Heat tightens my skin below my wet clothing, which stokes my anger.
As I approach, she looks away. Which is a damned good thing. She should be nervous around me.
I snap at her. “Keep your boyfriend on lock. I’ve got enough to deal with.”
She stands back as I open the rear door and push Griff into the seat, praying he doesn’t throw up inside. The last thing I need is to be fighting my gag reflex all the way back to the ranch.
“Do me a favor, open the door if you’re going to hurl, got it?”
He grumbles, but there’s no fight in him. Another indication of the fact the man is practically dead on his feet.
Jesus that says a lot. Deltas are hard to take down. Just don’t ask me to admit that to one of them….
When I close him inside, I head for the back of the truck, leaving her. If she’s not smart enough to get out of the rain, that’s not my fault.
She’s Griff’s problem.
Not mine.
Definitely not mine.
So why does it bother me so bad that she’s freezing, drenched, and rattled all to hell?
I fling up the door to the cap on the back of the truck and drop the tailgate. At least both still work. But inside, is a different story. Tools and gear are everywhere, tossed around like kid’s toys thrown down on a playground.
God. Another pain in the ass.
“Can I help you?”
That small voice drives a burr right under my skin. I curse silently in my head, then look down at her, and I curse some more.
The pretty brunette with the blue lips, soaked hair, and the soulful brown eyes is smiling at me.
God, those eyes.
Men do stupid things over women who look at you with a gaze like that.
Other men.
Not me. Ever.
Then why the hell does it feel like I just stepped onto a frozen lake with cracked ice?
I sound rough and very much like an asshole when I speak. “No. You need to deal with Griff until I can get this done.”
With great effort, I focus back on the mountain of disheveled gear in the truck. Ignoring her. Everything about her.
Until she says, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
My head swivels around so fast my vision blurs.
“What?”
Not the most intelligent response, but that's all I got.
“Griff’s not my boyfriend.”
I process this as she looks up at me.
Fuck. Why is she telling me this?
“Sure looked like it.”
Her smile turns into a grin. A cute as hell one.
“Oh, because he hugged me.”
This news that she’s not in fact Griff’s girlfriend is the worst news I’ve heard all night. Maybe ever. When she was his girl that was one thing.
Now she’s not.
Now she’s a twenty-something with a gorgeous face, a smoking body, and a weird, idiotic bravery that made her save my life.
Yeah, I’m in deep here.
Take that back. I’m drowning when she laughs.
The sound is pure as metal tapping on a crystal glass.
I inhale abruptly.
I exhale slowly.
Pray to wake up from this weird, fucked up dream.
The woman was almost kidnapped, had to save my ass by vehicular sacrifice, and her coworker looks like he’s about to step on death’s doorstep…yet she’s able to laugh.
That’s grit.
My dick likes that way too much.
Goddammit.
I force myself to look away with a violent jerk of my head—shove aside a couple of boxes with too much force—silently ripping myself a new asshole.
Finally, I spot the case that the metal saw is stored in. Thank fuck . I grab it and flip open the latch so hard the hinge breaks. Like I’m about to.
I’ve got the hots for the girl that works for my…frenemy? And I’m exactly the kind of man that would shatter that sweet smile and leave her in tatters.
There’s never been a time when a man needs to tear some shit up more than right now.