CHAPTER 38
JAGGER
Iinhaled the smell of gun oil, fresh-cut plywood, and the dry desert dust that always seeped through the warehouse cracks no matter how tight we kept the doors.
Men moved quickly under the fluorescent lights, sealing weapons into foam-lined cases and sliding them into eighteen-wheelers that would be gone before the sun came up.
There had been too many close calls with the Irish lately, so Cruz and I were personally making sure these made it onto the trucks.
Vegas glittered miles away, but out here on the outskirts, the desert swallowed the noise of the city until the only sounds left were metal on concrete and the pop of nail guns sealing crates.
I stood at the center table, watching a case of rifles get locked down.
Across from me, Cruz leaned against a steel beam, lazily flipping a knife open and closed while he supervised the loading crew.
“You know,” he said after a moment, glancing around the warehouse as he picked up a clipboard and started checking things off a list, “when I imagined my adult life, I didn’t picture this many spreadsheets.”
I didn’t bother looking up. “You’re welcome to go back to investment banking.”
He considered it thoughtfully.
“Tempting,” he admitted, “but then I’d have to die of boredom instead of because I got shot or poisoned, and we can’t have that.”
A forklift carrying a pallet of ammunition crates rumbled past us, and I sighed. We were slightly behind, and I just wanted to get back to Eden.
The thought had barely finished forming before the side door burst open.
Gage stumbled through, one hand clamped to his side where blood was soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the concrete in fat, dark drops. His other hand was still gripping a Glock.
“They’re coming,” he groaned. He took two more steps, and then his knees buckled. The gun clattered to the floor as he hit the concrete hard, unconscious before he even finished falling.
The warehouse froze for half a second.
Cruz moved first, running over and dropping to one knee beside Gage as he pressed fingers to his neck. “His pulse is thready—he’s bleeding out!”
He jumped up and began to yell something to the crew, but I couldn’t focus.
For one of the first times in my life . . . I was feeling fear.
Because suddenly every guard I’d stationed at the casino didn’t feel like enough.
Not nearly enough.
“Zachary!” I yelled, and he appeared almost immediately from the shadows near the back exit.
“Get to the penthouse,” I ordered. “Protect her. No one gets near her. No one. You understand?”
Zachary nodded once. “Yes, sir.”
“Go. Now.”
He didn’t hesitate. He scooped Gage’s Glock off the floor, checked the chamber, and sprinted for the side door.
The crew was scattering, some grabbing rifles from the open crates, some heading for defensive positions. Cruz was pulling a weapon from the nearest pallet and checking the mag.
I knelt by Gage, ripped my shirtsleeve off, and pressed the fabric hard against the wound. Blood soaked through instantly. “Stay with me, buddy,” I muttered. “You don’t get to bleed out in our fucking warehouse.”
Cruz crouched on the other side, applying pressure with both hands. “He’s losing too much. We need to move him.”
Shouts erupted outside as boots pounded across the gravel. Car doors slammed, and engines roared to life. A heartbeat later, gunfire split the night, sharp bursts tearing through the metal siding.
The crew returned fire immediately. Bullets whined overhead, sparking off steel beams and ricocheting against concrete.
Dragging Gage behind a stack of pallets, I propped him against the wood. Cruz handed me a rifle, and I checked the mag, racked a round, and rose just as the main loading doors exploded inward.
Men poured through in black tactical gear, their rifles up, moving with disciplined efficiency. Irish accents barked orders over the gunfire.
And then Declan stepped into the light.
The same Declan I’d warned away in the high roller room the night I met Eden. Same cold eyes, same crooked smile, same arrogance that had made me want to put a bullet in him right then and there.
He raised a hand, and his men stopped shooting. The warehouse fell into an eerie, ringing quiet broken only by the groan of settling metal and Gage’s shallow breathing.
Declan spread his arms like he was greeting old friends. “Evening, lads,” he called. “Nice night for a bit of business.”
Cruz stepped forward beside me, his rifle trained on Declan’s chest. I flanked him, my finger resting lightly on the trigger. I lifted my gun slightly. “You should’ve listened the last time we spoke.”
Declan smirked. “I’ve never been too good at that,” he said.
“Is this where he explains the master plan?” Cruz asked mildly. “Because I hate exposition.”
Declan laughed. “We’re not here just to chat, boys.
We’re here to end you. But we’re not going to kill you quickly.
No. We’re saving that for after we’ve got Thatcher’s pretty little girlfriend.
Thought I’d stop by and let you know the plan.
Fair warning, yeah? She’ll be screaming your name while we carve pieces off her.
Slowly. So you can hear every second of it before we finish you. ”
My blood turned to ice, then to fire so hot it scorched every thought.
Cruz’s jaw locked beside me. “We’re going to kill you, Declan. No matter what, I’m going to personally cut off your dick and shove it down your throat. I hope you’re ready for that.”
Declan’s face fell slightly. Anyone who’d heard anything about Cruz knew that he didn’t make idle threats.
I wasn’t sure at the moment how he was going to pull this one off, but I wasn’t going to bet against him. I just hoped he had a good plan.
I had to get back to Eden.
“Big words, Vale.” Declan smirked. “But you’re outnumbered.
And we’re already moving. By the time I kill you—she’ll be ours.
And Jagger will get to watch the videos.
Every cut. Every scream. Every time she begs for you.
Then we’ll put a bullet in both of your heads while she’s still screaming your names. ”
He nodded to his men, and they opened fire.
Cruz and I dove behind the pallets. Bullets chewed through the wood, sparking off the metal and filling the air with the acrid stink of spent rounds. We returned fire—two quick bursts from me, three from Cruz—dropping the first three men inching toward us in sprays of red.
We moved, cover to cover, picking them off while trying to buy time we didn’t have.
But there were too many.
A round clipped the top of my shoulder, and I grunted as pain burned through me and blood began soaking my shirt. Gritting my teeth, I kept firing.
Cruz took a hit to his vest and went down, cursing for a second before rolling to new cover.
I emptied the rifle into the nearest group creeping down one of the aisles, dropping two more before the bolt locked back. A gun cracked somewhere behind me, and I whirled around . . . but I was too late.
Something smashed into the side of my head hard enough to make the floor tilt sideways.
I dropped to my knees as Declan stepped into view, smiling down at me. “Nighty night, lad. I’ll tell your girl you did your best.”
The last thing I saw before the dark rushed in was his boot coming toward my face.
And the only thought in my head was Eden.
I’m sorry, I whispered.
I’m so fucking sorry for what’s about to happen to you.
Eden
The television murmured quietly in the background, some afternoon talk show host laughing a little too brightly at a joke that didn’t land.
I wasn’t really watching it. The remote rested loosely in my hand while I sat curled into the corner of the couch, my legs tucked under me as I stared toward the screen without actually seeing it.
My shift started in an hour . . . and it was my last one.
For the past few weeks, every time I’d walked onto the casino floor, I’d felt dread, and I’d finally gotten the courage to take the leap and be done.
One more shift. One last night in this uniform, weaving between tables and pretending I didn’t hear the comments men tossed after me.
For the first time in my life, I had someone I could trust to catch me when I jumped.
The future finally felt like something I could actually shape instead of something I had to endure, and I’d already signed up for some online college classes.
I was so fucking ready.
The audience laughed again, and I sighed, wishing Jagger wasn’t in a meeting across town with investors . . . even though it felt ridiculous how much I missed him.
As if the universe had read my mind, the elevator chimed, and I glanced up automatically, a small smile already tugging at my mouth. Jagger had a habit of showing up earlier than expected . . . because he always missed me, too.
But when the doors slid open, it wasn’t him. It was Zachary.
He stepped out quickly, the doors whispering closed behind him, and something about the way he moved made the smile fade from my face almost immediately. Zachary was always calm and composed. He had always seemed like the kind of man nothing in the world could surprise.
But right now he looked tense.
His gaze swept the room quickly before settling on me.
“Miss Thorne,” he said.
The way he said it made my stomach tighten.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, pushing myself upright on the couch.
He crossed the room in a few quick strides. “Mr. Thatcher sent me,” he said quietly.
The words did nothing to calm the unease creeping through me.
“Why?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
Zachary glanced toward the elevator again, his jaw tightening slightly like he was listening for something. “Someone is going to be here in a moment,” he said.
The dread that had been simmering in my chest suddenly flared into something much sharper.
“And?” I asked.
He looked back at me, and there was something grim in his eyes that made my throat tighten. “And it’s going to be bad.”
My fingers curled into the couch cushion beside me. “What does that mean?” I whispered.