Chapter 18 #2
Marcus came closer, stepping over debris and pottery shards in the mess he’d made of Cheyenne’s sprawling studio.
“What the—how are—” He shook himself, the shock giving way to—oh, what a surprise!
—more fury. His gaze locked on Cole, and a disgusted sneer twisted his lips.
“My God, Cole. You were always such a snob about thrifting and upcycling. But then here you come with another man’s sloppy seconds.
” He huffed an ugly laugh. “How the mighty have fallen.”
Swallowing past the bile rising in his throat, Cole growled, “I mean, maybe if you got the job done, no one would need—”
A fist to his gut doubled him over and shut him up.
Okay. Okay. Bad strategy. Bad idea. Instead of taking his ex’s bait, he needed to get himself free and get to Will.
The lack of movement or noise had his worry intensifying by the second; Will wasn’t even that still or quiet when he was sleeping.
He could be unconscious. Severely injured.
Worse. Much worse. Cole needed to help Will and signal their backup that shit had gone south.
He squirmed against the men holding on to him, and Goon #2 dug his fingers in even harder, driving a cry of pain out of Cole.
“Easy, Bill,” Marcus said, chuckling. “Let’s not break him.” His expression darkened again. “I still need him to show me to the Puffin.”
“I don’t—” Maybe that was the wrong play here, telling Marcus he didn’t have it.
Maybe what he needed to do was bluff. Get Marcus to believe he was about to get what he wanted.
It was better than any other thought he had, so he went with it.
Sighing with exaggerated resignation, he met his ex-boyfriend’s glower.
“Fine. Fine. Just…” He tipped his head to where he’d seen Will.
“Get him some medical help.” He nodded at Cheyenne.
“Let her go. And let me go. Then it’s all yours. ”
Marcus studied him, and God, Cole knew him.
He knew that look. He’d thought Marcus had the actual Puffin, but he could see the desperation in Marcus’s eyes.
The asshole didn’t have the stupid little sculpture—he needed it.
Whether for his own purposes or because he’d promised it to someone else—maybe Alders thought he had it?
—Cole couldn’t say, but Marcus was desperate, which gave Cole the advantage.
He kept his cards close. “Those are my terms. You want the Puffin?” He shrugged as much as Goon #1 and #2’s grips allowed.
Marcus’s lips thinned into a nearly invisible line—a tell that he was nearing the end of his patience. “Why were you getting a counterfeit made if you have the real thing?”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Why were you chasing us all over the goddamned place if you don’t think we have it?”
“I do think you have it.” Marcus gestured at Cheyenne, who was trembling in the shadow of Unnamed Goon #3, who’d entered the studio at some point. “What I want to know is why you were procuring a fake?”
“To sell. Obviously.”
Marcus crossed his arms. “To whom?”
Cole shrugged. “eBay?”
His ex rolled his eyes. “Don’t fuck with me, Cole. Do you have a buyer lined up? Who are you trying to scam?”
“Wouldn’t you like—”
Right then, something sailed through Cole’s peripheral vision, and he had just enough time to recognize the flying—and flaming—bottle before it smashed into something.
And then all hell broke loose.
Something was on fire—not ideal in a loft full of chemicals, for fuck’s sake.
People were shouting. The Goon twins released Cole as they turned their attention toward whoever was throwing Molotov cocktails.
Gunshots rang out, instantly leaving Cole’s ears stuffed with cotton.
He scrambled for some kind of cover; overturning a table and ducking behind it worked.
Once he had a momentary bunker, he looked around, trying to orient himself and remember where Will had gone down.
Unsurprisingly, though, given the chemicals Cheyenne kept in here, it didn’t take long for something to explode.
Cole ducked, keeping his head down as fire raged through the warehouse.
Through the cotton in his ears, he heard Marcus scream for his men to “Get out! Get out!” and there was no more gunfire.
Made sense—Marcus was a lot of things, but someone who’d let himself burn alive in a place like this was not one of them.
And in this instance, he had the right idea. Puffins and treachery could wait—time to get the hell out of here.
Just as Cole was getting to his feet, though, Jansen Mortimer appeared in front of him. “Come on!” He had a gun in one hand and a cast on the other, which explained why he wasn’t offering Cole any help. “Let’s go!”
How the fuck—they must’ve heard the commotion and come on in instead of waiting for a distress signal. Turned out there was honor among thieves.
“Will!” Cole shouted, heading in the direction he was pretty sure Will had fallen. “We have—”
Jansen caught his elbow with the cast. “Vanessa’s getting to him. We have to go.”
Fine by Cole. He managed to get upright, and he hurried after Jansen.
They stayed low, sprinting across the studio-turned-warzone.
Some more shelves and workbenches had been toppled, and they hustled over them.
Jansen stumbled. Cole caught his arm, and they both paused to regain their balance. Once they did, they kept going.
As he stepped out of the debris and onto the floor, Cole landed in something slick.
His foot went out from under him, and something in his right knee moved in a way it definitely shouldn’t have.
Pain knifed through Cole’s leg, and he shouted as he went down, his other kneecap cracking on the hard floor.
He called after Jansen, but the man didn’t hear him, and a second later, he was gone.
Fuck. Cole was on his own.
He tried to stand, but the pain dropped him right back down. How the joint hadn’t literally burst into flames, he had no idea, but God, it felt like it had.
Sweat rolled down his face. The heat in the room was intensifying, and there had to be more explosive shit in here that hadn’t gone off yet. If he didn’t get to a door, he was either going to burn alive, or the toxic gases were going to kill him.
He looked around for the nearest door, wondering which one he could crawl to, and his gaze landed on the back door just in time to see Cheyenne disappearing through it… with Will hot on her heels.
Will—upright, alive, and moving on his own power.
The man in question glanced back. They made eye contact.
Something flickered across Will’s face, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t come back. He just vanished through the door after Cheyenne.
Leaving Cole here. Alone.
He shoved his emotions back; there wasn’t time to be hurt or angry. He had to find a way out of this. If nothing else, so he could hunt Will down and kick his sorry ass.
Gritting his teeth, focusing on anger over agony as much as he could, he crawled toward the nearest door. Every movement sent fresh knives down his leg. His eyes blurred from the smoke and the pain. His lungs burned from the heat and Christ knew what he was breathing in.
Somewhere, there was a loud crack. Then a crash.
He had no idea what had fallen or exploded, but the thought that it might be one of the rafters holding up the ceiling had him crawling faster.
Pain be damned, he had to get out of this place.
Except the door was miles away. He couldn’t take a deep enough breath without coughing it right back out.
And his knee… God, his knee was fucked. There was no way he was—
Someone was suddenly beside him, slinging Cole’s arm around a pair of shoulders and hauling him upright.
“Fuck!” Cole cried.
“Don’t worry, honeybee. I got you.”
Cole blinked past the heat and tears. Holy shit. “Will?”
The asshole grinned at him as he started half-dragging, half-carrying him out. “Did you think I’d leave your carcass behind?”
Cole couldn’t even manage anything snide, grateful, or whatever. He was too dizzy with relief and pain. Somehow, he managed to croak, “My knee.”
Will didn’t stop to ask which knee, or how bad, or what happened. He just shifted Cole into a fireman’s carry as if he didn’t weigh a goddamned thing.
A moment later, they were in the stairwell. It was cooler out here, and less smoky, and Cole gulped in a few grateful breaths as Will navigated the stairs with ease.
Outside, Will continued across the street, and then he was handing Cole off to other strong hands, and suddenly Cole was sitting on the pavement, leaning against a cold brick wall.
Vanessa touched his shoulder and looked him up and down. “Are you okay?”
“He said…” Will panted, then tried again, “He said something about his knee.”
Alarm flickered across Vanessa’s face. “Which knee?” She glanced at Cole’s legs. “How bad?”
Cole gestured at his right knee, but that was about all he was good for, especially when Vanessa prodded it through his jeans. He wasn’t proud of the sound he made, but it fucking hurt, damn it.
“Desiree’s getting the car,” Vanessa announced. “Then we’ll go somewhere can get a better look at this.” She glanced around them. “Fire department’s almost here, so we need to get the hell out.”
It was only then that Cole heard the approaching sirens.
“We should move now,” he croaked. “I can… If I can lean on someone…”
Vanessa and Will helped him to his feet. Then his arm was around Will’s shoulders, and he leaned hard on him as they left the scene just as flashing red lights started to break up the night.
A van picked them up half a block later, and Cole almost whined with relief as he settled inside. Will sat beside him, and he scowled as he rubbed his hip. “Goddamn. If my ass didn’t hurt before, it does now.”
Cole smothered a laugh.
Across the van, Vanessa eyed them both, then shook her head as if to say, “I don’t want to know.”
Cole was grateful Will didn’t elaborate. He was also grateful Will had saved him, and with each passing minute that passed, that gratitude deepened.
He could barely speak. His throat was wrecked and the pain was awful, but he finally managed to whisper, “You came back.”
Will turned to him. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Cole chewed his lip. Truthfully? No, he hadn’t. And he felt like shit for that because Will had given him no reason to believe he’d ever abandon him, especially not to be burned alive. In fact, he’d given him every reason to believe he’d do exactly what he did—walk through literal fire to save him.
Cole just wasn’t used to being someone people went back for.
Beside him, Will pushed out a heavy breath, one Cole immediately recognized.
Despite his parched throat, he gritted out, “That’s… That’s not what I meant. I—”
“We need to you get your leg looked at.” Will got up and moved to the front of the van, where he took the empty passenger seat beside Jansen.
Cole closed his eyes and let his head fall back.
He had a feeling his leg didn’t hurt nearly as badly as Will did right then.