Chapter 6 Daniel #2
"I can handle that," she says, her chin tipping up. "I can do that in my sleep."
"Good." I push a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Because if you try entering the building, I will tie you to the bumper."
The faintest ghost of a smile pulls at her mouth. "You’re bossy for a computer nerd."
"I’m a Tracker," I correct. "And you’re mine."
She skips the argument, leaning forward to press her forehead against mine. "Get my brother back, Daniel. Please."
"I will."
Stepping back puts necessary distance between us before I drag her down onto the mattress. The beast inside me is fed, but it paces relentlessly instead of sleeping.
"Get dressed," I command, turning back to the monitors.
"Real gear. Shane brought over a tactical bag for Bianca—his wife—to keep at the clubhouse. It’ll fit you better than those jeans."
"He keeps a spare set of gear for his wife here?"
"Shane doesn't take risks with what's his. Neither do I."
My gaze rakes over her as she shucks the leather cut, exposing the cream of her shoulders still marked by the red blossoms of my grip.
She moves with a frantic, lethal grace, stepping into the black cargo pants. The air between us is still charged, thick with the scent of my cum and her honeyed slick.
I want to drag her back to the cot and bury my cock in her pussy until the sun comes up, but the red dot on my screen is a ticking clock. I force my eyes away, the hunger a physical ache in my gut as I pivot back to the monitors.
I drop into the chair at the console. My fingers fly across the mechanical keyboard. The sharp clack of the switches provides the only necessary rhythm in the room.
Structural blueprints of the mining facility populate the screen, detailing ventilation shafts, drainage pipes, and emergency exits.
I start plotting the kill box.
Fabric rustles behind me. Kaila is changing. I keep my eyes glued to the monitors, knowing one glance will completely derail my focus. If I stop working, Kevin dies.
"Daniel?"
"Yeah."
"Thank you."
My hands freeze, hovering over the keys.
"Don't thank me yet," I say, keeping my gaze locked on the red dot representing her brother. "Thank me when the Costas bleed out in the snow."
The heavy door to the loft buzzes. The intercom crackles with Logan's deep gravel. "Tracker. You decent?"
I punch the comms button. "Define decent."
"We need you in the Chapel. Now. Austin says the perimeter sensors are tripping."
Glancing over my shoulder, I watch Kaila pull on a pair of black cargo pants and a thick thermal shirt. She completely blends into the aesthetic of the club.
Kaila’s chin lifts, a silent challenge in her eyes. She grips the obsidian stone tightly in her left hand.
"Coming down," I tell the intercom.
I grab my sidearm and tuck it into the waistband of my jeans. Opening the drawer again, I retrieve a compact Sig P365.
I cross the room and hold the weapon out to her.
"Do you know how to use this?"
She accepts the grip, drops the magazine, and checks the chamber. Clear. She racks the slide, clicking the safety off and then smoothly back on. Her practiced movements flow without hesitation.
"My dad was a Marine before hitting the bottle," she says quietly. "He taught me."
"Good."
Opening the heavy steel door of the loft lets the Clubhouse noise drift up the stairs. Boots scuff against concrete. A V-twin engine fires up in the distant garage. The sharp scent of burnt coffee rises from the common room pot.
"Stay behind me," I instruct.
"Always."
We step out onto the metal catwalk. Below us, the main floor of the clubhouse crawls with activity. The clock reads 3:00 a.m., but the Halos completely bypass sleep when a threat hits the radar.
Shane clears an AR-15 on the green felt of the pool table. Across the room, Blake sharpens a blade resembling a short sword, while Austin barks low, rapid commands into a handheld radio.
The commotion ceases the second we appear. Every eye in the room snaps up, landing dead-center on Kaila.
She goes completely rigid, shifting her weight closer to my back.
Gripping the metal railing, I lean over the edge. My gaze sweeps the scattered men, projecting a silent dare for anyone to utter a single word or look at her the wrong way.
"Eyes front," I bark.
Shane flashes a reckless, dangerous grin that guarantees incoming trouble. "Well, well. The Ghost found a body."
"Stow it, Sergeant," I snap. "We have a location on the Costa hideout."
Total silence drops over the floor. The playful energy evaporates entirely, making way for the cold, hard focus of a predator pack.
Logan emerges from his office. He looks at me, then up at the catwalk. His gaze tracks the heavy leather cut draped securely over Kaila's shoulders and the protective stance I've taken right in front of her.
Logan grunts, his jaw setting as he absorbs the intel.
"Bring the map, Tracker," Logan says. "Let’s go hunting."
Looking back at Kaila, I check her expression. "Ready?"
She squeezes the obsidian hidden in her pocket. "Ready."
We descend the stairs into the war.