CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
I dart out of his reach and slip around the side of the building, sashaying toward the bikers standing guard.
Lord, please let this work.
Pasting on my best flirty smile, I swish my hips from side to side as I approach.
Tom, Dick, and Harry straighten up when they see me, their eyes immediately dropping to my chest.
Perfect.
“Hey, boys,” I purr, stopping in front of the bigger of the three and trailing a red-painted nail down his chest. “I think I’m lost. Can you help me?”
The taller one—his patch reads Dog—wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “Lost, huh? Well, maybe we can help you find what you’re looking for.”
His breath smells like cigarettes and cheap beer.
I lean closer, crooking a finger at the other two. “Why don’t you boys come closer? I don’t bite. Much.”
The shorter of the two, Hook, according to his patch, grins, stepping toward us.
My eyes drop to the third man’s cut.
Bull.
It takes all my control not to roll my eyes at the scrawny dude.
He eyes me for a second before finally deciding he’s not going to be left out.
Men.
Always led by their fucking dicks.
When he’s finally close enough, I strike.
I slam their heads together with all my strength, and they both stumble back in surprise. Yeah, assholes. That just happened.
Dropping to my knees, I whip out the knives tucked inside my boot.
Dog is standing frozen on the spot, his mouth hanging open as he tries to process what the fuck just happened. Before he can connect the dots that this isn’t about to be some kind of gang bang, I shove my knife in his belly and gut him like a fish.
His mouth opens and closes, blood bubbling between his lips as he looks down at his stomach split up the seams.
Moving on pure fucking adrenaline, I spin around quickly and rise, slashing my knives across the Dog and Bull’s throats in one clean swoop.
Blood sprays out in an arc, hot and sticky, across my face and chest.
Both men fall to the ground with heavy thuds.
My breaths are coming out in ragged pants, my chest heaving.
“Shit.”
“You good?” Tacoma asks, materializing beside me.
I glance over as Journey, Gator, and Bash grab hold of the three dead men and drag them to the side of the building out of sight.
I swipe at the blood on my cheek. “Yeah. Where are my guns?”
Bane hands me the backpack, and I slip it on. Tacoma hands me my weapons, looking at me like he wants to jump my bones right here and now.
I lick my lips, tasting copper, and his eyes drop to my mouth.
“You need to wait by your bike,” he says, his voice strained. “We’ll handle it from here.”
Like fucking hell; he’s not about to sideline me.
“I’m not some fragile bitch!” I snap, shoving past him.
“Fragile?” Bane snorts, his eyes lit up with excitement. “Yeah. Like a fucking bomb.”
Shaking my head, I shove past them all and take off inside the building before any of them can stop me.
The warehouse is dark, lit only by streams of sunlight filtering through the broken windows. I move silently, my guns raised, scanning for threats.
A Sinner appears from behind a stack of crates, his gun already drawn.
I fire twice—center mass, just like Pops taught me.
He goes down.
I hear gunfire erupt behind me and know Tacoma and his men are right on my heels.
Good.
Making my way through the first floor, I take out two more Sinners who get in my way. My heart is pounding, adrenaline singing through my veins.
Where are you, Jagger?
At the back of the warehouse, I find a stairwell and take the steps two at a time to the second floor.
More gunfire echoes through the building, but I pay it no mind, knowing that Tacoma isn’t far behind me. Broken up or not, I know he won’t let anything happen to me.
Hitting the top floor, I kick open door after door, clearing rooms.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
When I get to the last door at the end of the hallway, I lift my leg and kick out as hard as I can, and it crashes open.
And there he is.
“Jagger!”
His head flies up and that’s when I see his eye is swollen shut, and blood already crusted over on his split lip.
“Cali!” he shouts back, his voice cracking.
Oh, thank fuck.
Rushing to him, I yank out the knife strapped to my leg and saw through the ropes binding his wrists.
The second he’s free, he wraps his arms around me in a crushing hug. His body is trembling.
My eyes close, and I squeeze him back. “I got you,” I murmur. “I got you, honey. You’re okay.”
Thank you, God. Thank you.
“We gotta get out of here,” I tell him, pulling back to look at his battered face.
He nods, tears welling up in his eyes as we turn to head for the door.
Out of nowhere, a Sinner appears in the doorway with his gun drawn.
He’s seething, his face red with rage. “If I can’t kill Tacoma, I’m going to take the thing he loves most.”
He aims his gun at Jagger.
I don’t think.
I just move.
I step in front of Jagger, shielding him with my body.
The world slows down.
I see the Sinner’s finger tightening on the trigger.
Then a gunshot rings out.
I close my eyes, preparing for pain, but it doesn’t come.
Opening my eyes, I watch as the Sinner falls to the ground.
Tacoma is standing behind him, his gun still raised, smoke curling from the barrel.
“We need to go,” he says, his voice tight. “Before the cops show up.”
“Wait.”
“We don’t have time,” he thunders back.
“We can’t exactly leave this place full of dead bodies, now can we?” I snap back.
Shimmying my backpack off my shoulders, I pull out a bottle of accelerant and twist off the cap.
He quirks a brow. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Burning this bitch to the ground.” I meet his eyes. “Let’s go.”
I leave a trail behind us as we head back downstairs, stepping over bodies as we go.
Once we’re outside, I dump the rest of the liquid across the floor.
Then I pull a book of matches from my bag and strike one.
The flame flares to life.
I toss it inside, and instantly the place goes up with a whoosh, flames racing across the accelerant.
“Can I just say how fucking creepy it is that you were prepared to set that motherfucker on fire,” Bane mutters as we hurry away from the building.
I shrug. “A girl needs to be ready for anything.”
Bash snorts.
“Come on!” Tacoma barks.
We hurry down the alleyway where the bikes are parked. Behind us, I can hear sirens in the distance, getting closer.
When we reach my bike, I turn to Jagger and pull him into a tight hug.
“Thank you,” he whispers against my shoulder.
My throat tightens, and I blink back tears. “You don’t have to thank me, honey. I will always be here if you need me. Always. You hear me?”
He nods, squeezing me tighter.
When we finally pull apart, my eyes connect with Tacoma’s.
He’s watching us with an expression I can’t quite read—pain, longing, regret, all mixed together.
I turn, needing to get as far away from Tacoma as I can, when he grabs my arm, stopping me.
“Angel.”