Chapter 12 Lucien
Lucien
I can’t believe she was going to run this mission without me.
I mean, I can. Of course she was. This girl never does anything with a partner, if she can help it. Or at least that’s how she was once. She may have changed. The way she’s glaring at me for having caught her tends to contradict that, though.
Well, if she thought I was going to leave her alone to fight off who knows how many bad guys on her own, while trying to save a girl, she has another thing coming.
I didn’t bring her back to New Orleans just to let her get killed by some two-bit drug-runner-turned-human-trafficker.
I have important plans that require her being alive.
And I’d never forgive myself if she got hurt doing something she should have left to me.
I spent years not forgiving myself for having let her go in the first place.
I still remember the night she ran, and the hollow, stormy place she left inside me.
I couldn’t see or think straight, and I sure as hell couldn’t come up with a plan.
I knew she wouldn’t have left unless she wanted to, which meant she’d chosen to do it the way she had.
Without me.
I hadn’t been willing to face the humiliation of charging after her.
I didn’t chase women, and I sure as hell didn’t go after girls who chose to leave me.
So I never asked Camille where she’d gone.
I didn’t ask her father or Beau, and I cut off all forms of contact with her.
Deleted her number. Erased her email addresses. Tried to erase her face from my mind.
And then I dove into New Orleans like a man possessed, trying to erase the memory of ever having loved her.
I couldn’t do it. No matter how many glasses of gin I drank, no matter how much whiskey I burned through, I couldn’t get her out of my head. And every other girl felt like lukewarm jello compared to Brooks, who was fire molded into a girl so beautiful it hurt your eyes to look at her.
I should have gone after her. And my subconscious never let me forget about it.
It was why I’d agreed to help her with her war in New York. That wasn’t chivalry, because I was no fucking white night.
I’d wanted to assuage the guilt I’d carried since I let her go.
Though if I’m being honest with myself, I know I also wanted to be the man who finally saved her and made her stay.
Perhaps I’m more of a white knight than I realized.
All of which leads me back to the girl who is yet again getting herself into trouble without a plan for how to get back out again. Only this time, I’m not going to just stand by and watch it happen.
I glance up in time to see her eyes suddenly move from me to the parking lot behind me, and spin around to see two vans pulling in, their tires squealing and their drivers running over both curbs and small trees in their rush.
They’re spinning through the rain like the devil himself is after them, and I don’t have to think twice to know they’re doing something illegal.
Like kidnapping a girl.
Right. Time to play, then.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, dropping back into the shadows next to her. They’ll see my car if they’re looking, but we’re in a parking lot and I hope they won’t think anything of it. We’re sure to be outnumbered, and I don’t want them discovering us any quicker than they have to.
She pulls her gun up and checks the magazine, the movements so smooth I wonder how many times she’s practiced them, then turns to look at me, a knife between her teeth and a locked and loaded gun in her hand.
“You look like a fucking pirate,” I breathe.
More than that; she looks unbelievably sexy, her hair tousled and flying around her face and murder in her eyes.
The knife is over the top, but the thought of her in some skimpy pirate wench outfit, the skirt too short and the top too tight, is making my cock twitch.
“You should talk,” she snorts. “All you need is an eye patch and a parrot. You’ve already got the cane.”
I move closer, feeling the heat of her against me, and let my lips travel to her ear. “And here I thought you didn’t like my cane.”
Goose bumps travel down her neck and across her jaw and I have to fight to keep from licking her.
I want to taste the flesh right here, in this soft spot beneath her ear.
One of the only soft spots she allows. I happen to know how ticklish she is right there, and how she gasps when you touch her right.
Devils, she must hate that I know that.
It brings a sly, curving grin to my face, and I lean a bit closer and let myself taste her. Just for a second.
She jerks away and stares at me like I’m insane. “Did you just lick me? We’re about to start a gunfight and you thought you needed to remember what I taste like?”
“Oh love, I remember exactly how you taste. I’m just waiting for you to remember how much you liked it when I played that game.”
Her face goes cold so suddenly that I miss the moment it changes.
“Are you going to help me or what? Because if you’re not, then I suggest you get the hell out of my way.”
She literally elbows me to the side, then pulls up her gun and runs forward, already shooting. I stare after her for a beat, trying to understand what she’s doing, then take off after her, my cane tucked under my arm and two guns in my hands.
I guess we’re not discussing a plan, then.
Typical Brooks.
***
The fight is quick and intense. Brooks kills the first two guys out of the first van, then spins and takes cover behind it, her eyes on the other van and the men getting out of it.
They have guns in their hands and are already firing, and I slide to a stop next to my girl and try to fucking think.
We don’t know if anyone else is in the van we’re hiding behind, or whether they even have the girl we evidently came for, and which van she might be in.
If they have her, shooting in at either van could go all sorts of wrong.
The last thing we want to do is kill her while we’re trying to rescue her.
We also don’t want to kill all the men–not if we’re going to try to kidnap one of them and force him to talk.
Though I don’t know whether Brooks even remembers that she wanted to do that. She spins and takes two more shots, then comes back and reloads.
“Do you actually need me here at all?” I ask, half amused and half annoyed. I haven’t gotten a shot off yet and she’s already killed most of the guys.
She huffs. “Are you actually going to make yourself useful? Or just sit here and watch?”
This girl.
I hurl myself over her and roll when I hit the ground, coming up with my gun in front of me and taking out the first guy I see, then jump to my feet and run for the van, intent on finding the girl we’re here for.
When I slide the door open, though, the inside is empty, and I stare at it for a moment, confused and off balance.
Where’s the girl we’re rescuing?
Moments later I hear voices, and look up to see several girls stumbling out of the door that leads into the catacombs. They’re dressed to the nines and wearing something sparkly over their faces, their hair long and curled, and I can tell from here that they’ve had far too much to drink.
I look from them to Brooks to find her eyes wide, and know she’s coming to the same conclusion I am. They didn’t have the girl, yet. They were coming to get her.
Seconds after that, another van comes screeching into the parking lot, and I don’t have to look at it to know what’s going on.
The first two were either decoys or padding, and though we killed the guys driving them, we’re not out of the woods, yet.
Brooks and I both move at the same time, racing for the girls that just came through the door.
She’s shorter than I am, but she’s sprinting like her life depends on it, her strides matching mine.
Almost like we were somehow born to run together.
I push that ridiculous thought out of my head and skid to a stop in front of the girls, who now look terrified.
“Sophia?” Brooks blurts out. “Sophia Wimbley?”
One of the girls looks at her, the terror on her face growing even deeper. “Yes. Why?” Her drawl is casual, her voice well-bred and highly educated.
Not from the mafia, then. This is one of the socialites. And I’m guessing that if Brooks knows her name, it means she was the mark tonight.
“Terrific,” Brooks says, and suddenly she’s a completely different person.
She’s not the girl who was just shooting to kill, intent on protecting this girl with her life if she needed to.
She’s the girl’s best friend. The one you see arm-in-arm with her friends at the mall, laughing and making eyes at the guys across the way.
The transformation is so quick, so complete, that I do a double take, trying to figure out how she did it.
“Oh my God, thank God I found you,” Brooks is babbling. “The thing is, we have a sort of situation here, and your dad doesn’t want you to get involved. He says you’ve got something delicate coming up and need to maintain your reputation?”
“My wedding,” the girl stammers. “I’m getting married to–”
Brooks grabs her and turns her the other way. “Exactly! He sent me to make sure nothing happened to destroy that, but we’ve run into some trouble. I’m thinking it’s best if you get out of here. Can’t have you getting shot right before your wedding.”
“Oh, okay. What’s your name again?”
“Sloane,” Brooks says without skipping a beat. “Sloane Brennan. You can tell your dad I was here taking care of you. Go find a taxi and get home, hm? And take your friends with you.”
The girl doesn’t have a chance to answer before the other van skids to a halt.
Brooks and I turn and start firing, and for all I know the girl and her friend disappear into thin air.
I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m too busy trying to figure out how I’m going to get Brooks and myself out of this alive.