Chapter Eleven
brONCO
Camille.
Her name is on my tongue as my eyes crack open. Bright light floods my vision, sharp and biting. I squeeze them closed, tasting blood as I do. My ears are ringing so loud, all other noise is drowned out, including my groans of pain.
Fuck.
I force myself upright, gritting my teeth when the world swims around me.
Frost.
If he hurt her... if she’s dead...
I clench my fist, fighting through the agony as I push to my feet.
He dies. They all do.
Every. Fucking. One.
I check my watch and swear. I’ve been out for nearly forty minutes. That’s a hell of a head start.
I step over the dead thug and clear away glass until I find my gun. Check the clip.
Seven rounds left plus the extra magazine. Not enough.
My phone is half a dozen feet in the other direction. The screen is cracked, but it works.
I bring up the GPS app for Camille’s tracker. Blood smears on the glass, obstructing the map. I scrub it clean with the edge of my shirt and blink to make the image come into focus. Her little blue dot is on the move. They’re headed north.
I stumble to the bathroom and grab a towel to stop the flow of blood from my temple and dial Gray.
“King,” he answers. “Just got word from Whitaker.”
“We’re fired,” I respond. “I know.”
He’s silent a beat. “Tell me.”
“Frost took her. He brought at least six.”
“How many are dead?”
“One. Wasn’t me.” Though not for lack of trying. “Frost shot his own man.”
He blows out a hard breath. The phone shifts and he says, “Mae. Bring up Camille’s GPS location.”
I hear a muffled female voice.
“He’s not taking her back to Midland,” Gray says to me.
I pull the phone away long enough to put him on speakerphone and check the new location. “They left the interstate headed northwest. There’s not much out that way.”
“We didn’t turn up any properties he owns out there. Maybe a safe house?”
I search the map, putting myself in Frost’s head. He’s dead set on marrying Camille. Though whether it’s for reasons other than obsession, I can’t say. He knows I’ll be coming for him. I’ll find a safe house, eventually. Would it be in time?
Maybe.
His other option is... “An old air strip.” There’s one thirty miles north of their current location.
“I’ll send backup.”
“Move fast. I’m not waiting.”
Gray swears. “Be smart, King. You’re risking your life going alone.”
“More than that,” I tell him. My career. My life. Things I used to think were important. I pause half a beat, because this needs to be said. I might not get another chance. “Thanks for taking me on, Calhoun. You saved my life.”
I disconnect the call.
Splashing some water on my face clears my eyes and head enough to think straight. I grab my leather jacket off the hook and head for the garage out back. The door rolls open under my hand.
I grab my helmet, then pull my phone out. There’s one more person I need to contact.
I type out a fast message.
Bronco: She’s gone.
Dallas: Where?
I send my brother the tracking link. My thumb hovers over the on-screen keyboard. Then...
Bronco: I did everything right. I followed my gut, and it still went to hell. It’s Afghanistan all over again.
Dallas: No, it isn’t. It’s not a fucking ice pond either. You’re not responsible.
My heart clenches so tight, my chest aches.
Bronco: I can’t lose her.
Dallas: Then don’t spiral. She needs you.
Dallas: So do I. I’m coming.
I swing a leg over my Ducati Multistrada, the engine snarling to life beneath me. Helmet strapped on, I rev the engine, kick into first and rip down the road after my woman.