Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Quel désastre. Outside the so-called “party” house, Drake watched as the dark shadow of his car sped down the street into the night. His mouth tightened.
A few minutes ago, they’d silently broken through the window into the bedroom and found Marisol. The girl had been stuporous until they moved her, then she turned into a wildcat. A half-conscious one. She’d finally quieted when they got her outside, and she saw and heard Rona.
So Simon had driven the car with Rona to take her to the ER. The hospital wasn’t far, and Simon would drop them off and return immediately.
Alex and Bear were still stuck in traffic.
At the moment, Ray’s rescue party consisted of Drake by himself.
He eased around the side of the house toward a front window. His knee hit something hard. Merde. Ah, he’d run into a thigh-high, concrete garden gnome set in a weed-filled flowerbed.
At least it wasn’t a guard dog.
He glanced at the front door. Ray was in there, and everything inside him demanded he act. Maybe he should pound on the door and demand they send her out.
Chance of success? Slim. If Blaize saw him, he’d know Drake would do everything possible to have them all arrested.
According to the members they’d interviewed, there would be at least five or more men inside. Drake was a competent fighter, oui, but he wasn’t a superman.
Would the bastards kill to keep from getting caught? Kill Ray?
He couldn’t take the chance. It would be best to wait until Alex and Bear arrived, and he could get her out safely.
Leaning his head against the window, he tried to understand what was going on inside.
There were several voices—all male. The sound of Ray’s voice lifted his heart. She was there. Alive. Able to speak. She sounded calm.
A man shouted, sounding pissed off. Had they discovered Marisol was gone? More shouting—and the words, “The bitch drugged their drinks.”
Clever, sneaky woman. He grinned, then fear crawled into his gut. Obviously, not all of them were drugged. This wouldn’t end well.
Shouting erupted inside. A scream.
Merde. Drake flung the garden gnome through the window. Glass shattered, the sound drowned out by yelling. He jumped through the window and tripped over a bearded man out cold on the floor.
In the center of the room, two couches and several chairs made a large circular sitting area. Blaize and three men stood inside the circle. A blond man sprawled on one couch, eyes half-closed, oblivious to the noise.
Four bastards to fight, no…five. Across the room, an over-muscled man shoved a bondage table out of his way to get at Ray.
Before Drake could move, she turned to face Muscles-On-Steroids and, with a smooth sidestep, grabbed his leading arm, spun, and flung him into the wall.
He hit hard, staggered, and fell. Scrambled to his feet. “Stinking cunt, you’re going to die for that.”
Ray had already run, and at the front door was struggling to turn the deadbolt. “Out, out, out, gotta get out.”
Blaize yelled, “Get her!”
Yelling, three of the men from the center of the room ran toward her.
Drake charged in to intercept them.
One noticed. “Fuck! Intruder!” The motherfucker was at least six-three and the size of a truck. He turned and swung at Drake. Another with tats joined him.
The other man, shaved bald, kept going toward Ray.
Frantic to keep her from getting hurt, Drake punched the motherfucker who staggered back with a shout of pain.
The man with tattoo sleeves lunged.
Moving offline, Drake snapped a sidekick into the man’s ribs. Felt them break.
Turning, he checked Ray.
Turn, you stupid deadbolt! Footsteps pounded closer. No! Ray whirled. Conan was almost on her. Her punch to his gut wasn’t the strongest, then she powered up from her hips, shooting out her palm straight to his nose. He made a squeaking sound, stopping short, eyes wide.
And legs apart.
Total invitation, right? Her foot came up fast, kicking him between the legs so hard she felt his testicles flatten. He collapsed, hands between his legs, puking.
“Fucking slut.” Like a football player, Blaize charged in and crushed her against the wall with his heavy body. Her head thumped the wood.
One hand on her throat, choking her, he pulled back, his other hand raised.
Can’t breathe. Her head spun from knocking into the wall, from lack of air. Then muscle memory kicked in from Tomo’s lessons. Twisting, she struck at the inside of his wrist with all her might, bashing his hand away from her throat.
His weight unbalanced, he leaned forward to catch himself.
She completed her turn with an elbow strike to the side of his head, then another strike, even harder. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she rammed his head into the wall. His legs started to give.
“Don’t let your attacker recover. It’s called insurance.” Tomo’s voice sounded in her head.
Insurance. She kicked the side of his knee so hard it made a crunching sound. “Fuck you, Blaize.”
Knees weren’t meant to bend sideways. He let out a high-pitched scream. And dropped.
“And fuck the horse you rode in on.”
Halfway across the room to her, Drake stopped, stared, and nodded. Two down. Ms. Lanigan has fine moves.
“You bitch! Eat lead.” Muscles-On-Steroids stood near the bookshelves. He pointed a pistol at Ray.
Non! Drake dove at Ray, taking her down. Even as the gun fired loudly, they were sliding over the wood floor, ending behind the couch. Concealment but not protection.
The pistol sounded again.
The bullet went through the couch. He felt the thud against his arm. A second later, burning pain fire tore across his deltoid. Merde. He clenched his jaw.
“Drake. You’re here.” She stared at him with wide eyes. Then obviously recalled the shooter. Scowling, she started to pull her feet under her. Probably planning to jump out.
Bad plan. The man was too far away—and had good aim.
“Diversion, first,” Drake whispered. He needed… There, a big pillow lay on the floor beside them. “Throw that at the far wall when I say.”
“Stand up and get over here, or I’ll fill you full of holes,” Muscles bellowed.
“What the fuck! Watch where you’re aiming,” one of the assholes yelled.
Drake edged to the other side of the couch and eyed the small wooden end table. He crouched. “Now.”
Ray grabbed the cushion. No argument, no crying. She flung the pillow, hard and fast.
It flew across the room. A shooter would instinctively track any moving object with their pistol.
Springing to his feet, Drake hauled up the end table and threw it at the man.
It slammed into the shooter’s chest, knocking him back into the bookshelves.
Charging, Drake tackled him before he could fire again. They hit the floor, Drake on top. Rolling off, on hands and knees, Drake back-kicked the man in the head.
The bastard’s eyes rolled up, and he went limp.
One kick, one knock-out. Bon. He stood and used his foot to sweep the pistol under the couch. Three men down. But he hadn’t incapacitated the two who’d attacked when he came in.
And even as he thought it, a blow across his back drove him to his knees.
“No!” Ray saw Drake fall, and panic hit. She sprinted across the room, and suddenly the tattooed sadist stepped in front of her. Before she could react, he backhanded her to the floor.
Pain seared along her jaw. Gods, she was already dizzy from hitting the wall, now her head really spun. Don’t throw up. Need to stand. Need.
“Hey, tats. Try me instead.” Was the smooth voice Simon’s? He stepped between her and the sadist.
Then there was a grunt, another. Blood splattered across the floor.
A body hit the floor near her. Bare chest, tattooed arms. The sadist.
Blinking tear-filled eyes, she managed to look up.
Simon winked at her and turned to survey the room.
The front door slammed open with a crashing sound. Bear and Alex piled in.
Across the room, Drake had regained his feet, even as Savage swung the chair at him again. Drake sidestepped, then grinned. “Here, mon ami, a toy for you.” He shoved the gorilla-sized man toward Alex
“Thanks.” With a cold laugh, Alex punched Savage in the gut and followed with a right hook.
The huge man hit the floor and didn’t move.
Ray pulled in a breath. Her head had stopped spinning. Drake was all right. The others were here.
A yelp made her jump and look toward the front door.
“Stay down, asshole.” Crowbar raised, Bear stood over Conan whose shaved head now had a bleeding welt.
Drake knelt beside her. “Ma chérie, where are you hurt?” He had her shirt in his hand.
And suddenly, there was nothing more she wanted than to have it on. To not be half-naked in this…this place. She frantically pulled it on. And heaved a sigh. “Thank you. It—I needed clothes.”
“But of course.” Then his eyes darkened. He gently tilted her chin, his gaze on her very-sore jaw. “I will kill him.”
“Okay.” When he started to rise, she grabbed his arm. “No, wait.” I don’t think my brain is working quite right yet. “No killing. Maybe…a hug instead? For me, not him.”
“Zut. That I can do.” After a quick glance at the room, he sat down and wrapped his strong arms around her. “For me, I badly need to hold you. This—this was far too close.”
Hearing his unspoken words—you almost died—she started to shake. She had—and so had he. Far, far too close.
She melted into his embrace, his hard, solid body against hers, his arms iron bands around her. Safe. I’m safe. And along with the relief was surprise.
Because, this time, she’d been saved. Drake had come for her. So had the others.
The men who’d assaulted her that night weren’t all powerful. They weren’t. She’d fought back. And others had come to help.
We won.
“I was so scared,” she whispered, pressing her face against his neck. “I saw the traffic accident behind us. I didn’t think you’d make it out. Not in time.
“We were terrified for you.” He ran his hands up and down her back, soothing her.
“Hell, got a runner!” Bear yelled.
Ray twisted and saw the tattooed sadist dash through the kitchen to…a back door? “Oh no, he’ll get away.”