Chapter 40 Brady #2
The second guard charges, knife flashing. Rhodes slams into him, tackling him into the wall. The two grapple, grunting, glass crunching under their boots. Rhodes headbutts him savagely, wrenching the knife free, and buries it in the man’s gut. The guard folds with a strangled gasp.
“Clear right!” Finn calls, weapon trained across the racks, sweeping for more threats.
Anna screams and dives behind the chair. My finger flexes on the trigger, but I can’t take the shot—she’s too close to Elizabeth.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Anna shrieks, hands in the air, voice shaking.
“No—please—don’t kill me!” Her words stumble over each other, as she panics.
Vincent moves closer, but before he is close enough to grab her, Anna surges up, and Elizabeth’s head jerks backward.
One manicured hand is wrapped in Elizabeth’s hair, the other holds a jagged piece of glass to her exposed throat.
The panic is gone from her voice replaced by a coldness. “I walk out of here, or her pretty dress is going to be ruined.”
My weapon stays trained on her.
Elizabeth still isn’t moving.
I see a slight stirring, her head moving, and Anna tightens her hold.
My heart is pounding in my ears, my entire focus on the glass hovering above Elizabeth’s vulnerable body.
Focus. I even out my breathing and don’t allow my eyes to drop to Elizabeth.
“That’s not the card you think it is,” I tell her evenly. “I already have everything I need. The necklace. It’s worth more than her life a hundred times over.”
Every ounce of me revolts at the lie. She means everything, and I don’t care if I walk out of here if she doesn’t.
Anna sneers, tugging Elizabeth’s neck to an unnatural angle. “Then I’ll kill the bitch anyway. Be done with it.”
My body tenses, but in my periphery, Finn and Rhodes are edging closer.
I force myself to shrug, even as the bitter taste of bile burns my throat. “Go ahead. We’ve already been paid. Let’s be honest. Your pockets are a hell of a lot deeper than hers.”
The woman studies me, suspicion warring with calculation in her gaze. It’s easy for her to believe I’m as corrupt as she is.
“How much for the necklace?”
“Twenty million,” I say coolly.
Her eyes narrow, but her arm relaxes, the glass inching away from Elizabeth’s neck.
“Ten.”
“Fifteen,” I counter coolly.
“For fifteen I walk out of here, and you give me the necklace.” Her eyes flash with something unholy. “If you double cross me, I’ll kill everyone you’ve ever cared about.”
I let my mouth lift in a cold smile and lower my gun. “I’m a businessman. And we’re mercenaries, after all. Our loyalty will always be to the highest bidder.”
Inside my pulse pounds hard enough to break my ribs.
Please let her buy it. Make her arrogance believe I’m this stupid.
“Deal,” she agrees, but before I can exhale a relieved breath, her expression changes. “But just so there’s no take-backs…” Her hand descends, the shard of glass glinting under the overhead lights.
Everything slows. My lungs seize as the air is punched from my lungs.
Then there’s a loud crack and Anna screams, her body lurching sideways before collapsing into a heap. Blood runs from her knee. Finn lowers his gun, while Vincent yanks her from behind the chair and shoves her toward Rhodes.
“Secure her and get her in the van.”
I’m only half-listening, having already lunged forward to crouch on one knee in front of Elizabeth. I holster my weapon and cup her face, my heart breaking when she cries out in fear.
“It’s me,” I soothe, reaching for her restraints. “Elizabeth, I’m here. I’ve got you, baby.”
Her face is pale, streaked with blood where her lip’s split. Her cheek is swelling, with one bruise forming high along the bone. The zip ties have rubbed her wrists raw, leaving angry red stains against her skin, but her fingers…
My breathing becomes fast and shallow as I push down my rage and concentrate on her. I pull a blade from my boot and slice through the plastic ties.
“Brady…” she slurs. Her head falls forward, and her body sags.
I catch her before she slips from the chair. She’s cold, trembling, and feels so slight in my arms. Her fingers twitch against my chest.
“Do you need help?” Finn asks, and I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak yet.
I lift her carefully. She gasps, a small cry escaping with the movement.
“Easy. I’ve got you, baby.” I cradle her closer, pain splintering through me. I fold her injured hand over her stomach so that I don’t bump it. “I’ve got you.”
I carry her up the stairs, through the halls, out into the night.
Sera hops out of the SUV, rushing to open the back door for me, her worried gaze examining Elizabeth.
“Is she…”
“She’ll be okay.”
I can hear Anna Lindquist trying to bargain with Vincent and Rhodes at the van. “Please don’t kill me!” Her words spill out in a rush.
“We’re not the ones you have to worry about,” Rhodes says flatly. “If your people think you talked… maybe you’ll get lucky and end up in witness protection.”
Vincent opens the van door and manhandles her into the back next to Seth.
“She’ll cooperate with the police,” Finn says dispassionately, “because if she lands in general population, she’s done for. Isn’t that right, Anna?”
“I’ll call the Blooms,” Vincent adds. “Set up something to get the necklace to the appropriate authorities.”
I don’t care.
They can handle it.
All I care about is the woman in my arms. Climbing into the back of the SUV, I settle her on my lap, cradling her to my chest.
“I’m here,” I murmur, gently pushing the sweaty hair out of her face.
Her mouth is moving, but I can’t make out the words. I lean in closer as the engine roars to life, and Sera floors it.
That’s when I hear what she’s been saying.
“I love you…”
A broken whisper on loop.
“I love you… I love you… I love you.”
“I love you, too, Firefly” I say against her skin, kissing her forehead. “God, I fucking love you so much.”
Elite’s headquarters isn’t technically a home—but it’s fortified, controlled, and ours. After what she’s just been through, I don’t want Elizabeth anywhere near fluorescent lights and questions from people who don’t understand what has happened.
Sera’s already in contact with our private medical team before we pull up. Still nestled in my arms, wrapped in a blanket someone shoved at me, I carry Elizabeth inside.
The medics meet us in the common room upstairs.
“You can put her on the couch,” one says.
“No,” I practically growl. I don’t think I’m physically capable of putting her down.
They exchange a look but don’t argue. Adjusting their set-up, they begin the assessment where we sit—me on the edge of the couch, Elizabeth draped across my lap, her head tucked against my chest.
“Is she conscious?” the lead medic asks.
Elizabeth stirs slightly, then winces. “Yes,” she croaks.
“We’re going to check your pulse and blood pressure, ma’am.”
She nods, and I stroke her hair, comforting her as much as myself.
They work methodically, checking her pupils and heartbeat and assessing her for broken bones. Her hands get the most attention—the broken fingers, purple and swollen.
“Three broken fingers,” the medic murmurs to me as he wraps and splints them. “Nothing else major. She’s lucky.”
Lucky. My jaw tightens. I look down at her face, her lashes wet against her cheek, her body limp against mine.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Real fucking lucky.”
When they’re finished, I thank them quietly. Standing, I carry her into the bedroom and seat us on the bed. Sera lingers only long enough to place a few soft cloths and a bowl of warm water on the bedside table before slipping out and shutting the door.
Elizabeth’s eyes are open now. “I can do it,” she murmurs.
“Let me take care of you for a minute.” My voice is raw, but I don’t attempt to hide it from her.
When she doesn’t argue, I dip the cloth in the water and press it to her cheek.
She flinches—not from fear, just pain.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“You didn’t do it,” she whispers back.
I keep going. Slow, careful, and as gentle as I can, I wipe away the dried blood at the corner of her mouth and under her jaw. The medics cleaned the deeper cut by her hairline, but I skim the cloth over the surrounding skin.
Her eyes never leave me. Her good hand lifts, closes over my wrist when I lift her to sit on the bed next to me. Removing the surgical scissors from the small first aid kit the medic left, I finger the hem of her dress.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, eyes flicking down.
“The dress is too tight. You need to get out of it.”
She protests, but when the first careful snip sounds at her side, she goes quiet. I cut a straight line up one seam, then the other, the fabric parting without pulling against her skin.
She huffs a weak laugh. “I’m going to owe Dahlia a new Dior.”
“I think she’ll understand.”
The ruined fabric slips from her shoulders, and she shifts so that I can pull it away. Using a fresh cloth, I wipe down the sweat dried against her collarbone, her arms, the tremor in her body easing a fraction under the slow passes.
Once she’s clean, I help her ease into a pair of loose sleep pants and one of my T-shirts, careful of her splinted fingers. She leans into me without a word, trusting me to move her.
I drop to a crouch at the edge of the bed and take her bare foot in my hand. Her skin is cut, marked from gravel and being dragged. I wipe each arch, each heel, until they’re clean.
Setting the bowl on the nightstand, I pull her into my arms again, lowering us carefully until we are lying facing each other.
“I was so scared,” she breathes, voice breaking. “I didn’t know where they were taking me, or what they were going to do. But I knew you’d come.”
The words hit more painfully than any bullet. My heart squeezes until I can’t breathe. “I shouldn’t have let you go in there.”
“You didn’t let me,” she says, faint but steady. “I chose to do it. And you came. That’s what matters.”
“I wasn’t fast enough.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, you were. I’m alive.”
My forehead drops to hers. I exhale shakily. “I thought I’d lose my mind when we lost comms,” I whisper. “When I knew they’d taken you… if I didn’t get to you in time… I’m supposed to protect you.”
“You did.” Her voice is soft and certain.
It’s only when her fingers brush my cheek that I realize I’m trembling.
“I’m right here,” she whispers.
I kiss her temple. Her shoulder. The edge of her hairline. Every patch of skin that isn’t bruised.
“Sleep,” I murmur.
I hold her until her breathing steadies.
I don’t sleep.
I just keep holding her.