CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TY
T he bullet sinks into my flesh—straight through my left shoulder—the impact knocking me backward, but not before I get my own shot in. A hole through the asshole’s wrist. He won’t be shooting me again.
His squawking serves as a distraction for the others. Enough so I can flip the cabinets to build myself a barricade, lodge a shot in another guy’s temple, and report out.
“Five tangos engaged. One tango down. One incapacitated. Under heavy fire. And hit.”
The pings of bullets blitzing the cabinets mingle with the clamor of pandemonium unfolding in every goddamn direction while I’m stuck in this tinderbox without a fucking plan, my blood spilling out.
Adrenaline rockets through my bones—combat mode is an out-of-body experience. My heart thrums against my sternum, but my breathing steadies, my instincts sharpen, and pain is a distant sensation. Everything fades as my mind catalogs my surroundings, foresees a myriad of scenarios, grapples for the threads of victory. Listens. A single beat to compose a strategy. Every clink and thud and feathery brush of movement alerts me to their location. Usually, that’s accomplished from a perch, where I view what no one else sees, but I can conjure up a sky-high vantage point from any position.
It’s in my blood now—the artistry of regarding all the players of the game at once, discerning their moves, controlling the outcome. Even in survival mode, it’s a respite from the agony my mind generally suffers.
Rena’s pleas and cries bellow through the comm, along with Liam’s attempts to calm her, but I block them out—let them harmonize with the rest of the background racket—knowing he’ll get to her. That’s why I shoved her back in there.
“One minute out,” Gage reports. “Diversions in motion.”
Reinforcement. I can survive for one more goddamn minute.
Enhancing my barrier, I unload several rounds to keep them at bay. A few shots land on my marks. Although they’ve created their own blockade with the office furniture. And my sliver-of-darkness glimpse reveals that a few more security personnel have joined us.
At any second, they’ll decide to risk it and ambush me, so I pull out the stun grenades that I carry into any potential war zone, alert Gage with a simple, “Flash-bangs deployed,” in case he’s already here, and chuck them out there.
After keeping myself sheltered from the concussive wave for several seconds, I spring over the cabinet and storm the room.
In that solitary battering heartbeat, Gage barks, “Coming in behind,” as I bound from the shadows of the file room, shoot a stunned guard at close range, and knock him into another, who is unsteady on his feet. They both crash to the floor as the sprinklers rain down on us.
Various degrees of temporary paralysis are affecting the guards, depending on their position at the time of the blast. Those under cover of the furniture may not be out of commission as long.
Twisting around, I find Gage jamming his fingers, knuckle deep, into some poor fucker’s eye socket and wrenching the eyeball out with a beastly grunt until it hangs.
“Good to see ya, Big Guy,” I quip as another bold security guard emerges at the office threshold behind Gage, weapon aimed, so I fire on him, amplifying the maddening raucous of more screams.
Our time is limited before we’ve got another ditching-the-cops situation.
Unfortunately, that rush of water from the sprinklers must have revived a couple of the guys who were down because I sense movement, right as a bomb detonates somewhere outside.
I’m assuming Liam set off a grenade in the parking lot, drawing scrutiny away from us. The eruption also serves to further disorient the men rushing me.
I whirl around, and a blade pierces my outer thigh with a searing gash—probably intended for my stomach but miscalculated. That fucking hurts and really pisses me off. I knock him back with my elbow as another asshole darts into my peripheral vision.
All I see is fucking rapists. And the rage I try my damnedest to repress thunders in my veins.
Gage had the right idea. I jam my pistol into one pedophile’s eye socket and pull the trigger while ripping the knife out of my quad muscle with my injured-but-still-mobile arm and stabbing the other under the chin, up into his mouth.
Pain finally slices through me, so I release a strangled bleat just as Gage growls, “Motherfucker,” and snaps another guy’s neck.
A heap of carnage surrounds us, and although there are no more enemy soldiers willing to venture into this particular battle, our fight is long from over.
“How the fuck do you want to get out of here?” I wheeze, the loss of blood rendering me dizzy. Silver stars whiz across my field of vision as my stomach flips and flops. It may have been wiser to leave the prick’s knife in my leg, but whatever.
“We’re going right out the front,” Gage returns. “Nice and slow so you don’t aggravate those wounds. Lights out, chaos, and an explosion to investigate.”
It’s a sound tactic. No one ever anticipates the culprits to be among the masses. Rena, Liam, and the girls will be at more risk since I’m assuming he’s taking them out from the roof.
In the still ache of our escape route, Gage is undoubtedly stuck on the same things I am—that was a lot of security for one fucking club, even considering their wealthy clientele and heinous amenities. My mind flits back to the connection between these three jobs that I considered earlier.
All these tasks could be linked to Balzano. This isn’t one of his registered businesses, but his foot soldiers were comfortable here. Comfortable enough to talk openly, to know the back alleyways, to accost women. That warehouse we blew up was plainly producing drugs, which we unveiled as another area of his below-board trades. That would also explain the countless cops that pursued us—he probably has half the force on his payroll. And it’s feasible that the hard drives we stole could have something to do with credit card fraud, yet one more area we connected to Enzo’s crew—Balzano’s foot soldiers.
Maybe that’s a stretch, my hate for Balzano coloring this twisted trial in shades that are more appealing. I can’t quite make sense of it. Nothing KORT does is haphazard. There’s a missing piece here. We’re pawns in a much larger scheme. But other than them having us disassemble Balzano’s nefarious holdings as his punishment and linking it to Rena’s trial for salt in the wound, I’ve got nothing. And that’s all dependent on KORT having knowledge that I’m not certain they have. The only other fleeting explanation I can gather is that Balzano knows we killed his men, and he’s fucking with us. I’m still not sure how that would align with KORT though.
I pluck an abandoned overcoat off a chair in the reception room and throw it on to conceal my injuries. So many people are cowering and hiding that we manage to skulk through the blacked-out sex club smoothly, tromping down the winding staircase into utter bedlam in the nightclub. A small sense of relief washes over me because once I’m outside, I can get to my wife.
As we slip out the main exit, mixing in with the gathering crowd, swirling red-and-blue lights rush the parking lot, sirens blaring. The squad cars slam to a stop, the literal dumpster fire garnering the attention of the officers. But mine? That’s pinned across the parking lot, to the last fucking person I would expect to catch here.
“Axel,” I rasp.
That effectively halts Gage’s pace as he snaps his head in the direction I’m gaping. “The fuck?”
There’s a brief moment when some sixth sense has Axel flinging his focus to us. What appears to be guilt paints his features before he offers a slight dip of his chin and struts away from Fender—the manager I met the night I showed up here for Rena. No idea what the hell that nod means, let alone why the fuck he’s here.
It provokes so many questions that if the blood loss wasn’t making me dizzy, that sure as hell would. But I stuff it all down, anchoring my sanity to the only thing that matters.
“I need my wife. What’s your twenty?” I ask Liam as Gage and I nonchalantly stroll toward the back lot.
“Headed down the side fire escape,” he returns. “Moonshine is one hell of a force. She got all the girls out.”
“That she is,” I agree, my heart swelling with relief and pride despite my frenzied theories and hunches regarding our impending calamity. “You’re amazing, baby girl. Thank you.”
“God, it’s good to freaking hear your voice, hubby.” Rena’s throat is obviously like sandpaper, her words husky and strained, the screams I blocked out insisting that I take notice. “Are you okay?”
“He’s good,” Gage clips, urging me to pick up my pace. “We’ll meet you at the truck.”
Within two minutes, the four of us pile into the cab, and the six frightened girls lie flat in the bed. Gage seamlessly guides us out of the back alleyway—the same area that began all this shit, where I killed Enzo and his fellow rapist buddy. Liam tosses our first aid supplies into the back seat, and Rena keeps it together long enough to apply the clotting agent and tape up my wounds, but once I’m temporarily mended, she loses it, crumbling in my arms.
None of us say much. Liam snaps a picture of the master list that Rena snagged and sends it off to KORT well before our deadline. I stroke Rena’s hair and utter soft reassurances as my thoughts race, and my ire rises with each passing mile. The nausea from my injuries becomes fierce, bile coating my tongue, but I swallow it, far more consumed by the lies present among us. After we drop the girls off at a women’s shelter for trafficking victims, I use every last morsel of self-control I possess not to hammer Rena with all the queries swarming me. The truck was unattended, so I won’t risk it.
Once we make it home, we all crowd into one of the bathrooms. The guys perform another sweep for bugs, set a phone with music blaring on the counter, and run the shower to muffle our conversation as they strip me down and prepare to sew me up. It’s safe to say we’re all wrestling with paranoia at this point.
Gage pours me a hefty glass of Kraken Rum, forgoing the Coke, and hands me a couple of painkillers, so I toss it all back as I take a seat in the chair they placed in the center of the room, across from another that Rena occupies.
“It’s clean, straight through,” Liam observes as he rips off the tape and disinfects the wound. “You were lucky.”
My voice is hoarse and gravelly from the sting of the soap and water. “Nothing about this feels lucky.”
Gage’s booming but humorless laugh harmonizes with the rumbling bass of the song and the hum of the water. “That’s the fucking truth.”
That’s when I notice how pale Rena is, her eyes trailing over me. I forgot that I was covered in flesh and blood and brains from the close-range kills. I’m sure it’s jarring, but sadly, this is part of our life. She might as well get used to it. I’d like nothing more than to bury myself inside her, to stow away together in a cozy bubble, but there’s no end in sight for this hell we’re enduring. And she has intel .
“You lied to me,” I grit out as Liam punctures my skin with the needle and Gage tends to the stab wound. “I knew you were hiding something. But this … I know what you fucking saw on that roof. Who you saw.”
Her gorgeous hazels flash with both surprise and indignation, the blue flecks drawing strength, almost as if they’re proclaiming her allegiance to the Noires. “I never lied.”
I guess she didn’t. She claimed she was afraid to shoot the person, which tracks now that I know it was Axel. And she alluded to the fact that she had her reasons, refusing to give me anything. I didn’t ram through that wall because I feared it could have been something mandated by KORT, and if I pushed and she caved, she’d be violating an order. Failure. Neutralized.
Analysis paralysis. Like my whole goddamn life.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. Never the right choice.
“You evaded,” I correct with a wince as the stitches yank at my tender flesh. “But that doesn’t make this better. It doesn’t remedy this fucking mess.”
Her eyebrows jump to the ceiling, her arms flying through the air. “You’re one to talk. You knew about the details of my house burning down. Knew who had set the fire, who had put my mom in there, and you kept it from me.”
I did keep that from her. And she never called me on it. Until now. But that wasn’t life or death.
“Totally fucking different—ahh. Motherfucker.” My jaw clamps down, my teeth nearly chomping into my tongue.
Gage wrenches my mouth open and shoves a whiskey-soaked cloth into it, effectively shutting me up while he and Liam both dig deeper, each yapping about what they’re doing, smart-ass gibes and mind-numbing details to lull me into a state of serenity. I give it a couple of minutes, but it doesn’t suffice. The din of their voices, the music, and the shower are only heightening my anxiety.
Spitting the cloth out, I snipe at both of them, “Just hurry the fuck up. This goddamn nightmare gets worse by the second. Jesus Christ.” My gaze swings back to my contentious wife. “I kept that from you because it wasn’t my secret to tell. And I wasn’t willing to jeopardize your relationship with your brothers because I know how important they are to you. That was an act of love.”
“Same here,” she counters, and we stare each other down, our eyes glued to one another in an unspoken dare.
I guess I see that. Her need to protect them at all costs is an act of love. But it’s deflating because she doesn’t view us as a team, doesn’t understand that I’d do anything to keep her whole, including protecting them. Maybe that’s on me. Somehow, I’ve missed the mark, not proving that I’d go to any lengths for her. And at this point, I don’t even know what my options are. It’s all spiraling so far out of fucking control.
Not bothering to beat around the bush, I ask what Gage and I are wondering, likely a concern surfacing for Liam at this point too. “Are they going after Balzano?”
Her eyes shift, ping-ponging between the three of us, trying to get some kind of read. “What makes you ask that?”
“Don’t be vague,” I grunt, breathing through the burn. “This isn’t the time.”
She glides her hand onto my uninjured thigh with a tenderness that is perplexing, considering our conversation. “I’m not being vague. It’s just … that seems like a leap. I mean … where did the suspicion regarding them and Balzano stem from?”
Right. I’m zooming full speed ahead.
Since my breathing is shallow, Liam takes that, confirming that I wasn’t alone in my conjecture. “We don’t know for sure. But all three of the jobs we completed seem to be connected to his underhanded businesses, so that’s the only reason Axel’s presence would make sense there.”
Gage evidently filled Liam in on the Axel sighting.
If I thought Rena was pale before, I was mistaken.
All the color drains from her face as her chest heaves. “You saw Axel tonight? Fuck. ”
She scrubs her hands over her face, so I’m at a loss to know where her mind is fleeing to, but it’s clear that even though she sparred with me over lying, she didn’t connect it to another sighting tonight.
While I wait for her to compose herself, I venture into another string of thoughts directed at Liam. “Did Wells turn the information about Balzano and Axel over to KORT?”
He moves to my back, mending the exit wound the bullet inflicted there. “I’m not sure. There was talk about it. Axel was adamant that he didn’t want anything to do with Balzano because it was too risky, so this doesn’t align, unless our Little Moonshine knows otherwise.” He pauses there, but Rena never grants him her full attention, so he continues, “But a lot happened after that initial discussion. Rena went missing, so all the focus was there. And then, you two”—he waves his hand between Rena and me before adding Gage into the mix—“or three, and your fuckery. I never heard any more about it.”
Rena’s swanlike neck rolls and flexes through an arduous swallow. She’s so uncomfortable. Conflicted. And that’s when it hits me. Pummels me. She was shocked when Liam said Axel’s name, but that was after I already claimed to know who she saw on the roof.
“Look at me, baby girl.” I wait until she lifts her chin, my pain taking a back seat to the urgency soaring through my veins. “Tell me who you saw on that roof.”
She glances away, her focal point that of a tile square near the door. Maybe she’s ready to bolt.
As if Gage is drawing the same conclusion, he reiterates his sentiments from the other night. “Might be time to be reborn. You aren’t giving us shit. This is a fight we’re losing and one we don’t fucking understand. Six inches is what saved your husband’s life tonight, which is too goddamn close. So, unless you start talking, we will not be letting you walk into that last challenge. We will do whatever it takes to protect you, even erasing all of us. We are a unit. One. That’s how we handle things in this family. ”
“Okay,” she whispers, her chin wobbling.
“Are your brothers going after Balzano?” I repeat the question she avoided earlier, hoping she’ll see us backing her now. That it isn’t only me who will show up for her. That she’s as much a part of this family as anyone, so nothing is too great. We choose her, whatever that entails.
She nods. A wordless answer, but an answer nonetheless.
“There you go,” I coo, motioning to Gage to slide her forward so I can grab her hand. Once I clasp her tiny palm in mine, I probe a little more. “And it wasn’t Axel you saw on that roof?”
“No,” she mutters, her misty blueberry-field irises flicking to mine. “Jax.”
Jax? No way Axel would allow him to partake in a hit on Balzano or his businesses. He’d never risk his safety. What the fuck is going on?