Chapter 24 Rachel #2
Rolling my eyes, I move to open a window to let the smoke escape when I see a red dot on my chest, seconds before I’m tackled to the floor, glass shatters around me. I can’t hold in the scream that escapes me.
“Fuck! Angel, are you all right?” Rosco’s frantic voice helps to calm the panic that’s trying to consume me.
I’m still attempting to comprehend what just happened.
The rat-a-tat-tat gives clarity to the situation.
I was nearly shot. Rosco’s hands are roving over my body.
I manage to get my shit together enough to answer his question.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I reply breathlessly. “Are you?” He spares me a smirk and a nod before he rolls me to my hands and knees.
While this is a fun position in bed, it’s not so much when you’re having to crawl over broken glass.
“Ow!” Pain sears my good hand. Looking down I see a piece of the shattered window sticking out of my right hand.
Rosco quickly pulls it out, grabs a dish towel from the counter and ties it around my hand. “Move, angel,” he urges, and I scramble along the cabinets with him hot on my heels.
“We need to get to my bedroom.” I nod, crawling faster, before I have time to process what he’s doing, Rosco pulls me to my feet, urging me to run while hunkered over, down the hall and into his room. I can still hear gunfire. Drywall pieces fly as the hallway is peppered with bullets.
Once we are in the room, he pushes me down into his closet.
He kneels next to me, pulling paneling off the back wall to reveal a combination safe.
He deftly punches in the numbers, popping it open.
He pulls out a couple of handguns and extra magazines.
He slams one into each gun, checking the safeties before tucking them into his waist band.
It all happens so fast as if he’s done this a million and one times.
He pulls out another gun, slamming the magazine home. He is fucking hot when he is in operator mode. The look he gives me makes me shiver with desire, despite the fact we are under attack and could die at any second.
That thought gives me pause, because if we are under attack, where are Dalton and Kelvin? Why didn’t they alert us before the first shot was fired? Are they even alive?
A full-on panic attack is coming, but Rosco pulls me out of it.
“Do you know how to use this?”
Rosco holds up a 9mm handgun, quirking a brow at me.
I nod, licking my lips in fear and anticipation.
My duffel is laying nearby. I grab it, quickly finding my own weapon still safely tucked inside.
I retrieve it, shucking a round into the chamber and checking the safety.
I look up to see Rosco watching me with admiration in his eyes.
“Good girl.” His praise does wonders for my ego.
He hands me the gun, and I tuck it into the waistband of the yoga pants I’m wearing.
Thankfully, these are a little snug so they hold the gun in place with ease.
I keep my baby in my hand. I’ve practiced many rounds with her at various gun ranges around the country as the boys and I have traveled from town to town.
Rosco is fiddling with a panel on the left-hand side of the closet, this one much larger than the smaller one concealing his hand guns. This panel is hiding a door. He pushes it open, seconds before grabbing my wrist and jerking me toward this new opening.
“Get inside, angel. You DO NOT come out for anyone, except me, you get me?” I nod solemnly. He pushes me inside and turns to leave, but I grip his forearm before he can get away.
“Wait!” I cry, “Where are you going? People are shooting at us in case you haven’t noticed!” He snags me behind my neck, kisses the hell out of me, then shoves me back into the tiny room and slams the door closed, leaving me stunned.
Now, I’m pissed. How dare he?
He’s shoved me in a panic room and left me wondering what the hell is going on. I can’t see shit. My hands feel along the wall, but can’t find a knob to open the door or a light switch.
How long I’m left sitting in the dark, confided space, my baby in my hand, I don’t know, but it’s long enough for my imagination to run wild in fear.
I imagine Rosco lying dead from multiple gunshot wounds.
Masked men charging in to drag me out by my hair.
My stepfather and his brother leading the charge as they destroy Rosco’s house, leaving him and his friends dead or dying as they take me and hand me over to Nicolai.
Yeah, every crazy, fucked up thing that could happen is running through my head.
As the time drags on, my panic increases.
I haven’t had many panic attacks, but if I don’t get it locked down quickly, it can spiral out of control.
My breathing picks up as I feel my chest tightening, squeezing until I can’t get enough air.
The walls and ceiling are closing in on me.
I close my eyes, chanting over and over, “He’s all right.
He’s coming back. He’s all right. He’s coming back.
” Over and over and over, sinking into myself.
Suddenly a blinding light pierces the darkness. My left arm comes up to shield my eyes as I point the gun in my right hand blindly at whoever is at the door.
“Angel! It’s me!” Rosco calls out, seconds before I’m about to pull the trigger and ask questions later.
Then I’m in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably with relief.
“Shh, baby, you’re safe. You’re all right.” His placating words flip my switch from terrified-relief to pissed off in a nanosecond. I shove him hard, causing us to tumble out of the small space and into the closet.
“You fucking ASSHOLE!” I screech, shoving him again. I begin to wail on him, not that I am able to land a direct hit. His arm flies up to block my assault. “How dare you do that to me?” I yell, still trying to whack him unsuccessfully.
“YOU LEFT ME! LEFT ME! In the dark, not knowing if you had been murdered or not! I’m so fucking pissed at you right now!”
We wrestle briefly, but it doesn’t take him long to get hold of my wrists, wrapping my arms over my chest from behind, while pulling my back to his chest. I’m panting both from the remnants of my panic attack, my anger, and trying to take his head off.
“That’s enough, angel,” he scolds. “I was only protecting you.” I huff in anger, ready to rip into him again when I hear chuckles from the bedroom. It seems we have an audience. “Are you hurt? How are your hands?”
“Don’t try to distract me.” I glare at him. “I’m still angry with you.” Rosco’s hold on me loosens. He spins me on his lap. His hands ghosting over my body, checking for injuries. I suck in a breath when I notice blood on his shirt.
“You’re bleeding!” He pauses his assessment to meet my gaze.
“I’m fine, angel. It’s just a scratch.” I begin to shake violently, nausea hitting me. He might only have a scratch, but I know what made the wound. A bullet. One that could’ve taken him from me.
“Shh,” he coos, “you’re okay. I’m okay.” He holds me tightly. “I need a blanket,” he calls to someone over his shoulder.
“Here,” Bo says, coming into the closet with us and wrapping a blanket around my back.
Rosco lifts first one arm then the other, to secure the blanket around me.
It takes several minutes for the violent shaking to stop, and through it all, I manage to not barf all over Rosco. Patiently he holds me until I’m calm.
“Uh, Rosco?” Bo pokes his head back in the closet. “We have a problem.” He glances at me with an unreadable expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my panic returning in full force. I know what he’s going to say before the words leave his mouth.
“The twins are gone. Jason’s house was hit while we were defending here.”
“NO!” Blind terror hits me. He has them. Reginald has the twins.