Chapter Thirty-Eight
Emmett
HE WAS surrounded by five or six men. All of them wore black, much like the guys who’d kidnapped him had.
The first ones. These kidnappers didn’t seem particularly interested in his well-being, happy to push him around.
He was pretty sure he had handprint-sized bruises on both arms and a scraped knee.
He didn’t like that none of them wore masks.
If they didn’t care about anyone seeing their faces…
it didn’t bode well for him. Not at all.
He barely recalled being shoved into the back seat of a car, the drive either short or he’d blacked out most of it.
They’d dropped him in a chair, two of the men standing watch next to him, while the rest conversed at the other end of the room, which he could only describe as an old bar that had been shut down and gutted.
There was a scratched-up wooden bar along the wall to his left, a door next to it with a barely visible ‘employees’ sign on it.
There were old picture frames with faded images hanging on the wall behind the bar, but aside from the one table and a few chairs, the room was empty.
He scratched at his wrist for the tenth time, the rope around them itchy as hell.
He shifted, squeezing his eyes closed when he felt his shirt rubbing against his skin.
It was as if his body was in overload. Every small thing was too much.
He hated every second of it. Hated the bright light shining in his face.
Hated the way his pulse jumped every time someone moved an inch.
He tried to control his breathing, but nothing seemed to help, so he ended up looking at the men who were still talking, trying to read their lips.
He only caught a few words, and considering he was very likely wrong about them, he didn’t put much stock in them.
He still decided to commit them to memory. Just in case.
One of the men waved the others off, his head moving too much for Emmett to read his lips. He didn’t care that he was staring. He had to. The peace he usually found in the silence was nowhere to be seen. Here? It could very well cost him his life.
The man sat down across from him, dropping a piece of paper and a pencil on the table. He looked up, green eyes meeting Emmett’s gaze. His nose was crooked from what was likely a punch too many, and he had short, blond hair, and a face that looked familiar in a way he couldn’t quite grasp.
He wrote something down, then held up the paper for Emmett to see.
Tell me about Kian.
Emmett shook his head. “Fuck you.”
He arched a brow at Emmett, who glared right back at him.
The man reached for something at his side, and breath got stuck in Emmett’s throat as he laid a black handgun on the table between them.
Emmett raised his head, glaring at him with all the rage he could muster.
“Fine. You wanna know about Kian? He’s loyal. Courageous. Kind. And all of that is not going to be in your favor because he will kill all of you and not just because you’ve taken me, but because it’s what he does. He protects. He rids the world of murderous assholes like you.”
Those eyes felt like staring into a pit of utter darkness as they searched his face. He pursed his lips for a second, then scribbled something else down and turned the paper around.
You think he’s coming for you?
He opened his mouth to say, of course, he would, but a thought struck before the words could leave his mouth. Was that what they wanted? For Kian to come for him?
He snapped his mouth shut. He’d already said too much.
The man leaned back, those cold eyes giving away nothing.
He didn’t know enough about the people who’d taken Kian prisoner a few months ago to say with certainty that these were them, but he could take an educated guess.
He knew from Kian himself that they’d left him without a scratch.
That they’d tied him up in a room and left him alone. Waiting. But for what? For who?
“What do you want with him? Who is he to you?”
He thought he saw a quick flash of emotion cross the man’s face, but it was gone the next second. It might’ve been a trick of the light, but his gut told him it wasn’t.
Goosebumps broke out across his skin, and then his world went dark. No. The light turned off, quickly replaced by a low, green emergency light.
He felt the table and his chair shake just before he was blinded by flashes of light. He threw himself to the ground, his heart hammering in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and folded in on himself, trying to get as small as possible.
From behind closed lids, he could tell when the light turned back on and blinked his eyes open.
The table had been turned over, and he crawled to the edge to peek around it.
The flashes of gunfire drew his attention to the bar where he saw the man who’d questioned him, along with one of the men who’d stood guard at his side, both shooting across the room until the guard took a bullet in the shoulder.
He didn’t need to hear or even read lips to tell the leader was yelling for his guys to retreat. He pulled the guard’s arm across his shoulders and ran for the door by the bar, disappearing through it just as a shadow fell over Emmett.
He jerked his head around, heart in his throat. He met a set of green eyes and did a double-take. Kian.
He grabbed the edge of the table to pull himself up. He opened his mouth, but movement out of the corner of his eye had him snapping his gaze to the door and the man standing there, half hidden in the doorway. He was holding a gun in his left hand, slowly raising it toward Kian.
Emmett shouted as he threw himself in front of Kian, sending them crashing to the floor.
He ended up sprawled across Kian’s chest, a big hand cradling the back of his head.
A second later, his back hit the floor, Kian above him, covering him.
Fuck. No. Kian was the one in danger, not him.
He grabbed at Kian’s shirt, tugging hard, but the man was pure muscle and didn’t move a fucking inch.
Someone was pulling Kian off him seconds later, and he could take his first deep breath in hours when green-flecked eyes met his gaze.
He was pressed tight against Wilder’s chest before he could say a word, a sob escaping him as he buried his face in Wilder’s neck, breathing in that woodsy scent he’d thought he might never smell again.
Movement around them caught his attention for a quick second before he ignored it, knowing from Wilder’s lack of urgency that they were safe.
The tightness around his wrists disappeared, and he looked down to see the rope on the floor, Wilder holding a knife he recognized as Emma’s. Wilder put it away and dug something out of his pocket, holding his hand toward Emmett. It took him a second to realize that it was his CIs.
How had he…? They must’ve found them at Heath’s place. He cringed despite himself. Heat had been an asshole of epic proportions, but he hadn’t deserved an end like that.
Wilder put first one of Emmett’s receivers in place and then the other, sound rushing in and making him wince. He squeezed his eyes shut―as if that would help―and rubbed his temples.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
Wilder’s voice was like a balm to his soul, soothing the fears and that raging pulse in his ears.
“I don’t plan on it,” he mumbled, burying his face in Wilder’s neck.
Fingers slid through his hair, Wilder’s big hand cradling the back of his head as he held him close. He could feel Wilder’s heart thundering beneath the hand he had on his chest, and he knew his own wasn’t faring much better.
“What happened?”
“I clipped the bastard in the arm before he could get a shot off,” Wilder said, lips feathering across Emmett’s forehead. “He got away.” He motioned with a tilt of his head at the door next to the bar.
“Anyone hurt?”
The heartbeat between his question and Wilder’s answer felt like a lifetime.
“Nothing serious.”
“Thank fuck,” he breathed, something settling inside his chest. The last thing he wanted was to cause anyone harm or be the cause of their harm. “What about your head?”
One of Heath’s guys had hit Wilder in the back of his head with a piece of lumber left at the back door from the renovations.
“I’ll live,” Wilder said, pressing a kiss to Emmett’s lips before pulling him to his feet.
He looked around the bar, catching a quick glimpse of someone standing behind Kian, who was using his foot to roll over what he assumed was a body.
“Emmett?”
Kaz appeared in front of them, running his gaze over Emmett, his shoulders dropping when he realized he was unhurt.
“I’m alright,” he still mumbled, needing to hear the words, too.
“Good,” Kaz said with a nod and pulled out his phone, likely to let everyone know he was safe.
A shadow appeared in the doorway the man who’d tried to shoot Kian had disappeared through, and Emmett’s heart skipped a beat until Talon stepped inside. He breathed a sigh of relief, then instantly grabbed Kaz by the arm.
“They’re after Kian. He kept asking me questions about him.”
Kaz’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, and then he whirled around, taking two steps toward Kian. “The fuck have you gotten into?”
Kian grimaced. “I have no idea.”
Kaz frowned, then turned his gaze on the guy who was stepping around Kian.
He had sun-kissed skin, silky-looking black hair, and gray eyes that kept darting back to Kian.
He was wearing a suit that looked expensive.
He was definitely pulling it off in an almost casual manner that Heath had never been able to.
“You know anything about that?” Kaz asked him.
“No,” he answered, his tone cool.
“Why the fuck would he know anything about it?” Kian snapped, something dangerous swirling in his eyes as he scowled at the man.
Emmett sucked in a sharp breath when it finally clicked who he was.
“You okay?” Wilder muttered, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Emmett’s back.
“Is that who I think it is?” he asked in a whisper, gaze shooting back and forth between Dante and Kian.
“You know who he is? Kian’s told you about him?”
Yeah, he knew about Dante Serrano. He was probably the only one Kian had told about Dante. About their past. Everything that had happened between them as teenagers.
Before he could answer Wilder, Dante inclined his head at Kaz and turned on his heels, walking back out with steady strides. Kian was quick to follow, cursing under his breath.
That wasn’t likely to end well.
“Maybe someone should…”
A sigh had him looking at Kaz, who squared his shoulders with a curse before taking off after Kian and Dante.
A kiss to the top of his head brought his attention back to the man whose arms were wrapped tightly around him. He let his eyes fall shut, resting his head against Wilder’s chest. A calm sensation washed over him. Safe. He was safe.