THIRTY-FIVE
“WE’RE BEING—what the fuck? Followed?”
Twisting, she grabbed the shoulder of her chair to peer out the back.
“Stay low,” Strat muttered. “Seatbelt.”
Was she wearing a seatbelt? Nope. Grabbing it, she quickly put it on and slouched low.
“Why are they following us? The mansion?”
Could they take trouble there? Should they?
“To find out where we’re going. The prisoners are being moved to the mansion. We can’t risk these guys getting hold of anyone. If they follow us there, we’ll lead them right to what they want. Give them a way in. Might as well set off a flare.”
Okay, they couldn’t do that. That had to be the Byrnes goal, to follow someone from Stag to confirm where their prize was being taken.
“So we don’t go there. Where?”
“Hold on,” Strat said and sped up. “Call Ire.”
“I can’t.” Her friend did a double take, his frown deepening. “If I call him now, he’ll drop everything to get here. We can’t let him—the family has to endure.”
“Right.”
And everything Conn planned would be shot to shit. The others needed him there. Niall needed him there. If the Byrnes were launching a full-scale op to get Madison back, which they had to be, there would still be fighting going on. There was no one she trusted more as a strategist than Connel McDade.
“There’s a gun in the glovebox and a couple of clips.” Before she could open it, Strat reached over to yank her seatbelt tight. “Hang on.”
As he increased his speed, he took a corner fast, thrusting her both back and to the side at once.
“Can we outrun them?”
“Not in this,” her friend said, narrow eyes on the road until flicking to the rearview for a second. “How bad do you want it?”
It? Being her? That wasn’t a question for her, it was intended for whoever was in the vehicle behind them.
“They want me.” She was the bonus prize. The toy with the meal. The backup plan if their first failed. “Don’t they? That’s what this is.” On another tight corner, she grabbed the door and console. “Shit, Strat, what are we—”
“Good.”
“Good? What’s good?” Because that long drawl was more daring than happy. “Strat?”
“They’re sticking with us.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
They sped along a straight, weaving in and out of any traffic that got in their way. Was the point to get the cops involved? Shit, if they did that and the Byrnes meant business, they’d end up with dead LEOs whose only offense was showing up to work.
“If they get you, they trade you for Madison.”
“That’s something, they won’t kill me.” Except the moment their eyes met, she finished the thought. “Me.” Apprehension shook her throat. “They’ll kill you.”
“Least then you won’t have to fire me.”
“Strat—”
The quick turn of the wheels stole her words to a gasp. They shot down an alley, past a dumpster and Strat slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel to bring them around at an angle in a screeching stop.
Thrust one way then the other, her head spun.
Strat was alert. “Get out your side, stay behind the back wheel.”
“Stay behind the—what?”
Brakes squealed, not theirs, the Byrnes.
Strat grabbed a gun from his waistband and threw open his door. “Go!”
Her butt hadn’t left the seat when the first gunshot echoed. Didn’t take long for her to hit the asphalt after that. Another shot followed, and another. Glass shattered and scattered, she heard every sliver hit the ground and sheltered her head.
How many assailants were there? And why was she leaving Strat to the battle? On her hands and knees, she crawled on the ground to reach in for the gun in the glove box. Scooping out the clips, she stayed low.
Damn, she should’ve practiced at a range. Guns had always been a part of her life, she’d just never been interested in honing her aim.
“Shit,” Strat said. Another shot, and another. “Fuck!”
“Strat!”
That sounded like pain. No, she couldn’t—Strat couldn’t lose his life. Her friend was hunkered down behind his door, dumpster providing some cover. The window above him was gone. The next shot hit the windshield. Strat returned fire, around his door, and through the window space.
“Give us the girl!”
The girl? Is that what she’d been reduced to? Fuck that. Gun in hand, she couldn’t just cower.
“Suck it, Byrne,” Strat called back. “Want her? Come get her!”
More shots, her side, theirs, her friend, the enemy. God, her heart hammered, and it wasn’t fear, not for her life. Slamming her door, she reached the front tire when there was another shot, then silence. This felt different than before. Different to—no more shots, quiet, footsteps.
“Scamp.”
Above her, Strat grabbed her arm to haul her up and pull her around to the trunk.
“What happened?”
“We’re moving now.”
He opened the trunk to pull out a bag and—
“Shit, you’re bleeding.” A bloom of red on his sleeve tightened her chest. “Oh my God, what—”
He thrust one bag at her and collected up the clips scattered on the ground. Not only hadn’t she got a shot off, she’d dropped their ammo too.
Pushing her down, he put her in a crouch. “Stay here.” He paused to show a hand again. “I fucking mean it. I will tie you up and toss you in the trunk if I have to.” Her boyfriend wouldn’t like that treatment, yet she smiled as tears gathered in her eyes. “Don’t start that shit.”
Stomping off, he went around the hood. She peeked up to watch him check the other vehicle. Where were the guys? Did they just leave? Was there—boosting a little higher, she saw the body on the ground, one at the door, a leg at the back suggested there was another.
When Strat turned to come back, she ducked down, returning to the same position he’d left her in.
“Can’t follow instructions for shit, girl,” Strat said as he passed their hood. “Fucking move.”
Leaping up, still holding the bag, her friend had another, its strap cut across his torso as he reloaded his gun.
“We should get you to the hospital.”
“Hospitals ask questions.”
Yes, they did, but he was her friend. Her friend who’d killed for her.
“The mansion then,” she said, “the doc will be there.”
“Doc has his hands full.” They went to the end of the alley, to a dark parking lot she hadn’t known was there. “We get you safe first.”
“You’re bleeding. Bleeding takes precedence over—”
Her friend stopped and raised a fist. “You hear that?”
“I hear what?”
Moving faster, Strat went to a car in the corner and dug something from his bag. In one slick move, he popped the lock and opened the door to drop side on into the driver’s seat.
“You’re—we’re—”
His scowl silenced her. As she sucked her lips into her mouth, he leaned back to do something beneath the steering wheel. Something? Yeah, he was hotwiring it, as proven when it revved to life.
“Get in,” he said. “Fast.”
Running around, she jumped into the passenger seat. The door wasn’t even shut and already they were moving.
“I didn’t know you could still do that to cars.”
“Gotta know what you’re doing.”
“And I thought Ford was the car guy.”
A slanted stare. “Where’d you think my boys got their skills?”
“You shouldn’t be—you’re bleeding, Strat.”
“It’s nothing,” he said again.
With the blood on the opposite side, she couldn’t check how much of nothing it was.
“They were Byrnes?”
“Yep.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
Their eyes met again. “Strat, I—”
“Don’t. What did I say about that bullet?”
That he’d always get between her and it.
They trundled through the city, not at speed, vigilant instead. Strat’s attention went everywhere. Her friend was on high alert, determined to keep her alive. After only just saying he’d protect her life with his, he’d proved it in real time.
“Are we okay?” she asked, glancing around. “Anyone else following?”
“No, and we left the phone in the fucking car.” He slammed his hands on the steering wheel. They had weapons and ammo, no form of communication. “We don’t know if the mansion is safe.”
“If we were followed, others might’ve been too. The mansion could be under siege, caught in an attack of its own. We could circle back to—”
“No, if the Byrnes didn’t put out a message before we engaged with those assholes, their silence will have brought others out. We can’t take the risk they’ll get the jump on us.”
“Where’s safe?”
“Maybe nowhere ‘til sunup.”
And even then, there were no guarantees.
“So we keep driving? In a stolen car?”
“We’ll get out of the city. Dump it.”
“Out of the city? Strat, Conn’ll—”
“Want my head? Yeah, probably, but you’ll be alive.” Her friend flashed her a smile. “That’s gotta earn some points with him, doesn’t it?”
Her guy would be angry because that’s how his fear manifested itself. But Strat was doing what he thought was right regardless of any consequence for him.
“Wait,” she said, struck by an idea. “Go to Imogen’s.”
“You want me to bring my daughter into—”
“Not Jagg’s, the apartment she shared with Lachlan. Their old place.”
“They still have that?”
“Conn does. Can you pick a lock?”
“Be embarrassing if I couldn’t,” Strat said. “Why would Ire keep—”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.” Because how deep into the truth she’d get depended on what they found. “No one will find us there.”
And no one would think to look either. Except Conn. If the cameras were still active. Even if they weren’t, maybe she could link them up.
“They have a hard line?”
She shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
As soon as they could, she’d reach out to Conn. Call or—that is if he wasn’t bleeding too. Her blank stare went to the road ahead. Her love stayed behind, and she’d left him there.
The Byrnes wanted blood, the redder the better. Would they leave if they got Madison? Would Conn give her up? No, he’d never do something that could be construed as weak or afraid. She’d never been a fan of Madison’s and now the woman could cause Conn’s demise.
Was he hurt? If he was, safety wouldn’t matter, Strat wouldn’t have to protect her. He’d once said he couldn’t protect her from the man in her bed. Her friend couldn’t protect her from herself either. What would the morning bring?