Chapter Thirty-Nine #2
With not dying? Yeah. She was on board. “Why were you always telling me to retire?”
“Tabitha and Sloane were working on this long before I jumped on,” Olivia said. “Far before you and Mason were a thing. You retire, then Tabs rises in the ranks. Ascends into Queen Lowry status.”
Sloane had known Jules wanted to quit before she’d admitted it to herself and had wanted Tabitha to be her next cash cow. Honestly, Jules wasn’t even surprised.
“The plan had its flaws,” Sloane admitted. “But it’s evolved. Bigger and better than before.”
Money corrupted. Greed devoured. They’d lost their souls. Olivia and Sloane sounded like this was a normal publicity stunt. Jules would tell her anything to get the hell out of this building. “Option one. Now untie my hands.”
Sloane flipped the folded knife in her hand and caught it. “I have to send out the ransom request first.”
“I can’t feel my hands and feet. If I’m crippled for the rest of my life, you won’t make money off me.”
Sloane paused to consider, flipping the knife again. “Fine.” Money always won with Sloane. She tossed Olivia the knife. It clattered to the floor. “Give me half an hour to send out the request before you leave—what’s that noise?”
Jules’s ears pricked, but she was unable to hear anything except for her rage. Then she heard a sound she and Sloane both knew so well—a helicopter flying by. Her heart jumped. Rhys. They were searching for her. And if they’d found her here, they knew about Sloane.
Sloane tipped her head back and stared at the metal ceiling as though she could see to the sky. The helicopter was making another sweep. “Shit.”
“Is that a helicopter?” Olivia asked.
“ Shit. ”
“Untie me,” Jules demanded as the helicopter flew away again. “This doesn’t work if I’m still tied.”
Olivia rubbed a hand over her stomach. “This doesn’t work if they show up while Sloane’s still here.”
“Shut up,” Sloane snapped then stared at the ceiling again.
The helicopter didn’t return.
“That could have been anything. Traffic chopper. Cops chasing a stolen car. Anything.”
“Untie me.” Jules wriggled toward the knife.
Olivia snatched it, releasing the tie between her hands and feet. Just like Olivia had done, Jules sprang forward when the line was cut.
“Do my feet.”
Olivia sliced the ties, and Jules rolled her ankles.
The helicopter returned, this time, lower to the ground. Were there two? Where was Rhys? That had to be people looking for her.
“Now my hands.” She offered her wrists to Olivia.
“Wait,” Sloane commanded.
Jules forced herself onto her feet. The helicopters hovered nearby. She knew their familiar whomp when they hovered. So did Sloane. Jules cut a look at her. If the cops were out there, options one and two wouldn’t work. “What’s option three?”
Olivia faltered as though option two and whatever three might be hadn’t seemed like realistic options. Now, her pregnant belly and maybe her sense of morality were on unsteady footing.
“What’s option three?” Jules pressed.
“It’s option two,” Sloane said, “Except I, too, was taken.”
Option two meant she died. She needed to run and hide to save herself from an immediate problem, so she would still be alive when Rhys arrived.
Jules bolted.
“Goddamn it!” Sloane yelled. “Jules!”
The blood hadn’t entirely returned to her lower extremities. Pins and needles still pricked along the undersides of her feet. Her head still pounded. The nausea returned in full force. But she didn’t stop running.
“Jules!” Sloane shouted.
Gunfire exploded, and a bullet thwacked into a nearby pallet.
Who the hell knew if Sloane had ever shot a gun before?
Jules would have said no if asked before today.
Now, Sloane wanted her dead. Another gunshot rang out, much closer this time.
Jules veered left, down a long aisle. The lighting was shit.
“I saw you turn,” Sloane called. “Damn it. Jules. I’m not going to hurt you. Let’s figure out option three together.”
Jules didn’t say anything.
“We don’t have time to screw around.”
No kidding. Jules would wait Sloane out, silently creeping farther away.
Shit. Dead end. Pallets blocked the way she wanted to go. She could turn around or—
A bullet thwapped into a pallet. Sloane and her piss-poor aim. Jules covered her head. “Stop.”
Another bullet pinged down the long aisle.
Jules threw herself toward the shelf then hoisted herself up a pallet. She squeezed behind another and hustled down the shelf. If it could hold a pallet, it could hold her. But it shook as she ran.
Jules crouched between two large pallets then shimmied up another level. The floor had to be twenty feet down. The shelves should hold her. But with the way they groaned and shook as she ran, her confidence waned.
She leaned over. But that wasn’t Sloane below with the gun in her hand. That had been Olivia shooting.
Jules pivoted—and faced Sloane. She jumped back.
Sloane grinned, holding the knife. “Keep going.”
“Enough is enough. No one’s going to say a word.”
“Keep going.” Sloane stepped closer, holding the knife tightly. “Jump.”
Jump? Jules would die. “Enough. Stop.”
Sloane jabbed.
Jules only had another foot of space, maybe less. “Come on, Sloane. This isn’t how we’re going to end this.”
Sloane sliced the blade up. Jules’s adrenaline spiked. Her palms smacked down on Sloane’s forearm. The white-hot pain of the knife sliced into her skin. But Sloane dropped the knife. It clattered through the metal grates of the shelf. Jules shoved Sloane aside and ran.
Blood coated her arms and hands. The pain throbbed. She ducked into an alcove between pallets.
Suddenly, an eruption of noise echoed through the warehouse.
She didn’t trust who it might be. Who else might Sloane have hired? She’d hired people across the damn world to harass her. To nearly rape and kill her.
Jules curled into a ball. Her arm throbbed. Blood gushed between her fingers as she covered the wound with her hand. White noise of adrenaline and her heartbeat screamed in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Shouts echoed from the warehouse floor below.
She wouldn’t come out until they’d stopped, until she knew Sloane and Olivia were gone, telling their story about what had happened, maybe even believing Jules wouldn’t want to testify, that she wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of the press like she hadn’t with Jordan Everett.
They were wrong. And she couldn’t wait.
“Jules.” Rhys’s voice echoed through the warehouse like a madman’s. “Where are you?”
She pushed up, her head swimming. Maybe she’d lost more blood than she’d realized. “Rhys.” He hadn’t heard her. “Rhys.” Jules crawled from between the pallets. “Rhys!”
“I’m coming for you, baby.”
Then he was there. It hadn’t taken long for him to find her. Maybe he’d followed her blood. Perhaps he just had a sixth sense about where she was. He’d always kept her safe. Today would be no exception.
She dived into his arms, and Rhys pulled her close, but she cried out in pain.
“My arm.” Jules positioned it against her chest. “Sloane stabbed me. Sloane—”
“They’ve got her. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”
“Wes?”
“Aggravated he couldn’t be here tonight to help end this shit storm.”
Her lips quirked. “It’s her. Everything. Her, Olivia, and Tabitha.”
He nodded. “Tell me all about it later. Let’s get you down first.” Rhys raked his gaze over her. “Hurt anywhere else?”
She shook her head. “Just my arm.”
Rhys pulled off his shirt and tore the fabric then wrapped it around her forearm to stanch the blood loss. Then far more carefully, he pulled her into his arms. “God, baby, I love you. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
She nodded against his chest. A bubble of emotion caught in her throat. She’d said it before and meant it. Right now, bleeding and shaking on a warehouse shelf, she meant it more. “I love you too.”
He kissed the top of her head and her cheek then softly touched her lips. “Okay. Now I can get you down.”
Climbing down the pallet shelves was much harder than climbing up. Not only did her arm throb, but the warehouse lights had been turned on, and Jules could see how very far away the concrete floor was.
As soon as they reached it, medics and cops swarmed her. Rhys didn’t leave her side. She wanted to ask about Olivia and Sloane but would let law enforcement handle it. When it came time to testify, there wouldn’t be a single fuck given. Jules would tell the world.
The Lowry family had friends everywhere. There had been no shortage of middle-of-the-night offerings of places to stay. Now, dawn was breaking as Rhys drove Jules to the address Abigail had provided. It wasn’t far from Diane and Peyton’s home.
The police presence was heavy. They’d waved him in when he’d arrived at the property.
With the help of pain medicine, Jules had fallen asleep on the ride from the hospital. She didn’t wake up when he parked and came around to the passenger side.
The front door opened. Abigail crossed her arms, silently watching as he unfastened Jules’s seat belt and lifted her into his arms and carried her inside.
“There’s a bedroom for you. Upstairs. First door on the right.”
Rhys took her up the stairs and carefully laid her on the soft mattress. When she didn’t so much as flutter her eyelashes, he left to retrieve her pain pills and antibiotics from the car.
Abigail leaned on the wall. “Thank you for bringing my sister home.”
He lifted his chin. “I’d do anything for her.”
“I’ve always known that.” The corners of her mouth tugged up. “You make her happy.”
“She’s the center of my world.”
“I’m glad she has you, Rhys.”
He was glad he had her too. “Night, Abs.”
Then Rhys returned upstairs to the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. He didn’t know how, but he knew she’d get whatever she wanted, and that was all he’d ever need.
Her eyes fluttered open. “I want to go home.”
He stroked her hair, trying to soothe away the hell she’d been through. “You are home.”
“No. Not from the hospital. I mean for good. With you.” Her lips curved up. “You and Clyde. I think he really likes me.”
“I think he does too.” Rhys grinned at her in the dark. “Then it’s set. You’re coming home with me.”
“I don’t even have any bags to pack. Nothing but my sister-moon luggage.”
“All replaceable,” he said. “You can have anything in the world, live anywhere in the world. Are you sure you want to live with Clyde and me?”
“Have you seen the thirst-trap pictures you sent me?”
Rhys laughed. He stretched next to her, being careful of the stitches on her arm. “Good to know that’s all it took.”
“Yup. A combination of spending half my life with you and shirtless pictures.” Her head lolled. “I need a couple more. For when you travel for work and Clyde and I are bored.”
His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Sure. Anything else, baby?”
“Yeah,” she whispered, the pain medicine adding a lazy drawl to the word. “Tell Vivian I want to be a spy.”