Chapter 38 #2
“You don’t hold innocent people hostage! Especially not women and children, you sick fuck!” Wes bellows from where he’s standing by the back door, his body tense. “Blair was fixing your mistake. Thank god she did or they could’ve gotten caught up in the shootout.”
Anchor looks to me as if I will agree with him.
The fuck I will.
“They’re right,” I tell him. “In any case, you got what you wanted. Dixie came to you.”
Anchor’s jaw clenches tight as he glares at me, then the rest of us. He doesn’t see that he’s done anything wrong, that much is clear.
Rhett doesn’t make a sound as he stares out the kitchen window, his back facing us. He’s been stiff and silent since Wes and I brought Anchor back without his daughter. His hands, however, now curl into fists at his side.
“How about,” Wes hedges after a tense silence. “You continue with your story. We need to know it all before we can be any help to Blair.”
Right, count on Wes to get things back on track.
Anchor must agree because he nods once.
“They broke in on both floors at the same time. Blair fought her way up to me. We were cornered in the primary bedroom when we were split up. I’d opened the window and we were going to jump but they came in guns blazing.
Blair moved in front of me as they opened fire and—” Anchor abruptly stops talking.
I leave his side to head to the sink to wash my hands and to give myself a chance to tamp down my reaction.
So, Blair’s hurt.
Bile climbs up my throat. I brace my hands on the edge of the sink and force myself to take several deep breaths. It doesn’t help. Not to relax me, or to tamp down the nausea. Pushing away from the sink, I turn to look back at Anchor.
On the other side of the room, Santi groans.
“How hurt is she?” he demands. “What are we going to find when we get her back?”
Anchor doesn’t say anything. The lack of a response makes this so much fucking worse. Because if he can’t assure me that she’s fine—which he would under normal tense situations—then he’s just as scared as we are.
Anchor’s stony expression locks onto me.
Yeah, it’s fucking bad.
I choke down a groan and shove away the terror creeping up my spine.
There’s a tense pause before Anchor breaks the silence to continue, “Blair pushed me out the window before I could grab her and do the exact same thing. I heard her scream for me to run and then… nothing. The way I landed caused the twisted ankle and dislocated shoulder.” He waves dismissively at his injuries as he speaks, his brows crashing together.
“I couldn’t do anything without putting myself at risk, too.
I knew she’d have a better chance at being saved later on if I got away.
But I managed to put my phone in one of the cars that had pulled up. We can track it and find her.”
He put his phone in one of the cars…
This piece of information—good news in the wake of all the bad—is crucial. Everyone erupts into action.
Santi scrambles over to the island and opens his laptop.
“Number, now!” he snaps as Rhett grabs his boots by the back door and shoves them on.
Wes pushes off the wall and leaves the kitchen to, no doubt, grab all the weapons from the other room that I brought up from the basement.
Anchor ticks off his number and Santi gets to work. As his fingers fly over the keyboard, I stomp across the room to stand in front of my best friend. Anchor looks up and glares at me.
“This is all your fucking fault,” my friend spits out.
Before I can say anything, Rhett laughs coldly.
“You killed a man’s wife and then told him to his face that it ‘wasn’t personal’,” he says, his voice so low and cold, it’s almost inhuman.
His dark eyes flash as they pin to Anchor’s face.
“You brought this upon yourself, asshole. Ledger fucked up for sure, but he didn’t cause the grudge between you and this Dixie guy.
If he kills Blair, her blood is on your hands. ”
“And then,” Santi adds just as coldly, his fingers never stopping as he speaks. “Your blood will be on ours because if Blair’s dead—you’re dead. Got it?” He glances up at Anchor, all signs of playful Santiago, gone.
Anchor says nothing but his nostrils flare in indignation. If he was in any condition to fight, he probably would’ve gotten up to attack Santi for the threat.
Wes strolls back into the room, geared up and ready to go. Rhett heads into the family room next to do the same. Pride swells as I watch my friends gear up for war for my goddaughter. No questions, no hesitation—we’re all on the same page here.
Anchor takes note of it too, watching as Rhett comes back with guns strapped to his hip.
“Where’s your fucking rifle?” Anchor asks. “You need one.”
Rhett flashes Anchor his teeth in a deadly grin. “Bend over and I’ll show you.”
Anchor scoffs. “My daughter likes you? A disrespectful asshole? I don’t believe it.”
“Naw, she doesn’t like me,” Rhett shoots him a cocky, cold smile. “She loves me. If I get lucky enough, one of these days, I might be calling you Dad, just like her. We’ll be one big happy family, so you better get used to my face and my disrespect.”
Santi gasps with delight. “Can I be the best man at the wedding?”
“You can be my bride, too,” Rhett corrects him without missing a beat. To Anchor he adds, “You know, Dad doesn’t sound right on the tongue. How about I call you ‘Daddy’ instead? Or, since you have a few grays, you could probably pull off ‘Paw Paw’ if you want. Maybe—”
“Got it!” Santi shouts, leaping to his feet.
Rhett beats everyone to Santi’s side. He peers over his shoulder at the screen and scoffs. “No fucking way.”
“What is it? Where is she?” I snap as I push him out of the way.
Santi laughs and Rhett does too.
“She’s on the property next to where we play our game,” Rhett explains just as Santi zooms out on the satellite map and points to the roof of a familiar little cabin. “There’s no one who knows the layout of the land better than us.”
Santi nods. “This side of the ridge is like a fishbowl, and the house sits directly in the middle of it. You can see down to the house from nearly every angle. We’ll be able to see any men Dixie might have working for him before they see us.”
“This piece of property—are there others nearby? Other than your murder shed?” Wes asks.
Rhett and Santi shake their heads.
“Nope,” Santi confirms. “Not for miles.”
“Great,” Anchor growls. “You’ll point to the best spots for us to get high enough to—”
“Fuck no, Paw Paw,” Rhett cuts off. “The four of us are going to get our girl. You can sit here in a recliner sipping some sweet tea if you want since you’ll just be in the way.”
Anchor opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off.
“You’re in no position to turn down help. You want to save Blair? Fine, but you have to play nice with us,” I warn.
This is Anchor’s worst nightmare come to life.
His daughter’s in trouble and he needs all four of us to help him. I can see the internal struggle warring in his dark eyes as they meet mine.
“I trust these men to find, save, and love your daughter. I suggest you stop fighting the fucking inevitable and get with the program,” I tell him.
Anchor’s upper lip pulls up into a sneer but then he lets it drop with a sigh.
“Fine. Let’s come up with a plan for you four to save my daughter.”