CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JAYDEN
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Noah isn’t answering his fucking phone. He doesn’t have my number, and I realize he’s right in the mix of things down there with Tiffany, but I need to talk to him.
No, you don’t.
You have a bad feeling, and it could be your anxiety.
Fuck, the voices in my head make me feel even more goddamn insane than normal.
What would I have said if he’d answered?
Something like, the woman I slept with is torturing me in my dreams each night.
Unreasonable, given I gave her six orgasms. I miss her like crazy, and so apparently, I think we have this sixth sense about one another.
Henceforth, I believe she might be about to die. Mind putting her on the phone?
Or throwing her over your shoulder and delivering her to me.
Christ, I’m losing it.
I set up my rifle, lean the tripod on the ground, and lie down. Today I’m not in a fighter jet, there’s no desert sand getting fucking everywhere. Just good old American green grass.
Yet, being here feels crucial.
Or perhaps it’s time to admit how I feel about this woman and how dangerous the crimes are that have taken place. It’s triggering me.
This is the fucked-up thing about anxiety; you just don’t know what is real and what isn’t. I start thinking about the cops and why they haven’t found the offender. What’s taking them so long? Why are there no goddamn fingerprints?
How did he or she get inside the house that night I was there and disconnect the fucking security system?
The answer is probably that they are professional thieves and having fun fucking with her, the cops and media. People like that thrive on the thrill.
Tiffany steps out onto the runway and looks absolutely fucking stunning. Her dress hugs her slim figure like a glove. The diamonds glisten in the Californian sunshine, and cameras start clicking, adding to the flashes I’m seeing from a distance.
What am I doing here?
Cursing, I lift my head and wonder if I should just go home. I’ve already spotted all the BHS guys around the venue. They know what they’re doing. Hell, many of them are far more experienced than I am.
I place my eye back on the scope and move my weapon so I can survey more of the area.
If this is a diamond smuggling ring, surely they aren’t going to try anything with all the press here today. Not only that, but there are also hundreds of people standing behind the barriers. Witnesses.
People like that thrive on the thrill.
Shit. That means this could be right up their alley.
Tiffany continues down the runway, swaying her hips, eyes straight ahead. God she could be a supermodel.
In minutes this will be over, then I’ll drive home and never have an excuse to see her again.
My teeth clench.
What can I do about this anyway? I’m not the man for her. She doesn’t want some guy with a mortgage and three thousand dollars in the bank. Tiffany is going to marry someone rich and famous. Some tech tycoon.
An actor.
A musician.
Someone who meets her at the same level she is at and fits into her world.
I wonder for a moment what her world really is. I know she’s close to her parents, and I heard her giggling on the phone to Rebecca, a friend in London.
Sadie is her PA, and they seem to have a great relationship, but obviously, it’s a business one.
Then there’s Nadia. That same uncomfortable feeling returns. I don’t know, the friendship feels forced and based only on proximity.
Jessie said she likes Tiff and that I’m an idiot.
To be fair, I’m an idiot in Jessie’s mind at least four times a year.
I secretly like that the two of them hung out that night, even though my emotions were all over the show.
I wish I’d stayed.
I wish I’d drunk tequila with her and kissed her again, then taken her back to my place and pretended for just one night that she belonged to me.
What would Dad tell me to do?
Cut my losses and set my sights on a girl who can cook good Southern food and wants a family.
I don’t even know what Tiff actually wants when it comes to a relationship and family. Of course I don’t, because I shouldn’t even be thinking about these things. She was a client I was tasked with protecting.
Instead, I fucked her.
I know how damn lucky I am Josh didn’t kick my ass down the road.
I’m going to call one of those support groups. I want to heal from this. I want to know I’m not alone and that there is hope I can push through it.
Jesus, what am I doing lying here stalking Tiffany, pretending she needs my protection.
She doesn’t.
The boys have got this. Noah, Ryder and an entire team of paramilitary experts are down there working this job. I should go home and—
What the fuck?
Something catches my eye. I adjust the scope and wait for my eyes to adjust.
What the hell?
My body stiffens as I accept I’m not imagining this. I just saw...there. And there. And there.
Fuck, this isn’t good.
I rip my phone out of my black cargo pants and punch Noah’s number again. Ring, ring, ring.
Three, no four men—fuck, I think there are six—slide on black caps and position themselves around the perimeter of the event.
Goddamn you, Noah, answer for fuck's sake.
I hang up. Then dial Ryder’s phone.
“Busy, Rogers,” he snaps.
“Stop. Listen to me right now.”
He does. As I expected. Ryder is former Delta Force, and his instincts are spot on.
“Proceed.”
“Four men at the Maison-Stallone launch event. I’m fifty yards away. There could be more.” I brief him rapid fire. “They jumped out of a van a moment ago and have split up. They’re about to have the place surrounded. All in black and now wearing black caps. Swear I saw a rifle but cannot confirm.”
I focus on keeping my breathing calm as trained.
“Hold,” Ryder replies roughly. “Team two, targets in black surrounding the venue. Advise.”
I can’t hear the response coming from the team on the ground, but I’m immediately relieved he’s taking me seriously.
The relief is short-lived when I see Tiffany stop partway along the stage and the crowd, which I can only now hear because of the phone call, begin to clap and cheer.
She waves out.
Making her a big target with all those fucking diamonds.
“Shit.”
I duck down and see nerves on her face despite her smile.
Why didn’t you listen to me, princess?
She waves at a few people, smiles proudly, and continues. Watching her expertly stride down the catwalk, looking like one of the most beautiful women in the world, has my heart racing, and it’s not because she’s a job.
I have real fucking feelings for this woman.
Keeping my trigger finger steady, I wait for instruction.
“Roger that.” Ryder says, and when I expect him to hang up, he doesn’t. “Jayden, where are you?”
I give him my rough coordinates and location.
“I’m weaponed up with sniper gear.”
“Fuck, okay. Stay put and be our eyes.”
“Copy that.”
Guess he’ll ask why tomorrow, but right now he’s doing what he needs to do. Use me.
I put the phone on speaker, then place it on the grass beside me, and get comfortable, adjusting my scope and slowly but surely moving through the crowd.
“Eyes on target.” I say quietly after a few moments. “Man, one by a tall palm by the woman in the red dress. Dark Levi's jeans. Black, nondescript jacket. Black cap. Looks...white and over six four.”
Ryder relays it to the team as I seek out the other men.
My sight travels past Tiff, who is now at the end of the runway and has been handed a microphone. She begins to address the crowd.
Please let me be wrong about what could happen.
I’m not.
I see a flash of metal and know exactly what this is. Someone is here to steal the diamonds.
“Going to wood!” I yell, warning Ryder that the suspects are readying their weapons.
Then everything happens.
Eight (not four!) men simultaneously lift their weapons into the air and start shooting. Their faces are now masked.
Ryder screams get down, get down and guests clamber off their seats and drop to the ground.
Tiffany screams and wobbles on her heels as two men leap up on stage and grab her. “Oh God, let me go!”
“Shut up, or I will blow your brains out.”
Those motherfuckers.
My trigger finger is primed and ready, but I am a fully trained sniper, so make use of every single millisecond to keep her safe.
“Stay back,” the other one turns and points his weapon at Noah, who has run halfway down the runway.
I set my site on the man holding the gun at Tiffany’s head and wait to get a clear shot. He’s moving too much.
It’s too great a risk.
I could kill her instead.
If he would just...stay...still. My bullet will take him out in zero-point-five seconds.
BHS Warriors are in a Mexican standoff with the others, but my focus remains on Tiffany, who is shaking like a leaf.
I hear sirens and people whimpering, that’s when I realize Ryder still has me on the call.
“Boss.”
I hear a faint yup.
“Get down on your knees.” The man yells to someone, and I suspect it’s Noah. Last time I saw him, his Glock was pointed at the mask-clad men. “Toss that over here.”
Not anymore.
Still with the moving. This asshole won’t stay still, and Tiffany is wobbling about.
“Time to lose the necklace, Ms. Stallone,” I hear faintly, along with a dark chuckle.
What the hell?
When I lift my head, I see a man striding confidently down the runway. He’s not armed, and that speaks volumes. Whoever he is, he feels untouchable and powerful.
Fuck...they could take her hostage.
Eye back on the scope, I line one of the men up. It’s now or never, I know this in my bones.
“Have them in my sight.” I tell Ryder. “Give me the go ahead.”
“Mafia,” Ryder mutters. “Gotta be.”
“No,” I reply. “Bratva.”
I figured that out once the first man spoke. I heard a Russian accent.
“Fuck.”
“Please, let me go,” I hear Tiffany cry, and fury blasts through my veins.
I am not shooting to maim today, and Ryder knows it. The moment I take my first shot, I’ll need to reload and take the second man out fast.
The BHS team will act simultaneously.
They will.
This is what we’re trained to do.
“Prepare to engage,” Ryder tells the team, and I know that’s my sign. “Jay has Tiffany in his sight. I’ll cover Noah. The rest of you drop the others.”
Sweat starts to run down my chest.
Not now.
Not fucking now.
I begin to shake, and when Tiffany lifts her eyes and somehow locks on mine, despite the distance, I feel like I’m going to vomit.
“Three, two...”
This is for your princess.
I fucking love you.
“One.” Ryder gives the signal.
With precision and sudden calm, my trigger finger presses and releases the bullet from the chamber.
Pop.
It hits the intended target: the man holding the weapon against the head of the woman I love.
Pop, pop.
I send two more bullets towards the second masked man who has turned. That leaves the third man. I turn my sight toward him, and...
Fuck me...it’s Alexei.