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Decker
“Who, in their right mind, doesn’t have a spare fucking tire?” I don’t know how many times I’ve repeated the rhetorical question over the unending hours on the road. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”
Hunt had used the space where the tire should be and filled it with tactical shit—guns, ammo, knives. There was even equipment to make a fuel bomb.
“Who the hell has fertilizer on standby, yet no fucking spare tire?”
“You seriously need to shut the fuck up before I slam on the brakes and hope your thousand-year-old seatbelt fails.”
The thousand-year-old seatbelt, and my brother’s thousand-year-old Jeep, have seriously slowed the time it should’ve taken to get back to Portland. We found the beat-up pile of metal in his garage, the keys in the ignition, because even my brother is begging for someone to take this piece of crap off his hands. “Slamming on the brakes won’t do shit when you’re driving like a na
“I’ve got my foot to the fucking floor,” he grates. “It’s the car that’s lagging.”
Frustration gave way to insanity three hundred miles ago, back when I gave up on trying to speak to Keira.
Sarah ignored all my attempts to get in contact. Every fucking one.
The only information we’ve had came half an hour ago.
One fucking phone call to cement my fears by telling us, “She’s finishing this. I’ll call again when it’s over.”
That’s all she said. Two rushed sentences before Hunt snatched the phone away and took over the conversation.
“Head toward the parking lot.” I scan the area surrounding the hospital. “They haven’t been back in contact, so they’ve gotta still be here.”
“They should be gone by now. It doesn’t take this long.”
He’s right, but until we get confirmation, I’m going to assume they haven’t finished the job. I’m also going to assume everything that could go wrong did go wrong. That panic isn’t going to wear off until Keira is safe and sound in my arms.
They’ve rushed into this.
It’s too soon.
“There.” Hunt points toward the back of the half empty parking lot. “That’s the car.”
My stomach plummets as I turn my gaze in the direction of his finger. Sure enough, he’s right. Fuck. What the hell could be taking so long?
“Sarah said she was waiting out here.” Hunt’s hands squeak as he white-knuckles the steering wheel. “Where the fuck is she?”
I lean forward as we pull into a parking space two cars away, glancing through the neighboring vehicle to find the Mercedes empty. “I’ve got a really shitty feeling about this.”
“Well, that’s a bonus.” He cuts the engine and unclasps his belt. “And all that scientific research tried to tell me psychopaths don’t have feelings.”
“Fu
“I can’t help it.” He attempts to mimic my voice, his face entirely deadpan. “I’m a fu
“Fucking hilarious.” I shove from the car, slamming the door behind me, before stalking to the Mercedes. I check the back seat as I pass. There’s nothing in there. Not a scrap of paper or a piece of rubbish.
“Stop freaking out.” Hunt comes up behind me, his gait casual. “They might have changed their plan and fled on foot.”
I inch forward, checking out the front. It’s clean, too. Nothing on the seats or along the dash. Nothing but the car keys dangling from the ignition.
“Jesus, Hunt.” My stomach takes a nosedive. “I don’t think their change of plan was deliberate.”
He gets up close and peers over my shoulder.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. The sudden surge of panic ebbs off him.
I rush around the car, looking for a hint to tell me what the hell went down. “Something went wrong.”
Something when terribly fucking wrong. But what?
Hunt pulls out his phone and starts dialing. Seconds later he’s dialing again. Then again.
“Fuck.” He massages his forehead. “Why the hell won’t she answer her fucking phone?”
“Maybe because they’ve been caught.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and ignore the bite of pain that comes from my growing headache. “Your woman pushed Keira into something she wasn’t ready for, and now she’s going to spend the rest of her life in prison.”
“Sarah isn’t stupid.”
“Really?” I drop my hand to my side. “Her engagement to you says otherwise.”
His eyes harden.
“You two never should’ve gotten involved.” I focus on the sliding doors of the hospital. I will the glass panels to open and for Keira to walk out. I beg for her to appear before me. I fucking pray. “I’m going in there.”
“Not yet, you won’t.” Hunt rests against the Mercedes. “You’ll only draw attention. We need to wait a little longer.”
“That’s easy for you to say when Sarah’s not the one committing murder.”
“We’re waiting,” he repeats. “Suck it up and deal.”
Oh, I suck it up, all right. I bottle that shit like it’s gold, letting the panic and hysteria build into an uncontrollable force. Each second that ticks by feels like an hour as I pace behind the car. Any minute now, I’m certain I’ll hear a police siren. Or a gunshot. Or Keira screaming for help.
The phantom sounds ring in my ears.
I scrutinize every person who approaches and leaves the hospital. I commit their clothing to memory in case I need the information later. At this point, everyone is the enemy. They all stand between me and the woman I need to protect.
“Is that…” Hunt pushes from the car, his gaze tracking the Porsche pulling into the other side of the parking lot.
“Oh, shit.”
It’s Torian.
I start walking, my pace increasing with every step as two men climb from the sports car. The fear and panic I had moments before is nothing in comparison to the sheer terror I feel now. “If he finds her…”
Christ, I have no idea what he’ll do.
“Torian.” I break into a jog. “Hey, Torian.”
Hunter curses behind me, his footsteps following. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“He can’t find out she’s here.” I keep ru
I catch his attention a few yards from the sliding doors. He stops and turns my way, not showing a hint of surprise at my appearance. What stares back at me is his usual mask of calm indifference.
I slow my pace and relax into a casual stride, inclining my head in greeting. “Hey, Mr. Boss Man.” I switch my attention to the dark scowl of the tank at his side. “Luca. I haven’t seen you in a while, buddy.”
Luca Hart—Layla’s brother-in-law. He’s reckless and equally callous. He’s also an ex-SEAL, and definitely not my buddy. The muscled-up fighting machine is the only guy I’ve met who’s left the armed forces without a shred of national pride intact.
The guy hates everyone.
Especially me.
“What are you doing here?” Torian asks.
I point to my face, then lift my shirt to show my bruises as Hunter stops beside me. “I needed to get the rig checked. I think I’ve got a few fractured ribs.”
“And you?” He turns his scrutiny to my accomplice.
“Decker needed me to hold his hand.”
Torian raises a brow and nods. Slowly. There’s no rush for answers, hint of panic, or twitch of hatred. Even after his conversation with Keira this afternoon, he’s civil, and it’s scary as fuck. “Where’s my sister?”
“Don’t worry, she’s with Sarah.”
It’s the only answer that came to mind. But it’s the wrong one. I don’t realize my mistake until Hunter clears his throat in a subtle reprimand.