Page 12

Yet, here we are. Again. Guns pulled on us when Oscar should be riding out the rest of his days as an elite athlete, colleges all lined up. Brawler should be in the gym, downing protein like it’s candy, searching for amateur fights. Me? I just want a place big enough to fit all the guys. No threats. No hair-raising activities other than training...and a whole lot of sexing.
I inspect the newcomers, and the only guard I recognize is Trey. I don’t know how many we lost at The Ring earlier, but at least he knows who we are. Magnum comes out of the back with a towel around his hips, his chiseled chest on full display. I’m happy to see Cole isn’t with him. Hopefully, he’s hiding in the woods by now. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the Crew seeing him. They wouldn’t ask questions. They wouldn’t think. They’d just kill. “Guys, what the fuck?”
Trey lowers his weapon. “K’s ordered you to come back to the tower.”
“What do you think we were just about to do? We came here to get cleaned up and wait for the dust to settle, and then we were heading back. We have news K won’t like.” Mag glares at the other security guys who haven’t lowered their guns. “Are you seriously going to keep those raised at Rocket’s girlfriend, a recruit, and a member? I think we have outside threats we need to be worried about, not members of our own fucking team.”
The guys lower their guns right away, holstering them. Not surprising. Magnum is not only stoically demanding around his security guys, he’s badass.
“We know about Johnny,” Trey says. “K wants to know what you know.”
It’s itching at the end of my tongue to tell everyone that K might know if he’d stuck around long enough to find out.
Magnum’s stomach flexes as he breathes. He looks calm, but I can only imagine what he’s feeling under that exterior. “Let me just get dressed.”
Trey assesses the situation, gaze catching on everyone in the room. “We’ll take Kyla and Drego. You can follow with the initiate.”
Magnum’s muscles bunch, but it’s gone within a fraction of a second. “You might want to take the initiate instead. He was with Johnny when he was taken, so he’ll be able to provide more details than they could.”
Trey nods. “Fine. We’ll take Kyla and the initiate.” He gestures us forward. I glance over at Mag, and he gives me a slight nod. I don’t want to head into the lion’s den without all of them. Nothing good has ever happened in K’s suite, but it would be suspicious to make demands to ride with each other.
Fuck it. I move forward, Brawler trailing behind me. Tossing my ice pack to Oscar, I give him a sly wink that tells him not to worry though I doubt it will do any good. I walk past the Crew’s guards and to the door, and they follow. When we get out into the chilled night air, Trey orders us into the back of the SUV. There’s a third row of seats that Brawler and I occupy while the four guards sit toward the front.
Brawler and I link hands out of view of the rest of them and await the journey back to the Heights. It seems as if all roads lead me back here. I hope that’s not a sign. A fate-filled compass that’s supposed to tell me something. My plan has always been to get away from the Heights. Not get stuck here.
The guys make small talk in the vehicle, mostly talking about this one or that one who didn’t make it. They make guesses as to where Gregory is hiding out like the pussy that he is. They don’t bother talking to us, and we don’t bother inserting ourselves into their conversation either.
The longer the drive takes, the sooner I know we’ll be getting back to the tower, and that scares the shit out of me. Without Johnny there, I’m nothing to the man. At least with Johnny’s presence, his dad might think twice about killing me because of what it will do to his son—maybe. But without him there—and hyped up because of what happened—he’s probably a loose cannon.
Forest turns into dilapidated houses. We enter the Heights like slamming head first into a bad idea. My stomach knots, but I play it as cool as I can. Mag will be here shortly. Brawler’s with me right now, and this is exactly the reason why he joined the Crew. To protect me. To make sure he could be there when shit went south.
The guard in the security booth waves us on. There’s another on the other side, peering in the windows as Trey drives slowly into the underground parking lot. I hadn’t realized how much of a relief it had been to be away from here after what happened the last time I set foot in this place.
We file out of the car and head toward the elevator. Having K on our side with this will help. He’ll want Johnny back no matter what. I’m sure of it. It can’t hurt to have Cole working on the inside and the entire Crew’s focus on getting Johnny back and taking out the people who did this. He just better be okay.
No one talks as we exit the elevator and go to the familiar door on the right. For a moment, I let my gaze linger on the left-side door. A part of me hopes that this has all just been a misunderstanding and that Johnny could be waiting for me in his suite, worried sick about me, and wondering where I am.
When I walk into K’s suite, all of that hope disintegrates. A familiar cry of pain shatters the room. I take off, searching for him. It was in this very same space the last time I heard him cry out like that, and I swear to God, I will not fucking let anyone hurt him like that again.
I burst into the living area, finding K standing in front of a TV, a thin black remote in his hand. He steps out of the way, revealing his son.
My knees tremble as I watch the screen. He’s awake now. Barely. Blood is everywhere, similar to how I saw him when his father tied him to a chair in the middle of this damn room, but this is different. This time, he doesn’t have friends around. He doesn’t have a father who’s “teaching him a lesson”, he has enemies who are making him suffer.
A man in a black mask shoves his fingers into Johnny’s hip. Blood pours from his gunshot wound as a cry ricochets through the room they have him in. I fall to my knees and cover my mouth with my hands. Tears prick my eyes.
They’re torturing him. They’re torturing my Johnny Rocket.
6
Big Daddy K looks over his shoulder. He traces his gaze down to find me still on my knees, staring at the now paused screen. Moving forward, he reaches his hand out. I loathe this guy. Every time I touch him, I want to stick my hand in bleach to erase the feeling, but I stick my hand out anyway. He helps pull me to my feet.
His nostrils flare. “They’re doing that to my son.”
I can’t keep from staring at the screen. Johnny’s jaw is clenched tightly. Blood from his nose stains his teeth. “They sent that to you?”
K releases my fingers, drawn to the screen as well. “I was sent this an hour ago.”
“What do they want?”