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Ryder raised his palms. “Easy, mate.”Keep the gun on me and not Nathalie.“Tell me why you hate me, Foster. We were teammates. We went through hell together. If you needed help, why didn’t you call me?”
Hadley’s eyes clouded. “We did.” His forehead creased as he squinted at Ryder like he didn’t know what to make of him. “I had a shit life, but you? You had everything.”
“Not everything.” Ryder glanced at Nathalie. He hadn’t had the one thing that mattered most to him.
He slid one foot a half-step closer.
“When you got out, you could have gone back to posh society, the war hero. But you didn’t, did you?” Hadley gave an understanding nod. “Civilian life was too hard, wasn’t it? No one understands what we saw, what we did. They don’t care. I had nothing to go back to. No home. No job.”
Ryder slid his other foot a half step. “That’s why you did this?”
Hadley stabbed the gun in Ryder’s direction like an angry finger. “I tried to sign on with a security agency. Unlike you, Mackay didn’t roll out the red carpet for me. I interviewed with three companies—three—and all of them said thanks but no thanks. That arsehole, Mason Winters, even suggested I get counseling. What the fuck for?”
The floor above Ryder’s head creaked, the sound low.
“You should have come to me. I would have helped you. I can still help you.”
“Help me do what?” Hadley gave him a knowing look. “Get a lighter prison sentence? The only thing you can do for me now is get me and your missus here our transport to Cuba.”
Keep him talking.“What about Liu Jianjun?”
“He was looking for security in London. Hired me. Found out I have a bit of skill with computers. Offered me this job,”—he glared at Nathalie—“which was supposed to be easy enough. I would have been set for the rest of my life.”
The air became charged with a sudden angry tension. The cords in Hadley’s neck stood out, his lips pulled back to reveal clenched teeth.
“Then you came along. Clark Kent. The aristocrat playing at being a bloody hero. The bodyguard fucking his client. You win. Again. I lose. Again.” His head tilted back to roar at the ceiling, “Where’s my fucking plane?” as if to make sure Lachlan heard him outside.
Ryder slid another step closer. Hadley was becoming unstable. If he and Caleb couldn’t stop him, he could only hope Nathan perched somewhere outside on a nearby roof with his sniper rifle.
A stair creaked in the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Youbloodybastard,”Hadleyhissed. His head whipped toward the kitchen before returning to glare at Ryder, his face a mask of rage.
Nathalie’s heart stopped, the moment turning into a slow-motion horror show as Hadley lifted his gun.
Aimed at Ryder.
Ryder lunged forward.
Nathalie screamed and threw out her arm, knocking Hadley’s elbow just as an ear-splitting crack deafened her. Splinters flew from the wood molding around the front door.
Ryder’s hip bumped her shoulder as he went airborne and tackled Hadley to the ground.
The chair tipped precariously.
She threw out her arm.
Pain radiated from her palm to her shoulder as she landed with a thud and threw out her other hand. Still tied to the chair by her ankles, she army-crawled until she was curled up as far as she could get beneath the table.
Grunts and curses filled the room. A body—Hadley’s?—slammed against the table, chairs toppled.
Nathalie covered her head, praying her flimsy shelter held.
The gun clattered to the floor as the two men careened back toward open space. Fists met flesh in a sickening symphony of violence.
Nathalie peered through the table legs at the loose weapon. She didn’t know if she could reach it, but she damn sure was going to try. She propped herself on her elbows.