Page 34 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Trips

W e make it to the house five minutes before midnight, sneaking in the back door, having survived a two-mile walk in the bitter cold with Walker flinching every time we got too close to a streetlight. Jansen greets us with a frantic energy that I just can’t deal with, everything about me aching.

“Do you guys know where Clara and RJ are?” he asks before we’re even in the door.

Which is exactly what I don’t want to hear. “They’re not here yet?”

“No. You two are the first.”

“Fuck.”

Walker stumbles into the nasty ass kitchen, his face twisting in disgust. “Any chance there’s a first aid kit around here? Or an ice pack?” His eyes are nearly closed against the faint light from the hallway.

“No. I hadn’t brought a kit over yet,” I say.

“You both look terrible,” Jansen says, taking in our bloody, swollen selves.

I lock the door behind us. “We ran into trouble.”

“Do you think RJ and Clara did, too?”

I close my eyes instead of answering. I hope not, but fuck. Yeah. They probably did. Falk is no dummy. As soon as he figured out we were running, it was probably all hands on deck.

Glancing at my watch doesn’t help my mood. Two minutes left. And the only person who sure as shit has to get the hell out of here is nowhere to be seen. “Let’s just get fucking loaded,” I say, avoiding the question we all want answered.

Jansen, though, spins, slamming me against the wall a prior tenant kicked in, the house shaking as I bang into it, plaster dust raining down around us.

I let him hold me there, the green of his eyes sharp as jade, every bruise I’ve gotten tonight barely penance.

“I swear, if she doesn’t get here, I’m holding you personally responsible,” he growls.

“Understood.”

He shakes me once before wincing and pulling back, shaking out his left hand.

“Did you find trouble, too?” I ask, tilting my chin at his hand, trying to get us back to stable ground.

“Not like you two. Just doing dangerous shit in bad weather.” He limps away, leading Walker and me out the front and down the street. It’s obvious that none of us are in good condition.

Clara and RJ had better be here soon.

A low whistle has us turning, my fists coming up, even if I’m going to be a one-punch wonder right now.

Luckily, RJ comes rushing out from between two houses, Clara towed behind him.

And while they aren’t bloody messes like Walker and me, it’s clear they aren’t good.

They join our group on the sidewalk, neither of them saying a thing as Jansen leads us to a massive, ancient RV.

“Seriously?” I ask as he gestures us on board.

“You have a better way to get out of here? Now we don’t have to stop, we don’t have to look for a hotel and risk the fake IDs, and we can get far, far away before we make a better plan.”

He has a point.

Climbing aboard, the smell of disintegrating upholstery greets me, and I slump onto a bench seat at a dinette table.

Jansen gets behind the wheel, none of us offering to take his place, while Clara curls onto RJ’s lap in a captain’s seat by the door, her face hidden from the rest of us, and we’re off.

Walker stumbles to the back, flopping onto the bed back there, a groan accompanying the move.

RJ and Clara cling to each other, his voice inaudible over the engine as he whispers in her ear.

I want to ask what they were up against, but I’m not sure I can take any more of RJ’s anger.

It’s earned. Fuck, it’s so fucking earned, but each quiet, cutting comment hurts more than most words my father’s thrown at me.

Instead of asking, I get up and dig through the cabinets, stumbling as we navigate onto the interstate, eventually finding a much needed first aid kit.

Cracking the bubble, I bring an icepack to Walker, pressing it gently against the side of his head that slammed into the wall as he groans.

I push a pillow over to hold it against the spot, the creases in his brow so unfamiliar I wish I’d never suggested the tunnels.

That’s the only ice pack, though, so I dig out an ace bandage and try to wrap my fist, every circle of the fabric impossibly painful. Once it’s covered and probably doing fuck all, I offer the kit to RJ. “What do you need?”

“Time,” he says, pulling Clara closer.

I nod, inching to the front. Jansen slices a glance at me.

“I found a first aid kit. Need anything?”

He huffs out a breath. “I’ll have to soak this glove if I’m going to get it off, so for now, I’m good.”

“How badly is it hurt? And your leg?”

“I shredded most of the skin and then some off my left hand.” Which would explain why he’s single fisting the steering wheel. “My ankle is probably just sprained. It doesn’t feel broken. What about you and Walker? That’s a lot of blood you two are sporting.”

Shit. I never even thought about what Walker and I must have looked like wandering across campus. Battle worn and bloody, apparently. “We both have concussions, but his is worse. Shit got ugly, and we were stuck down in the tunnels.”

“The tunnels?”

“We knew we had a tail. We were hoping we could lose him there. But it was my dad’s best guy.”

“How’d you make it?”

“Dumb luck and Walker slamming kitty litter at the guy’s head.”

Jansen’s eyes get big for a second. “Prince Fluffington.”

“Is in a bag by RJ. I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do with that cat.”

Clara’s voice calls from behind us. “He saved RJ. He gets all the kitty treats we can find him.”

“You okay there, beautiful?” Jansen asks, his tone light, but his face grim.

“No,” she says, not elaborating. And when I turn to look at her, she’s back to pressing her face against RJ’s chest.

Jansen’s jaw is tight as he stares into the darkness. I slump into the chair nearest Jansen, giving RJ and Clara space, the first aid kit in my hands too little for whatever is going on.

Always too little. Always too late.