Page 91 of Hurt

Kurt had kissed him. It was enough to make him want to whoop for joy. The chaste kiss had been the most amazing thing he had ever felt in his life. Pure bliss followed by torture because he knew he couldn’t ask for more. It was enough, of course. More than he thought he would ever get.

His phone rang, and he saw his grandfather’s number flash on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Grant. Where are you?”

There was a cacophony of noises in the background, and the static on the call was bad. He could barely make out what his grandfather was saying.

“Weaver Syndicate is under attack. The Vegas have hit the main house.”

Grant was up and moving before his grandfather finished his sentence. “Where is Roland?”

“Not here. I’ve told everyone to retreat—the house is lost.”

Grant felt his stomach drop, and he grabbed his car keys. “I’m on my way. Where are Jamie and Elijah?”

“Today was their day off. I’ve sent out an emergency call!” Wallace shouted something in the background, and Grant heard the distinct sounds of automatic gunfire.

“Grant, stay away. We need to retreat. Follow protocol.”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“No. I am fine. Follow protocol. It was put in place for a reason.”

Grant slammed his palm against his steering wheel as he accelerated toward the heart of the Weaver Syndicate.

Protocol dictated they scatter. Protect their people first, resources second. Medical attention would be needed.

“Get a hold of your brother,” his grandfather ordered before the line disconnected.

Tossing the phone to the passenger seat, he swerved around several cars on the road. He could see thick black smoke rising in the sky from the main house of the Weaver estate. Gunfire echoed in his head—he couldn’t stop picturing his people fleeing from the blood-thirsty Vega Cabal. The steering wheel creaked under the weight of his frustration. They should have seen this coming. The Vegas had been too quiet, accepting their attacks without retaliation.

How did they find them?

That would have to be solved later. Right now, he needed to do what his uncle told him to do. He had to be the leader he was raised to be, even if all he wanted to do was spill Vega blood.

There would be time for that later.

Unnoticed in the passenger seat, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

The message read: ‘I’m making it right.’

Kurt must have fallen asleep. There was a blissful moment before he was fully awake when his body wasn’t in pain. A disconnect between his waking and sleeping brain. Then the pain hit him like a wave, and he had to close his eyes to ride through it. Breathing shallowly, he worked himself up to sit up and put his feet on the floor.

He still had his jeans on. They were crusted with blood, and God knows what else. Willow had brought him fresh clothes, but he couldn’t be bothered to put them on. He doubted he could anyway.

The bar was silent. Sid had carried out his favor.

After Noah had run out, Willow had looked at him like she wanted to hit him. But all she had done was shake her head sadly and chase after their nephew. The kid was long gone, the distinctive roar of Sid’s bike proof that he had stolen it to make his escape.

What Willow did after that, Kurt didn’t know.

What he did know was that Sid had done what he asked, and that’s all that mattered. By this time, Willow should be deep into Weaver territory.

Sid was instructed to drug Willow with sleeping pills. The woman could hold her liquor, so simply getting her drunk wouldn’t work. But the addition of a couple of pills would have her sleeping deeply until tomorrow afternoon.

Kurt told Sid about the little taco truck in Weaver territory. It was the only place he could think of. A mile marker in his life that he would try to remember fondly but knew he wouldn’t be able to. Rather than the sight where he laughed, it was the place that gave him hope. The place where Grant had extended a hand to him and asked him to jump.