Page 82 of Mercenary

“Tell me to go to hell, Madelyn.”

“What?”

“‘Go to hell, Declan.’ Say it.”

“No. Just move aside and let me by.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You’re not giving me any choice but to shoot you. Damn you. I’ve got to go after them. That’s my sister they’ve taken. Why won’t you let me go?”

“They’ll kill you. That what you want?” I step toward her.

“Stop it.” She waves the gun at me. “Stop pretending. Stop acting like you’re protecting me.”

I keep moving until the nose of her pistol lay directly over my heart. “You chasing after them doesn’t suit my needs,” I reply, brutally.

“Can’t you see how it’s killing me?” She looks up at me and, for a second, I wish I were a better man. For her.

She flinches as I knock the gun from her hand. She cries out as I catch hold of her waist and haul her up into my arms. She pulls back and then I feel a sharp sting as she slaps my face.

I did this to her.

I’m doing this for her own good.

“I’ve never come so close to hating someone,” she hisses, still struggling in my arms, still desperate to escape. Still not understanding that her only hope at finding Kylie has her in his arms, and is incapable of letting her go.

“And I’ve never come this close to loving someone,” I grind out, feeling as helpless and as honest as I’ve ever been.

Goddamn it.

She stiffens in my arms and stops struggling.

“Keep quiet,” I order, pulling her head against my shoulder so she can’t see my face. I step outside, and, keeping Madelyn tugged tightly against my chest, I turn to face the room. If the scumbags have decided to wait around for the other man, she won’t be hit by gunfire. Angling my head, I search the parking lot. As expected, the first sedan—with Kylie as hostage inside it—is gone.

Hayden’s going to flip when I call in.

Despite my concerns, I calmly head toward my pickup until it’s clear the danger has passed. I toss her duffel bag into the truck bed, open her door, and dump her onto the seat. Locking the door for the short time it takes for me stalk around the hood, I unlock it again and climb into the driver’s seat.

Minutes later, Shelby is a distant image in my rearview mirror. Madelyn is curled up in her spot and looking out her window. Worrying about Kylie, what else is new? I want to warn her, Think about yourself. Doesn’t she get how her life is hanging by a thread? Mine, as well.

I shake my head. Then calm myself for the call I’m about to make.

“Don’t even breathe,” I warn her, then dial Hayden.

“Declan. Report.”

“In progress,” I say, vaguely.

“In progress but not completed?” The other end is silent and I brace myself for the worst.

I clench the steering wheel tighter, feeling Madelyn’s eyes on me.

“You growing soft? Do I call Diego back to Oklahoma?” he demands. Impatient and enraged. Like I’ve defied him—which is exactly what I’ve done by prolonging this assignment.

“She had company.”

“Franco?”