Page 17

T he place smells as musty as my old jail cell, and those memories are something I can do without. Of course, that also goes for Mr. Grumpy Pants behind me.

“Why don’t the bad guys ever take a night off? Like… Don’t we deserve a solid twenty-four hours of rest before we’re forced to throw ourselves back into the line of fire? My shoulder’s fucking stiff, my eyes have bags bigger than my motorcycle, and I wanted to spend more time deep inside our girl. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“Are you fucking done?”

“I mean, I’m sure I can come up with more shit to whine about. Give me a second.”

“Focus,” Rogue grumbles as he presses his ear against the second floor door in front of us. “It’s quiet.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Saint mutters. “Knowing the twins, Etta’s probably the one causing all the trouble. Let’s get these fuckers to the van, so we can get our asses back here to help the others.”

Rogue slowly opens the door, and a dim light spills down the hallway before we all step out into a stillness that sets my nerves on edge.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Saint whispers. “Think Jay got it wrong?”

Rogue shakes his head. “Jay’s never wrong.”

A loud clang echoes through the silence.

“You hear that?” I ask, waiting to see if I hear it again. “Which direction did it come from?”

Clang. Clang. Clang.

I point down the hall. “This way. Come on!”

We rush toward the sound, but when we try the door to the room, it’s locked.

“Now what?” Saint leans up against the wall, glowering at the handle.

Rogue steps back, and with one well-placed kick, the door splinters into pieces. He reaches in, manually unlocking it, and we walk in to find Diesel laid out on the floor, his hand chained to a cast iron radiator.

“Bout fucking time,” he rasps.

The man looks like shit. His normally well-trimmed facial hair is grown out and ragged. There’s dried blood streaked across most of his face. His shirt is gone, and his jeans are filthy. It’s a miracle he didn’t die of an infection in here.

Rushing forward, I check the handcuffs, but there’s no way to get his hand out or remove them from the radiator. “Fuck. What do we do now?”

“Leave it to me.” Saint steps forward, brushing his hands together as he blows on them.

“For fuck’s sake. Saint, we don’t have time for?—”

Then the motherfucker pulls a key from who-the-hell-knows-where, and I hear the snick of the latch releasing.

My eyes narrow. “Where’d you get that, dickhead?”

He glances up at me and holds up the key, failing to hide the smirk spreading across his face. “What? This ol’ thing?”

Rogue whacks him upside the head.

“Jesus fuck, bro. Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Rogue replies.

“Fine. It was hanging on a nail by the door. Sheesh.”

I look down at the man already attempting to sit up, but he’s so weak he’s struggling. Leaning forward, I slide my arm behind his back and let him use me as a crutch to help himself to his feet.

“C’mon. Let’s go get your brothers and get the hell out of here.”

“We’re not leaving without Etta,” he chokes out.

“Don’t worry. The others will get her.”

“We should go help them. The guards on our floor rushed out the second the gunfire started. They could be overwhelmed.”

Rogue shakes his head. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Remy’s with them.”

His tired eyes study me, then my brothers. “If Remy’s here, then I almost feel bad for those dickwads. Hopefully, she sends ‘em straight to hell.”

Saint snorts. “Pretty sure you don’t have to worry about that. That’s our girl’s specialty.”

Grabbing a half-empty water bottle that was just out of his reach on the floor, I offer it to Diesel. “Here. Take small sips. We’ve got more in the car.”

He does as instructed, his eyes closing as his body sways.

Saint catches him before he tumbles sideways. “Whoa, bro. What the hell did they do to you?”

“Gave us the bare minimum to keep us alive but otherwise ignored us.” The muscles in his jaw clench as his fist crumbles the plastic water bottle. “I swear to God, if they laid so much as a finger on Etta, I’m going to fucking kill them all.”

I grip his shoulder, trying to relay a hint of comfort to a man who hasn’t known much of that in the last couple of weeks. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you all since they snatched you off the street after the accident. They had each of the rooms hooked up to a security camera. From what we can tell, they pretty much left Etta alone too.”

“Still gonna fucking kill ‘em,” Diesel growls.

“We’ll help.” Saint starts guiding him toward the door. “But for now, let’s get your brothers and get the hell out of this shit hole. The others will meet us at the van.”

With Saint helping Diesel, Rogue and I head to the room next door. It’s a damn good thing Rogue is like a walking tank because it takes mere minutes to bust into the second room and use the key to unlock Rage’s cuff.

The second we walk back out into the hallway, gunfire explodes in the distance, and all of us share a worried look.

“You help him, and I’ll go grab Blanks.” Rogue hands off Rage, and I step under his arm to bear some of his weight.

My brother disappears into the darkened room next door, the lantern’s light not doing much to help with visibility this far down.

The man beside me is a mess, his dark hair coated in blood, his face pale, and a couple of stitches on his lower lip. What was once a white shirt is torn and full of dark stains—blood or dirt, I can’t be sure—while his jeans are cut from the knee down. At least four more sets of stitches mar the skin on his shins and calves.

“You think you can walk if I help support you?”

He nods weakly. “If it means getting back to my girl, I’ll damn well die trying.”

“No one’s dying on our watch,” Saint murmurs, scanning the opposite end of the hall for any movement.

Rogue appears, holding Blanks in a fireman’s carry.

“Is he…” Diesel’s voice cracks.

Rogue shakes his head. “No. Just too weak to stand. Now, let’s go.”

We follow Rogue’s lead, me helping Rage with Saint and Diesel behind us.

“But what about Etta?” Rage asks.

“Don’t worry, brother,” Diesel says softly. “Remy’s got her.”

Their confidence in our girl does weird shit to my heart. We know how badass she is, but to hear grown men put their trust in our tiny slip of a woman is fucking astounding.

Ignoring the commotion coming from the opposite side of the hotel, we make it down the stairs and through the lobby, reaching the van with no resistance. I know I should be grateful for that, but I also know what that means.

Remy and the guys are taking the brunt of the attack.

We get the guys situated inside the van, my worry spiking each and every second I’m not in there helping our girl.

“It’s gone quiet again,” Saint whispers, his eyes darting in the direction of the hotel and back.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” I sound a hell of a lot more confident than I feel.

“Do you think we should?—”

“What? Come save us?” Remy appears, one corner of her lips quirked up.

“Fuck, angel. We’ve been worried sick.” Saint steps forward, scooping her up and spinning her around.

Her groan rings through the quiet night around us. “Fuck, Saint. Can you stop all the spinning?”

He draws back so he can study her face. “You okay?”

“She’s fine.” Ace walks up, Squire beside him.

“She’s just?—”

“Grant, so help me God…”

He mimes zipping his lips, and I have to fight my smile. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what she doesn’t want him to say. “Everything went okay?”

“Yeah. Etta had already taken out a few of the men, and we managed to take out the others.”

“Where is she?” Diesel asks, scooting out of the back of the van to stand unsteadily on his own two feet. “We need to see her.”

Jay steps around Ace and Squire, an unconscious Etta in his arms.

“Who the fuck are you?” Diesel growls.

Jay straightens to his full height. “The man who saved your girl. Who the hell are you?”

The men enter some sort of silent standoff, the tension ratcheting up by the second.

“Okay, boys, here’s how it’s gonna go.” Remy taps Saint’s arm, and he reluctantly sets her down. Her eyes narrow on him as he winces, probably because his fucking shoulder is a mess, but she ignores him in favor of staring directly at Diesel and Rage, who has now joined the conversation from his spot at the end of the van. “We are going to load up inside this van, get all of you back to Charlie’s, and make sure you three get some rest and recovery. Any and all discussions about future participation in Etta’s harem will have to wait until she’s conscious and mostly lucid because I really don’t want to have to lay any of you out after we just risked our lives to rescue you. Understood?”

Jay, Diesel, and Rage share angry looks until each reluctantly nods.

“Awesome. Glad that’s settled. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?”

Diesel steps forward, his hand held out to Remy. “Thank you for saving her. We owe you a debt.”

Remy shakes his hand. “She’s the other half of my soul. You owe me nothing. Her, on the other hand… You owe her everything . Fuck with her, and I’ll castrate you and place your balls in a jar to remind you of why it’s not smart to cross the Steele sisters.”

Diesel’s Adam’s apple bobs harshly. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he looks at Jay. “I’ll take her now.”

Jay’s hold on Etta tightens. “You can barely hold yourself up. No way in hell am I handing her over to you in that condition.”

Remy sighs. “Diesel, get in the van. Jay, you can sit in the back with Etta so they can physically see she’s okay. They’ve spent the last two weeks apart and deserve that little bit of reassurance.”

Jay’s nostrils flare. “Fine.”

A CIA agent, with years of experience, bowing down to our girl. Fuck me. Why is that so goddamn hot?

“Great!” Remy claps her hands. “Everyone else ready?”

Ace takes Remy’s hand, pulling her into him. Just as his head descends, her palm lands on his chest, pushing him away.

“Not a chance in hell, husband. I need to brush my teeth first.”

“Oh?” I murmur, fighting a grin. “And why is that, babe?”

Remy clears her throat, waving her hand in the air. “We’re not here to talk about my hygiene. Let’s go.”

With a chuckle, Ace kisses her forehead. “She’s right. Let’s go home.”

“Puking happens to the best of us. Nothing to be ashamed of, angel.”

Remy’s growl booms through the night, and the laughter that follows eases what was left of my remaining tension. Tomorrow might be another shit show, but at least for right now, we’re all together. That’s what matters.