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Chapter Twenty-Three
Tynan
“ I ’m still going.”
“I know.”
The words had been torn from my chest with all the fractured pain of a rib snapping off my sternum.
There was no stopping her. And no matter how damn bad I wanted to protect her, deep down, I didn’t want to be the thing that stood in her way; I wanted to be the man who stood by her side.
So, I kissed her. Hard. And then did what every good man does for his woman: handed her her weapon.
“Just waiting on the car.” Rob’s voice came in clear from my earpiece.
I glanced at Creed, sitting still as a statue on his big black Harley next to mine. He looked back, confirming he’d heard her, too.
“We’re in position,” I said low, my hand straying from my thigh to Sutton’s, where she straddled behind me on my bike.
Ahead of us across the street towered a modern shard of a skyscraper. Not as tall as some in the city, but as Creed had outlined from his recon, far more sophisticated.
We’d spent the whole of the day reviewing our plan. Even with an entire security team, going in there with nothing but the elements of surprise and brute force was too great a risk. If Mara was being held on the top floor, there was a good chance she’d be killed far faster than we could get to her. So, our options were limited to stealth.
“Car’s here.” Rob’s voice cut through the late-night silence.
Sutton stiffened under my hand, my fingers tightening reflexively. It was game time.
The plan was simple—had to be because we didn’t have much time.
Rob waited in the alley behind the White Pearl for the car to arrive. Once the Straw Sandal went inside to get the girl, she would take care of the driver and assume his place. The kind of place that required silence and eyes that looked the other way.
She would follow the route to the apartment building, which would bring them down the alley we were currently parked in. When she stopped at the stop sign, which was about thirty feet in front of us, she’d unlock the doors. Creed would take care of the Straw Sandal and the drugged girl. Meanwhile, Sutton and I would take their places.
That was why Sutton looked like she’d just been plucked off the dance floor at the White Pearl, wearing a skimpy black dress and heeled boots, and I had on a black suit that I hadn’t worn…well, since Jon’s funeral.
The disguise, along with the Straw Sandal’s keycard, should get us smooth access to the penthouse, where I’d deal with the Red Pole and Sutton would get Mara. In the worst case, if we came across something unexpected, Creed would have the Straw Sandal that we could use as leverage.
“I’m in.” Rob’s voice sounded again, her voice sounding a little breathless from exertion.
Still, it seemed all three of us let out a coordinated breath of relief.
“You good?”
“Of course,” she clipped like any alternative was preposterous. “Just a body in the dumpster to deal with later.”
Creed made a low sound. I looked over and got the sense that it was a laugh. Sort of.
And then we waited again, Rob’s comm still on, listening to her breaths start to steady, my own falling in line with hers.
Everything distilled into the tick of seconds. The deep drags of air. The heavy thump of a heartbeat.
“They’re here,” her voice fired out, and then her radio went silent.
“Ten minutes,” Creed rumbled and got off his bike.
I glanced at my watch, marking the start of the countdown.
“Are you ready?” I asked low over my shoulder, my thumb rubbing circles on Sutton’s thigh.
“I’ve been ready,” my girl murmured, her hand taking mine for a second before pulling it off her leg so she could get off the bike.
We quickly moved into position.
Creed stood next to his bike, his hips lounging back against the seat. He was the closest to the path of the car. Meanwhile, Sutton and I moved to the sidewalk, where she turned and flattened her back against the brick wall of the building—a cocktail bar—that ran along the alley.
For a second, I let my eyes drink in the sight of her. My warrior. My little wasp. She looked badass with her heavy black boots, tight black dress, and oversized leather jacket. Hot and badass.
I felt myself harden as I went to her, crowding her against the wall. I moved one hand under her jacket to her waist, the fabric of the dress feeling like nothing more than a fragment of a cloud between her skin and mine. With the other, I reached for her throat, framing the slender column with my big hand in the necklace she liked to wear.
Her lips parted, and she shuddered, making my dick throb with the way she responded so easily to me.
We were supposed to look like a couple who’d left the cocktail bar, tipsy, and about to get in on in the shadowed alleyway.
There was a part of that cover that wasn’t far from the truth.
“How’s your side?” she murmured, the dark orbs of her eyes soaking into mine.
“Fine.” I brushed my thumb over her bottom lip, my head drifting closer. “You worried about me, little wasp?”
“Should I be?” Her eyelids drooped heavily.
“No,” I promised, brushing my mouth against hers.
“Are you worried about me, Daddy?” she whispered, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip.
I groaned. “Promise me again.”
I hadn’t told her she couldn’t come this morning, but I had put rules in place to make sure she wasn’t taking unnecessary risks. And then I’d made her promise me—with my lips between her thighs—to be careful.
She shivered. “I promise.”
I kissed her hard, burying my tongue in the heat of her mouth for a long but still too-short second.
“They’re here,” Creed rumbled so we could hear him, holding his position as the bored third wheel who was trying to not look too long at the show.
“Showtime,” I grunted and turned my head, moving my lips down to the side of her neck, feeling her head tip to the side. I tongued the thrum of her pulse, feeling it move faster as the car pulled slowly down the narrow one-way toward us.
It was minutes that felt like hours of waiting, the fuse of action chewed away slowly but surely until, boom, the car stopped at the stop sign, and we jumped into action.
I doubted the Straw Sandal even processed the car unlocking before Creed ripped the back door open, grabbed the man by his collar, hauled him from the car, and knocked him out with a single punch.
“Get in,” I shuttled Sutton to the open door, letting her climb into the back seat while I worked with Creed to find the Straw Sandal’s credentials to get into the building.
“I’ll monitor his phone,” Creed grunted when he found that along with the keycard in his jacket pocket, handing the keycard to me. “Go.”
I squeezed into the car beside Sutton, the semi-conscious woman resting against the other door, oblivious to everything going on as she slurred, “Are we there yet?”
I closed the door and rapped my fist on the roof. “We’re good,” I called to Rob.
The car lurched forward, making the turn onto the main road and then just as quickly, pulling to a stop in front of the apartment building.
I didn’t even realize I’d reached for Sutton’s hand again until it was time to get out.
“Lean on me. Face away from the cameras,” I said low and then opened the door.
The expectation was that cameras were everywhere and someone was watching, which meant we had to keep our heads down—especially me—to buy us as much time as possible.
Keeping my head tipped toward the interior of the car, I got out and then reached inside for Sutton, leaving the intended victim safely sleeping under Rob’s watch.
“Are we there yet?” Sutton slurred and then moaned, stepping right into her role as she leaned into me.
My arm hooked around her waist, keeping her stumbling weight steady and not missing how my woman turned her body as we reached the front door and then again when we passed the security desk to block my face.
“Are we at the party?” she spouted, seeing the security guard turn in his chair. “I need another drink. Puh-leaseee.”
“Almost.” I pulled out the keycard and waved it high enough that the guard could see.
I had access. I was allowed to be here. There was nothing to worry about.
The security guard turned away, clearly wanting to take a blind eye when it came to the things going on upstairs.
I punched the elevator button, and the doors opened right away.
“Fuck,” I grunted as Sutton swung in front of me, basically plastering her front to mine and sagging with all her weight.
She wanted me to carry her.
As I lifted and dragged her into the elevator, I saw the camera she’d caught and was trying to block me from.
I propped her against the back wall of the elevator, pressing the keycard to the pad and realizing there was no button to push. The keycard itself was what directed the elevator to the top of the building.
Only once we started moving did I let myself look at her. Did I search out her eyes and stare into them like they were my fucking lifeline.
I reached for the gun tucked into the holster at my side, sliding it free and holding it wedged between our two bodies, the heat of us warming the cold metal.
And then the elevator car dinged its arrival.
My chin dipped a little, and holding her to me, I started to back through the opening door, my gun aimed between us.
It only took a few steps to see him—the man guarding the door.
He was playing some game on his phone because he glanced up, expecting to see the Straw Sandal and a drugged girl, thinking that was what he saw because he looked down again only to realize a second later something was wrong.
He jumped up with a shout, and I practically threw Sutton behind me as I fired two silent rounds into his chest. The elevator door dinged closed with almost comedic timing as the guard stared at me and then toppled to the floor.
“Stay behind me,” I ordered and moved to the entrance to the penthouse.
She nodded, and I caught the glint of her slender knife in her hand. My deadly little wasp. But if I did my job right, she wouldn’t need to use it.
I scanned the keycard, glancing over my shoulder at Sutton when the door clicked open.
My pulse thudded like a drumbeat in my chest as I stepped through, gun raised, into another entryway. The small room was lined with mirrors, a small table at the end topped with a Ming vase, and two doors, one on either side of it.
Fuck.
“Give me the key,” Sutton murmured.
“What?” I growled, my eyes flicking to her.
“Right door needs keycard access, the left doesn’t,” she said quietly, and I looked back to confirm.
Sure enough, the door on the right did have a panel tucked right above the handle, while the door on the left didn’t.
Locked doors protected valuable things. Like a kidnapped woman.
Keeping my gun trained on the left door, I passed Sutton the keycard and murmured, “Be careful.”
“You too,” she said as her fingers brushed mine.
My skin prickled when she stepped away from me—out of my protection. I knew how well she was trained. I knew what she was capable of. But rational thinking had little to do with the riot my heart was causing in my chest.
I kept my eyes focused on the door. I didn’t look back at her—I couldn’t. I knew if I did, I might not let her go on her own.
I turned the knob and slipped through the door, making sure to close it behind me. She was right. This side of the penthouse opened into a room that stretched the length of the building. An office space. A living room with a massive gas fireplace embedded into a freestanding wall that separated it from whatever was beyond.
Moving quickly through the center of the room, I stopped when I reached the fireplace and flushed my back to the wall.
It was really fucking quiet on this side.
My finger rested on the trigger as I breathed deep and rounded the separating wall, my gun clocking the space behind it.
Dining room. Massive table. Open entry into the empty kitchen.
Empty. Silent.
No one was here.
I spun. There was no mistaking the crash that came from the other side of the apartment.
Fuck!
I bolted for the entrance, hearing the commotion get louder. A loud bang. A sound of something valuable shattering.
The vase.
I pulled open the door, my boots crunching on priceless ceramic as I followed the noise. Just through the first door, I saw her.
She was sprinting past the elevators toward the far end of the hall.
What the— and then I saw the door to the stairwell click closed. “Sutton!” I boomed, my legs pumping after her.
“It’s Kang,” she shouted back, using the keycard to swipe into the stairwell after him.
“Wait!” I roared, but it was too late. She was through it before I could stop her, and before I could stop the door from locking behind her.
“Fuck! Sutton!” I roared again and banged my fist on the stairwell door before I whipped toward the elevator.
Thank fuck I didn’t need that damn card to go down.
My jaw wrenched tighter and tighter as the descent ticked down each floor.
If he hurt her—if he fucking touched her—fuck that, he was dead regardless.
As soon as the doors started to open, I shoved them wider to let me out and then stopped short with a snarl.
There was no doorway for the stairwell on this floor. No exit.
I spun back to the elevator, remembering a lower-level button on the tree that must lead to an underground parking garage for residents.
“Fuck,” I swore just as the security guard came into view. He died with wide, panicked eyes, reaching for his gun, his shout cut off by the bullet I put through his throat.
I hammered my thumb into the lower-level button, my heart pounding in my ears.
If he hurt her…I swore I’d find something worse than death.
“There’s nowhere to go, Kang!”
The doors opened to Sutton’s shout, and my head whipped in the direction of her voice.
My assumption had been right. The stairs had led to an underground parking garage—but it was anything but comforting. Too many obstacles. Too many places for danger to hide.
“Sutton!” I roared, wanting to make sure that fucker knew he was outnumbered.
“Where is she, Kang? Where’s Mara?”
My path quickly swerved to the left, zeroing in on the location of their cat-and-mouse game.
There was a loud cackle, made almost maniacal by the reverberation through the cement-lined, silent shell of the garage, and I stopped.
“You’re going to pay for this, you crazy fucking cunt. You have no idea…”
Now, it was the origin of his voice I hunted. If I got to him first…
“It’s over, Kang,” I drawled, my tone low and threatening. “Where is Mara Chen?”
I was close enough to hear him shuffling—moving behind the cars—but then I saw her. Sutton stalked down the center aisle, her knives brandished at her sides, her gaze murderous.
She was an open target for him, and she knew it. She wanted him to underestimate her again. She didn’t realize that the guard I’d shot outside the penthouse had been missing his gun.
I sprinted for her, not even feeling the side mirror that nailed my wounded side as I took the quickest—narrowest—path through the cars to reach her.
“You’re going to fucking pay. You’re going to pay,” Kang repeated like a crazed man.
My eyes darted to the right, searching—waiting—spotting him.
He appeared from behind an SUV, walking directly toward Sutton. Fucker had probably never fired a gun before and wanted to get as close as possible.
“I should’ve killed you in the alley,” Sutton said, and my legs pumped faster.
“Yeah, you should have,” Kang snarled back, and I made it through the rows of cars just as he pulled his gun.
“Sutton!” I roared and fired.
Three shots. All straight into his chest.
The gun clacked to the ground. Kang’s knees hit the concrete, and then the rest of him followed forward, the thud seeming even louder in the silent residue of death.
And Sutton just stood there. She didn’t turn. She didn’t look at me. She just stared at him.
The man in the apartment. The man who’d been there guarded instead of Mara. Dead. And we still had no idea where she was.
My arm lowered. The weight of my weapon was almost unbearable in my hold. I gave her a moment—and myself. It seemed every time I blinked, all I saw was Kang’s weapon aimed at Sutton. A weapon I now picked up off the ground and tucked into the waist of my pants. Noticing the corner of his phone in his other hand, I took that, too, hoping like hell I could find something useful on it.
The last thing I did before I went to her was fire off a message to Rob and Creed that it was only Kang in the apartment, that there were more bodies to clean up, and that I was taking Sutton back to the garage.
I didn’t hear any sirens, but I wasn’t going to take the chance of having the cops anywhere near Sutton right now. The very last thing I’d let happen was for them to cart her back to jail for, at best, violating her parole and, at worst, accessory to murder.
The air evacuated my lungs as I finally faced her.
She still stood silent—staring. Now, I noticed the bruise on the side of her face and the cut on her lip. No matter the setback, I couldn’t regret shooting that motherfucker. Not after this.
“Sutton,” I rasped low and reached for her arm, the touch jolting her out of her trance.
She turned to me, and as furious as I was for her going after Kang on her own, the glisten of tears in her eyes killed me.
“I had to do it,” I rumbled, as though saving her life needed explanation or justification.
Her throat bobbed. “I know.” And then a tear slipped free.
“Fuck.” I let out a hiss and grabbed the back of her neck, hauling her to my chest.
I felt how she fought it—the need to cry—to sob. To let go of everything she felt she had to hold inside.
“We’re going to find her,” I said and held her tighter. “We’re going to find her, I promise.”