by L A Cotton
I pushed up on my elbow and gazed down at him, my fingers moving up his abs with a mind of their own. “I thought we were on house arrest until Jackson got back?”
“I’ll only be in the reception area. I saw a vending machine right outside. Lock the door behind me, okay?” He leaned up, capturing my lips. But too quickly, he was gone, climbing out of bed and yanking on his jeans.
“Bring me candy,” I called after him, watching him disappear out of the room as he pulled on his t-shirt.
I jumped off the bed and went to lock the door. Then I went into the small bathroom to wash up, trying to ignore the hum of anxiety running through me. Maybe I was foolish; maybe I should have cared more that someone was out there taunting Braiden, threatening him. But we’d survived worse, and until there was cause to panic, I intended to act like everything was okay. Even if, deep down, I knew the worst was yet to come.
Once dressed, I made the bed, got comfortable, and switched on the television. My stomach rumbled, and I regretted not asking Braiden to get me something more substantial than candy, but I doubted my stomach would handle much. I’d hoped the first note was just an empty threat even though, deep down, I knew it was probably more. The second note sealed the deal for Braiden, and I had a feeling that if a third turned up, he would go nuclear. He didn’t like being powerless. I’d witnessed that before—seen the fallout—and it wasn’t pretty.
A knock sounded on the door, and I called, “I’m comfy. Can’t you open it yourself?” It knocked again, and I jumped up, huffing to myself. “Braiden.” My hand reached for the door handle and yanked. “You could have waited like five damn seconds.”
Braiden
“Good morning to you, son. Can I get you anything?” the old man behind the desk called through the half-opened door. I glanced back at our motel room door. It was the last room on the row, the corner just visible from reception.
Meeting his inquisitive stare, I said, “No, sir, just stocking up.” I didn’t have time for small talk. I needed to get back to Cara.
Inserting a handful of coins into the slot, I picked a can of soda, some chips, and Twizzlers for Cara. She was a sugar fiend. I swore she ate that much of the stuff it seeped out of her pores, making her taste as sweet as sin.
“Hey.” Jackson appeared out of nowhere. He looked exhausted, deep lines etched into the skin around his eyes.
“How is she?”
He grimaced, the worry radiating from him. “Stable. They think it was a panic attack. This shit needs to end and soon.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Where’s Cara?”
“Back in the room.”
“Excuse me,” a voice said, and we both turned to find the old man shuffling toward us. “I don’t suppose you can help an old man like myself out?”
I shot Jackson a sideways glare. We didn’t have time to play good Samaritan, and I breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped forward and said, “We’re kind of in a rush. What is it you need?”
“I just need one of you to reach up and give the antenna a wiggle. I got myself one of those old television sets, and the damn thing keeps going off.”
“Sure, I can do that.” Jackson nodded and followed the man inside while I leaned against the wall, waiting for them.
A couple of minutes later, Jackson reappeared. “Come on. I need to eat, shower, and then we need to figure out our next move. Hopefully, Frankie has something.”
“And Dennis?”
“With Ana.”
Of course, he was. I’d figured as much when he showed up out of the blue. But Jackson didn’t need to explain himself —and I had no right to ask.
I tore open the bag of chips and stuffed a handful into my mouth as we walked along the row of doors. It wasn’t my ideal breakfast, but it would do. By the time we reached the end of the motel, I’d almost eaten the whole bag. Jackson slowed next to me, and my eyes widened as they followed his line of sight.
“Did you leave it like that?” he asked, and I wanted to punch him. Of course, I hadn’t left it half-open for anyone to stroll in. I slammed the almost empty bag of chips against his chest and stormed into the room. “Cara, I thought I told you to … Motherfucker,” I roared, putting my hands on the nearest thing and launching it across the room. The lamp shattered, clattering to the floor in a hundred pieces.
“Easy.” Jackson slipped his hand over my chest, trying to hold me back, but all I saw was red. The whole motel room was trashed. Our few belongings strewn over the bed, and the chair was overturned like someone had grabbed it for leverage to keep them in the room.
I shoved Jackson away. “He’s taken her. Whoever is behind this has Cara; he fucking has her, Pierce.” The fight left my body, and I slumped down onto the edge of the bed, jamming my fingers into my hair. “I turned my back for a second.”
“It’s not your fault.”
My head snapped up to meet Jackson’s. “You’re right; if you hadn’t stopped to help that guy out, we might have gotten here in time.”
“Braiden.” His voice was calm.
“Don’t Braiden me.” I glared at him. “We should have come right back; we never should have …” My voice trailed off.
“Left her?”
“Fuck,” I roared again, clenching my fists tight.
He was right. It was my fault. They were watching us, and I dropped the ball. I left her for a few minutes, and now, they had her.
“We need to call Frankie again because this changes things. Whoever is behind this is out for blood.”
Like wind to an open flame, the fire roared to life, and I jumped up. “No. We handle this.” Except we had nothing—no clues and no name. We were running around in the dark. But all I could think was get to Cara. Save Cara.
“She’s leverage,” I stated, unable to disguise the tremble in my voice.
“We don’t know that.”
“What else would they have taken her for?” I dug my cell out of my jeans pocket and located O’Connor’s number. It was a call I didn’t want to make. It was already bad enough he knew Cara was in danger, but once he knew she’d been taken … well, I didn’t want to find out what he’d do.
But what choice did I have?
Jackson
Braiden’s eyes narrowed, his fingers rubbing his temples vigorously. But then something changed. His eyes went wide, and he stopped pacing. I moved closer, trying to hear the conversation.
“Yeah, I know that name.” Silence. “Guess he wants to finish the job. Yeah, yeah, it should help. I don’t think—” Braiden dropped his head. “Okay. Yes, I understand.” His hand dropped from his ear, and he turned slowly. “We have a name.”
“Yeah?”
“Levi Shaughnessy. Had a run-in with him inside. Crazy motherfucker almost killed me.” His fingers moved to the scar on the underside of his jaw. “Guess he’s decided it was time to finish what he started.”
“This feels like him?” I asked.
Braiden shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean it makes sense.”
Did it? Somehow, it seemed too simple. And if he was as unhinged as Braiden described him, Levi Shaughnessy didn’t sound like the kind of guy to leave a trail of breadcrumbs. He sounded like the kind of guy to ambush you. But it was all we had.
“Frankie say anything else?”
Braiden’s lips pressed together, and then he said, “He’s holding me personally responsible if anything happens to her.”
I nodded. It wasn’t a surprise. Frankie might have let his Cara go, but he was ruthless, and she was still his daughter.
“Is he sending backup?”
A man like Frankie O’Connor had contacts everywhere. Besides, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had someone in Tampa watching over Cara.
Braiden ran a brisk hand over his head. “I fucking hope not.”
“Any ideas where he’s likely to be holed up?”
“This is your city, not mine,” he said. “But if it is Shaughnessy, I have a feeling it won’t be long until he comes to us.” He
clenched and unclenched his fists, and for a second, I saw a glimpse of the old Braiden.
“You need to rein yourself in.”
His eyes snapped to mine, and he growled. “They took my girl. They have no idea what they just did. Wait.” Braiden did a sweep of the room. “Is Cara’s cell phone here?”
He jumped into motion, rummaging through the mess with his phone to his ear. “It’s not ringing, is it? I don’t hear it.”
I listened. He was right; it wasn’t here. “You think she grabbed it?”
“If I know my girl, then yeah, she did.”
This changed things. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s tidy up and get out of here before anyone asks questions. I have an idea.”
I’d wanted to avoid bringing Max into this, but maybe it was time to ask for help. And no one knew how to track down a person like Max did.
Cara
“... Supposed to bring me him, not the girl. What the hell am I going to do with her?” The voice tapped at my consciousness, but the pull was too strong, and breath by breath, I slipped back into oblivion.
When I finally came around, my eyes struggled to adjust to the dim lighting. My head pounded as I tested the restraints binding my arms at the base of my back, but it was useless. The harder I’d fight, the tighter they seemed to get, so I stopped, saving my energy for whatever was to come. Because I had a feeling it wasn’t good.
From the pallets and empty crates stacked against one wall and the steel girders, I figured I was in a warehouse. I shoved my shoulders forward, trying to force my hands up into a better position to work the restraints. But my efforts were futile, and after a couple of minutes of grunting and groaning into the silence, I relaxed. That was when I felt it; my cell phone wedged into my bra. When the masked man grabbed me, I fought him off long enough to grab my cell phone and slip it into my tank top. Guess the idiot wasn’t very bright if he didn’t think to pat me down before throwing me in here. Now if I only could get my hands free to use the damn thing. A scream of frustration worked its way up my throat as I tried again, sinking back against the wall in defeat.
“Don’t touch her, got me? I don’t want a finger laid on her.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. A fucking waste if you ask me. Have you seen her tight little body? I wouldn’t mind—”
A guy’s grunts ricocheted off the wall, and I strained to listen. There were two of them, that much was clear, but there’d only been one at the motel, or I’d only seen one at least. He’d caught me off guard when I answered the door and wrestled me inside the room before I could scream loud enough to alert anyone.
The door handle rattled, and then it crept open. I pressed back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between me and the guy standing in the doorway, who was glaring at me with eyes colder than the arctic.
“Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty.” He smirked, and my stomach roiled. Something about the sinister glint in his eye sent my pulse racing.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I hissed, scrambling farther along the wall to get away from him.
“Now, now, no need to cuss. We’re all friends, or at least, we could be.” He swiped his tongue over his lips, and I almost puked. The guy was disgusting. But he didn’t heed my warning and stalked toward me like someone straight out of a white supremacy gang. With a buzz cut, he wore a dirty white wife beater hugging trim muscles, revealing an array of prison tattoos.
Prison? No!
“What’s that, darlin’? Think you’ve worked out some of the puzzle?”
Maybe.
He let out a roar of laughter. “You think you have it all worked out? I hate to break it to you, blondie, but you don’t have a fucking clue.”
Only a few inches between us now, I could smell him. The stench of sweat and heat and someone who hadn’t showered in a good couple of days. I turned my head away, trying not to breathe him in.
“You got a problem with me?” he spat out. “Think you’re too fucking good for me? Is that it? Bitch.”
I saw his fist rise out of the corner of my eye, the anger rolling off him. But then someone barked, “That’s enough.”
His body tensed, his hand frozen in midair, and he glanced back at the door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” The guy turned his attention back to me. “Don’t go anywhere, blondie. The boss won’t be around to save your pretty little ass forever.”
As I sank to the floor, a barrage of tears built behind my eyes, but I forced them down. I would not cry. I would not … a tear slipped free, and I shook my head. I had to be strong. Braiden would find me. He would come, and when he did, I prayed to God he wiped the smirk right off the guy’s face.
Chapter Eleven
Braiden
“That’s the place,” Max said, pointing at an abandoned warehouse in the distance. He seemed cool. When Jackson and I showed up at the office, demanding he work his magic and try and locate Cara using her cell phone GPS, he did it, no questions asked. “Do we know what to expect?”
“Braiden.” Jackson flicked his head for me to get him up to speed.
I shuffled forward. “Levi Shaughnessy is one crazy son of a bitch. He’ll be packing and have backup.” The guy was unhinged, but he didn’t run alone. People like him rarely did. They needed to feel powerful. Besides, I’d been that guy once.
“We carrying?” Max shot Jackson a look, and for the first time, I saw a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. But when Jackson shook his head and said, “You’re done here. Wait out here. If things go south, call the police,” Max’s eyes narrowed, and he grimaced, clearly unhappy at being sidelined.
“Pierce,” I protested, fury boiling my blood. The fucking cops? If they turned up and stormed the warehouse, things would go to shit quick, and Cara could be caught in the crossfire.
“You know that’s the wrong call,” Max said, catching my eye through the rearview even though his words were for Jackson. “We can neutralize any threat quicker than the cops can.”
Any threat? Were they for real? That crazy son of a bitch had Cara in there somewhere; that was threat enough in my book.
“Max,” Jackson warned as the Jeep rolled to a stop alongside the building. There was no sign of anyone. No cars, people, nothing.
“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands. “I’ll wait here.”
Jackson nodded and climbed out. I followed with Max not far behind. He faced us both and said, “We get in, get Cara, and get out. Any sign of trouble and you,”—he pointed at Max—“call the cops. Got it?”
Max nodded, but I could see he wasn’t happy about the plan. I couldn’t care less; all I wanted was to get to Cara. I set off after Jackson as he moved toward the warehouse. Max’s intel on the place didn’t extend much further than it was an old packing warehouse. Time was against us, so recon wasn’t an option. The plan—if you could call it that—was to get in and get out without alerting anyone.
“You good?” Jackson asked me as we slipped into an unlocked side door.
I nodded, but it was a lie. I wouldn’t be okay until Shaughnessy was far, far away from Cara. She was my main concern—my only concern. The rest didn’t matter.
“Hey, hey.” Jackson’s arm came out in front of me. “No heroics, okay? We get in, get Cara, and get out. Let the authorities deal with the rest.”
That was bullshit. We both knew the authorities would be too late. Shaughnessy hadn’t invited me out here to reminisce about our time at Oregon State; he was out for blood. But I was ready to pay my dues. As long as Cara and Jackson walked away from this, I could deal.
“I’m good,” I said, inching farther into the warehouse. A dimly lit hallway gave way to a larger room. Empty crates littered the floor, and we worked to find a clear route through them.
The place seemed deserted. Jackson shined his flashlight at the two doors on the opposite wall. “What’s behind door A?” He brushed past me and yanked it open. “Storage room.”
I tested the second handle, and it opened to another hallway. “This p
lace is like a maze,” I grumbled. So much for getting in and getting out. Max had tried his hardest to find the blueprints for the place, but he’d come up empty, so we were working blind.
We moved in silence, using hand signals and eye contact to maneuver through the hallways, and I instantly knew when Jackson heard something. His body went rigid beside me. “Did you hear that?” He stopped, and my heart catapulted into my throat.
“What?”
“Listen.”
A gust of wind howled through the warehouse, causing my hairs to stand on end, and then I heard it. The faint sounds of rustling. “What is that?” I said, moving quietly down the hallway toward the sound.
“Rats?”
That was one big fucking rat.
“No, it’s ...” I took off, my pulse ratcheting. My feet ground to a halt at the door at the end of the long passageway, and I pressed an ear up against the steel.
“Are you trying to get caught?” Jackson came up beside me, his breath ragged. “Is that...”
I hauled myself against the door. It gave way under my weight, and I stumbled into the room.
“Braiden? Thank god,” Cara cried, and I rushed to her, dropping to my knees. My fingers worked her bindings while my lips sought hers. “I’m here, I’m here.”
I didn’t know who I was reassuring more—Cara or myself. There wasn’t time to think about how easy it had been to find her or how lucky we were that no one was around. Because if there had been, I would’ve heard the footsteps in the hallway. I would’ve noticed the shadow move into the room … would have barked a warning to Jackson before I heard the click of the safety catch.
“Don’t. Move.”
Slowly lifting my head, I met Jackson’s grim expression. He inched his hands up and walked toward me, and I saw the gun pointed at the base of his skull. Cara gasped and a low growl formed in my throat. This was all my fault. I was foolish enough to think that coming here would wipe my slate clean, but guys like me didn’t get a second shot at doing things right. Guys like me poisoned everything around them and got the people they cared about hurt.
