Struggling to tame my anger and shame, I merely nodded at Gabe. How the fucking hell had I let this happen? How did I manage to fuck up so badly that my girl was now in danger once again.?
Never in my adult life had I ever had thoughts of deliberately killing another man; not even under orders did I truly want to pull the trigger and end the life of another human being. Having to do it and wanting to do it was a feeling worlds apart. Now? All I could think of was putting a bullet in Justin’s chest, and watch the life drain from him, so Peyton never has to look over her shoulder ever again.
Pushing back my shoulders, I stood tall, bringing the soldier to the forefront, forcing myself through the fear. Peyton needed me to be strong. Once I had her back in my arms, then and only then, could I break down.
“Copy that.”
***
Police had the house surrounded by the time we arrived, fifteen minutes later. TOG, the Tactical Operations Group, dressed in their tactical attire, guns and all, were in position all over the property, the back gate was closed and I could hear the Huskie’s going off their nut growling and barking. And, in the middle of it stood Jason, a police officer and the father of the man holding my girl inside doing God knows what to her.
For a second, my focus turned onto Jason. What must be going through his mind, his son, his own blood, held two women hostage only a few hundred metres away? One being his sister-in-law. A mean-spirited thought entered my head briefly, why was he allowed to be active in this siege and not me? He had just as much personal involvement as I did, his position not only as the dad but a cop and a patched member surely have to cloud his judgement when or if push comes to shove and he has to order a shot to be fired.
My fingers itched to storm over to the TOG van and grab a rifle, and take matters into my own hands. The longer she was in there with that insanity, the more scared she was going to get. That night months ago, after I plucked her literally out of the flames, Peyton refused to let me go. She clung to me, begging me to not leave her, not to let her go. We barely knew each other then, and yet the connection between us was already being constructed. Trauma brought us together, but it was respect and love that was keeping us together now.
We will always be together, and I couldn’t see us any other way. I refused to believe that this bump in our relationship was our ending. Our chemistry, our bond would see our way through to the other side. Anything else wasn’t worth contemplating.
“Justin, please mate, don’t do this. Don’t do this to your mum,” Jason implored his son, who was standing on the front lawn, both women in front of him. My stress levels tripled five minutes ago when after an hour of useless negotiating and silence from the people inside, Justin finally made an appearance. The coward came out with Peyton and Charlotte being used as human shields, in his hands two weapons. A gun shoved into Charlotte’s ribs, and a large kitchen knife to my girl’s throat. I noticed that she was favouring one foot over the other, holding it off the ground slightly.
What the fuck?
“Mum has nothing to do with this, Dad,” Justin shouted back, his voice had an edge of crazy and desperate to it.
“How is that, son? Her baby boy is threatening to kill one of her closest friends and her vet nurse. You can’t think for a second this isn’t going to affect her.”
“You’re the one standing there with the police force pointing ten guns at me, Dad. If you and your stupid fucking club thought about me for a change, this would not be happening. You forced me into this course of action, you and Booth and Deck.”
“I made one bad investment and Booth makes the decision to not give me anymore money. What the fuck kind of family support is that!” On and on Justin hurled abuse at his father and uncles, whining about not being treated the same as the other kids. It was pathetic to watch, and if my girl wasn’t in the firing line, I would have laughed at the dumb prick.
My eyes were trained on Peyton, watching her as she shook with fear as Justin screamed and ranted at his father. From this distance, I could see his hand with the knife shaking, each jerking movement set the blade closer to cutting Peyton’s delicate skin. It didn’t escape my attention where Peyton’s hands were positioned—not clutching at Justin’s hand to stop the knife from digging in, no. Both hands were splayed protectively over her lower belly. My heart cracked, seeing the small gesture that spoke volumes about the woman I loved more than life. She loved our baby so much already, like she had Dean, and still did.
Peyton lifted her chin, I watched as she searched the crowd of police, soldiers and bikers, and I knew she was looking for me. Gabe ordered that I stand well behind the crowd with Bastian. Deck was standing behind his twin brother, not speaking, but every muscle in his body was tense, his legendary control hanging by a thread being so close and seeing his wife’s frightened expression.
Stepping away from the police van I was standing next to, I showed myself to Peyton, not giving a fuck about the order given to me. If this was Devon, would Gabe be able to stand back feeling useless while she had a knife thrust at her jugular? Fucking doubt it.
I sensed the moment her eyes found me, the spine-tingling warming sensation exactly the same as when she touched me, smiled at me, laughed and giggled with me. Peyton owned me, body and soul.
I’m here, Bunny. I won’t let anything happen to you.
Her eyes held mine captive, in those amber orbs, I saw her fear, for her, Charlotte and for our baby. Her hands laid flat on her belly, and right then, I wished I’d put my ring on her finger. I wished I’d told her the truth about Angie and explained why I’d visited her for all these years. I prayed that she could forgive me, and we could get on with our lives—as a family.
Peyton suddenly hissed loudly, pain etched on her pretty face. The knife held to her throat appeared to move across the front, her hands left her belly and reached up to grasp at Justin’s forearms.
A dripping line of blood followed in the wake of the knife’s progress.
“Peyton!” Her name tore from my lips, the loud, feral roar hurting my throat.
Lunging forward to get to my girl, I was stopped by Ghost. His dark black eyes narrowed as they moved to the side, his head not moving, but I could see that he was trying to tell me something.
“Shooter,” he clipped low, his expression not all that different from when we are on missions. Immediately, I followed his lead, not moving my head only my eyes, and saw two feet under one of the police vans. To the untrained eye, nothing was out of the ordinary, but for me, I saw army issue black boots.
“Apollo,” Ghost murmured, nodding ever so slightly at me, using his father’s mission name and not Dad. It was Cole’s way to remove himself from a situation, take out the personal connection. If Creed had a gun, then the club was taking care of business themselves.
“Why him?” I asked, looking back at Peyton, my sniper mind calculating the trajectory of the bullet, the impact on Justin but more importantly, how it would impact on Peyton. There was no way getting around that she was going to cop splatter, how much depends on where Creed sends the bullet.
Stay still, baby, don’t move, please don’t move.
Cole slapped me on the shoulder, his face passive and unreadable.
“You are too close, too emotional. Apollo won’t miss. He never misses.”
Nodding, I turned away from Cole, helpless to do anything but wait for the sound of the bullet leaving the weapon and pray Peyton received my silent message.
Clenching my fists, I dug my booted feet into the dirt. I wanted to move forward, but I knew that it was too risky. If Justin clocked any movement, he might change his position, and that couldn’t happen. The way he was standing now, Creed had a good shot to bring Justin down without killing him. I knew this because if that was me lying under the van, that is where I would have my sight set on. It was the most calculated shot and most accurate without injuring the girls. If the bullet hits the mark, Justin will be dropped instantly, the weapons falling from his hands w
ithout further marking Peyton’s tender skin. I hated the blood I could see, the small slash marring her. She was going to have a constant reminder of this day, another attack on her that should never have happened.
Booth moved from the tape line that separated the crowd from Jason and Deck, his steps unhurried and covert. Then I saw it, a subtle drop of his shoulders, his hand down at his thigh, one finger pointing down to the ground in an unspoken command.
Pffft.
The quiet sound of a bullet leaving a barrel with a suppressor attached to the end. The advantage was less noise, less flash, therefore reducing detection. I knew this sound well, but this was the first time I feared it.
In front of me, I watched in silence as Justin’s eyes widened in shock and pain. His body convulsing as the hand that held the weapon at Peyton dropped from her throat, and the gun fell from his other hand as he reached for the leg the bullet penetrated. Charlotte released from his hold, jerking away from Justin, but as she did, she pushed him, sending him in an unbalanced spin. We all watched in horror as Justin stumbled forward, his shattered kneecap crumbled under him and fell to the ground, somehow landing awkwardly on the knife only seconds before he’d had at Peyton’s throat. It was like watching a movie scene gone wrong, the knife in his hand somehow pointed up and penetrated his upper chest.
Taking off in a sprint, I made it past the crowd of cops, vaulting over the tape, and made it to Peyton, catching her in my arms, just as Deck hauled his wife against his chest.
“Be okay, be okay, please be okay, Bunny,” I repeated over and over again into her hair, clutching her tightly to me, my hands roaming all over her back and up to the back of her head. Her sobs tore at me, but when her arms threaded through under my arms, her fists grabbing at my shirt. holding me tighter, my knees just about gave out.
I had a lot of making up to do, and I welcomed the begging in my future, but there was no way I was going to lose this perfect woman from my life. Never again was she going to doubt her worth to me—no more half versions of the truth, no more tears unless they are happy ones.
The commotion stirred around us. Sirens, shouting, sobbing both male and female sounds, went on, but I couldn’t focus on anything except Peyton’s thumping heart beating against my chest, comforting the turmoil rolling around inside me.
Vaguely, I was aware of Jason crying softly, talking on the phone to Kelsey. His voice tormented, as he told his wife what had happened to their son. He was down on his knees, his older son beside him, both of them slumped over the lifeless body of their son and brother.
I sensed someone come up behind me, my senses on high alert.
“Hospital, Rafe, let’s get her away from here,” Booth ordered quietly.
“Copy,” I muttered, kissing Peyton when she tensed in my arms.
“I’ve got you, baby, never letting you go ever again,” I promised, taking one of her hands from me and linking our fingers together, then holding them down on her belly.
“Either of you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
PEYTON
The stitches in my neck pulled uncomfortably at my skin, making any movement of my head difficult. The doctor at the ER said to avoid twisting or turning my neck, but with five large bikers and seven soldiers crammed in my small space, following their progress as each one paced back and forth except for Rafe and Deck, it was difficult. After the absolute chaos Justin caused, abducting Charlotte and me, Rafe rushed me to the hospital, Deck insisting on Charlotte going too despite her declarations she was fine. Of course, she wasn’t fine, she had bruises on her face and cuts to her wrists as well as a horribly large bruise on her side from where the barrel of Justin’s gun was shoved into her. Deck decided to take her back to the compound after we left the hospital, insisting he wasn’t ready to see the place where his nephew lost his life so soon after it happening.
My injuries consisted of a three centimetre gash to my throat and a fractured bone in my foot. The bone was just a small one, a name I couldn’t pronounce, the x-ray showed it was not too bad and would heal in time, but I had to wear a stupid moon boot for at least fourteen days.
“You doing okay, baby?” Rafe asked me for the umpteenth time since arriving back at our house. He was yet to let me go from his grasp, carrying me to the car, into the ER, around the hospital to get the x-ray, then up to the maternity ward where I endured an internal ultra-sound, and we found out the stick was right.
Rafe was going to be a daddy, and me … I was going to be a mum again.
My emotions were all over the place when we left and returned to the house. Rafe and Booth wanted me to go to the compound, but I insisted on going home. I don’t know why I wanted to go back to the place where a man held a knife to my throat, a gun to Charlotte and tragically died not from the bullet wound to his leg, but ironically falling on the very knife he’d threatened my life with today. The only thing I could come up with was I was tired of running, being scared and taking the blame even though nothing was in my hands to control. Darren and my parent’s betrayal, Dean’s death, and Justin’s unfounded belief his family didn’t love him. He had other options, he chose wrong. I had nothing to do with that. Rafe’s decision to leave me in the dark about Angie … not my fault.
The only difference between his mistake and my family’s and Justin’s? I wanted Rafe in my life, and I loved him. Giving him a chance to fully explain and a second chance at us, I owed that to my unborn child and myself. So here I was, back in my loungeroom. When we drove up the driveway, Gabe was in the driver’s seat, Rafe had me on his lap, and the Souls were standing in my yard in a line shoulder to shoulder, obscuring the area where Justin died with their big bodies.
Rafe carried me through the back door and had not let me go since.
“I’m doing okay, seeing the image of our baby on the screen helped,” I told him softly, loving the way his brown eyes melted when I mentioned the baby. Or maybe it was because I said our baby, and not the baby, or my baby.
Our baby.
“Thank God I didn’t lose either of you,” Rafe murmured into my neck, his arms banded tightly around my middle, his hands laced at the front, over our baby.
“Thank God I have a chance to win you back. Will you let me, baby? Will you give me a second chance to prove my love, prove to you I am in this for keeps? Prove that I love you and trust you, Bunny?” His words beseeched me to believe him, to give him my faith that he could fix us.
Before I could give him my answer, Booth came over to where we were sitting, sinking to his knees, his grey eyes tormented. “I am sorry this happened to you again, Peyton. I’m sorry you have to have such bad memories of Justin. His parents lavished love on him the same as Thomas, but he is … was, wired differently.” Booth paused, and I got the feeling he was taking on some of the blame for what Justin did. Reaching out, I placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension radiating off him.
“I heard the things he had to say, Booth, his ranting didn’t make sense to anyone but him. There was no going back for him, and he didn’t want forgiveness, he didn’t care about any of the bad things he did. He had so much hatred driving him, Booth. It scared me how much he hated the club.”
I don’t know if it was the right thing to say if I was overstepping, but if I left it unsaid, then Booth and the club would continue to carry the guilt of what they felt needed to happen. The situation was horrible, there was no doubt about that. Jason saw what no parent should ever see. Not only his own son acting in such an evil way, but witnessing him die too. The shot to the leg was only meant to take him down, the shooter or anyone else watching could never have foreseen Justin falling on the knife, ultimately killing him.
Booth’s head hung, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his responsibility. He may not be the president anymore, but the Wounded Souls was still his club.
“He was all those things, Peyton, but he was also ours, Deck’s nephew, Thomas’ brother and Jason’s son. We should have tried harder to reach him,
” Booth lamented sadly. Over his shoulder, I saw Thomas on the phone, he was talking softly but looking directly at Booth, his eyes full of regret. So many people affected by one person’s decision, Justin didn’t consider the house of cards he caused to fall by taking Charlotte and me.
Thomas ended his call, then walked quietly to Booth. “Pres, Shiloh needs us back at the club.”
Booth nodded, his head still down, but brought his hand to sit on my knee and squeezed gently.
“You good, darlin’?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I replied, lying. I wasn’t good, I wasn’t sure what I was, other than in Rafe’s arms and finally safe.
Booth rolled his eyes at me, but at least my well-intended fib got him to smile … or smirk. “Liar. Okay Pey, you and your man work out your shit. Don’t forgive him too easily, but do forgive him. Men do things for their women that might not make sense to you, but to us? At the time we make that stupid decision, it makes all the sense in the world.” Not waiting for me to reply, Booth stood in one fluid motion, belying his age, and turned to face the men at his back.
“River, you stay here until Seb organises a detail roster. Watch the front and see what you can do about watering the grass off. Peyton doesn’t need to see that shit when she goes to grab her paper in the morning,” Booth instructed a young man dressed much like Booth, black utility pants, black tee and leather cut. The only difference was his had PROSPECT instead of his name.
An intense-looking fella, older than Rafe, moved forward and held out a badly scarred hand to me. “Nice to meet you, Peyton, name’s River, I will be outside if you need anything.” Accepting his greeting, I gripped his hand softly in case the burns were new.
“Don’t worry, darlin’, they don’t hurt anymore,” River winked at me, seeing where my mind went.
“All right, let’s get moving,” Booth called out, “Thomas, you better stop calling me Pres. I really don’t feel like getting put in a time-out by Squirt at the age of sixty-something,” he grumbled, walking out of the lounge to the front door, mumbling all the way.
Rafe (The Wounded Sons Book 4) Page 16
