by Juno Rushdan
Pain flared in Gideon, but no bones were broken. He disconnected from it and pushed on.
Fast. You need to be faster than you’ve ever been.
Gideon pulled out the hammer and let the ticking beat in his head propel him.
In a round-robin smackdown, he alternated walloping each guy. He delivered lightning blows and kicks, striking any flesh within reach. The mercs were fast and organized, and each threw hard, well-timed punches and knees in turn.
Gideon headbutted Mustachio’s face, crushing his nose, and punched his exposed throat, sending him sprawling to the floor, out cold.
But taking down one man had left Gideon vulnerable to the other.
Omega launched himself, lowering his shoulder, and slammed it into Gideon’s chest like a battering ram, lifting him off the ground. The hit was worse than anything he’d endured in college football, bringing them both to the floor with enough force to dislocate Gideon’s spine. Only the angle or luck had saved him that misery.
Without thinking, without feeling, Gideon drove his elbow into Omega’s head, knocking the bruiser off him. It was muscle memory. Pure survival instinct.
Omega scrambled from the floor, grabbing a knife along the way, and reached his feet at the same time as Gideon. Thank God he could stand.
But if Omega charged with that weapon right now, Gideon wasn’t sure he had the strength to take him. His blood chilled at the split-second thought—at the idea of failing Willow.
Blinking it away, he dug deep and braced himself.
Movement grabbed both of their attention. Willow stood in front of a dressing room, holding the Maxim 9.
A low, distinct pop whispered in the air. The hot slug would’ve hit Omega in the forehead, but he threw a mannequin between them. Willow’s bullet struck the figurine’s chest.
Omega didn’t give her a chance to fire a second round. He ran, barreling through a door in the corner of the shop. Gideon swiped the gun from Willow and pursued.
Putting an end to that man now if possible was best. Gideon followed him into a back office that led to a small storeroom filled with neatly stacked boxes.
Omega flicked the lock off an exterior door and charged into an alley. By the time Gideon made it to the doorway, Omega was hopping over a six-foot brick wall.
Every instinct and years of training tempted Gideon to track the threat and eliminate him, but leaving Willow alone, unprotected, wasn’t a mistake he’d repeat.
He hustled back into the main shop.
A rush surged through him at the sight of her. She ran to him, wrapping him in a desperate hug, whispering his name over and over again. Her trembling body was crushed to his as he held her back. The hard knot in his chest loosened.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” she said in a frantic voice.
He didn’t want to entertain what might’ve happened if she hadn’t fired the gun. “I’d die before I let anything happen to you, but I told you, I’m hard to kill.”
Stroking her hair, he soaked in the smell of her—the unique scent that was all Willow—her warmth, her tenderness filling him with a deep rush of gratitude that he’d never known before. Exhilaration welled until he thought his heart might burst from joy. Nothing in the world had ever felt better, and everything else fell to the wayside.
They were nowhere near out of the woods. They still had to prove her innocence, and that bastard Omega had gotten away.
Ben’s old warning came back to him: Better to put a bullet in a threat than give it another chance to put you in the grave.
There were no truer words. And they had a monumental task ahead of them.
But for a few precious seconds, having Willow in his arms was all that mattered.
39
Grand Cayman
Monday, July 8, 10:31 a.m. EST/11:31 a.m. EDT
A familiar heated prickle of warning raced across Gideon’s forearms like fire ants crawling under his skin as he sensed them closing in. He whirled, gun at the ready, shielding Willow behind his body.
Maddox was on point, leading the way. The rest of the Gray Box’s black ops team hurried inside the store behind her. Relief dripped through him—a conditioned response to familiar faces—but he stayed wired tight in case he had to fight friendlies.
“I knew if we followed the mayhem, we’d find you.” Maddox smiled, and the tension abated in his shoulders. A little.
“I had my doubts.” Ares holstered a gun. “The Reaper is always quiet as a wraith when he works.”
Gideon lowered his weapon at the nonaggressive gestures but kept his guard up, finger on the trigger. Why had they come here?
“Maybe this is how he rolls on vacation.” Reece knelt, checking the pulse of Mustachio.
The banter and unguarded body language enticed Gideon to relax, but his spine tingled. Something wasn’t right. He surveyed their faces, every nuance of movement, waiting for the red flag he knew in his gut was coming.
“If you guys are here to help, you’re an hour late.” His voice was hard, unyielding to the pleasantries.
“Perfect timing.” Castle’s gaze swept the trashed store. “You did all the heavy lifting.”
Alistair scooped a decapitated mannequin head from the floor, closing the semicircle they’d formed around them, blocking off the obvious point of egress. “I feel a bit cheated. You had a knees-up party without us.”
Willow came up beside Gideon, slipping under his arm. Instinctively, he tucked her close against his body.
Silence dropped like a nuclear bomb. Every set of eyes zeroed in on the pair of them. Gideon clenched his jaw at the abrasive awareness, longing for chewing gum. But his nerves and neurons were alert to the possibility of this situation turning on a dime.
“Wonders never do cease to amaze.” Reece’s low voice carried.
“Hello, luv.” Alistair smirked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “You look ravishing. Positively glowing.” Damn British accent rolled smoother than butter. “Odd, considering the circumstances. Must have something to do with the island air.”
Willow lowered her head.
“Fuck off, Allie. What are you all doing here?”
Maddox stared at Willow with a deadpan face, then cut her narrowing, accusatory eyes to him. His stomach churned.
“The chief has some kind of gun to his head.” Maddox’s tone was frosty. “Sanborn is worried, and he never worries.”
There must be a countdown to the whitewash. Based on the expressions of the others, none of them knew how dire things really were.
“Forensics confirmed Harper’s brakes were sabotaged,” Maddox continued. “We know her house burned down—arson. And her father is in the ICU.”
Willow’s hand dug into his shirt. “Is he still in a coma?”
Maddox nodded.
Willow pressed her face to Gideon’s chest, sucking in a ragged breath. He wanted to reassure her somehow, but he only tightened his arm around her shivering body.
“We found your passport maker’s place by the trail of dead bodies.” Reece checked the last merc. “Got a live one here.”
“What are your orders?” Gideon didn’t have a clear bead on their intentions, keeping him on the razor’s edge. No one had yet mentioned a word about how they planned to help.
Maddox shuttered her eyes, mouth setting in a grim line.
Whatever their orders, she’d just tipped him off that he wouldn’t be onboard.
Shielding Willow behind him, Gideon raised his gun.
“Whoa.” Ares strode forward, empty hands lifted, but those dark eyes trained on Gideon like a double-barreled shotgun.
If anyone else had moved, Gideon would’ve taken it as a sign they wanted to play nice, defuse the situation. But Sean fucking “Ares” Whitlock advanced before clarifying their orders.
Sanborn sent Gideon on mis
sions to eliminate threats. Ares was sent to level battlefields. He was the best one-man wrecking ball out there.
Until someone clarified the situation, in terms clearer than crystal, the only way to view Ares closing in was as an act of war. “Stop moving. We’re friends, but I’ll put a bullet in you.”
Ares halted, flashing a calculated grin laden with eerie friendliness.
Willow grabbed one of the mercs’ guns from the floor, covering the forty-five-degree angle to Gideon’s left.
“Someone’s been getting private tutelage from a very good teacher.” A smart-aleck smirk lifted on Alistair’s face. “Bet you’ve learned all sorts of naughty things from him.” He winked. “Ladies say he’s a real corker in the sack, but I bet he’s more of a damp squib with that pretty face. Care to weigh in?”
Gideon quashed his instinct to shoot the cheeky Brit. Allie was doing his job, trying to rattle Willow, perhaps enough to take the gun from her.
“We’re here to cover your back,” Castle said, scrubbing a hand over his shaved head. “Sanborn thinks Harper’s innocent, despite a deed for a villa in France in her name and the fact that her PIN was used to access the server room the night Novak was killed.”
Willow turned ashen. Shaking her head, she looked ready to hurl.
“Sanborn figured bounty killers were after her.” Castle tapped Ares on the shoulder, nodding for him to stand down. “We’re here to help.”
But that still didn’t answer the fucking question.
Ares moved, and so did Gideon, closer toward the blown-out storefront with Willow at his side. If he was on his own, he’d try for the alley, but he wouldn’t be able to get Willow over the brick wall and follow before the team caught them. Heading toward the crowd and busy lobby was the better option.
“What are your orders?” Gideon asked again, his gun hand steady as ice.
Maddox said nothing, her head bowed. Not a good sign.
Tension thickened, growing darker and more toxic with each second, like exhaust fumes.
“Hopefully, you found a solid lead at the bank,” Reece said.
“Otherwise?” Gideon crept away, keeping them in his sights with crushing focus. They had nothing to exonerate Willow, much less to stop a whitewash.
“We use her as bait to flush out the traitor.” Castle’s defensive-tackle body drew taut. “The mole wants her dead. Whoever it is won’t stop trying.”
Their plan was to let the traitor try to kill her? That was never going to happen.
Willow clutched his forearm, urging him to lower the gun. “Gideon.”
He met her warm eyes. The gentleness reflected in her beautiful face had him softening. The others blanked out for a second, fading into the background. “Our lead might be a dead end.” His gaze flickered to the team, ensuring no one took advantage of his divided attention.
They all stood riveted, a restless energy buzzing in the room. His pulse beat in time to the metronome ticking in his ears.
“It’s okay,” Willow said, drawing his gaze.
He’d give her anything but this. Running was better than letting Sanborn use her as bait. He wouldn’t risk her life. Not to catch the traitor. Not to save the Gray Box.
Not for anything in the world.
Willow stepped in front of him, putting herself between him and the team. “The real traitor is hiding behind a shell corporation. Give me time to dig, and I’ll find tangible evidence.”
The others exchanged questioning glances.
“We’re short on time,” Castle said. “We’ve got a Gulfstream requisitioned from Homeland Security on the tarmac, encrypted system onboard. We can give you the duration of the flight.”
“No.” Gideon roped an arm around her waist, hauling her toward the exit.
His teammates’ hands flew to their holstered weapons, but no one drew.
She pushed at Gideon’s arm, trying to pry him loose. “I’ll find something we can use.”
“Hell fucking no,” he bit through gritted teeth, carrying her, keeping the gun trained on the others. Pain twisted through his wounds, but he didn’t stop.
“Trust me.” Her bony elbow hit him in the injured side as she struggled, and agony ballooned in his rib cage. “Gideon. I need you to believe in me. Please.”
The please stilled him. His gut burned, and he ached to fight.
But it was slim odds they’d make it with five Gray Box agents up their ass—especially Ares—and they needed off the island. Maybe the appearance of cooperation could recalibrate their chances to a favorable outcome. If she didn’t find what they needed, he’d come up with a contingency plan, but under no circumstances was she walking into the Gray Box as bait.
“Okay.” Gideon released Willow, hating every second of the movement.
Maddox canted her head, bewilderment stamped on her face, an expression that was mirrored in the faces of the others.
Willow put her hands to his chest, giving him a woeful smile. “It’s impossible for a mole to hide for years without leaving a digital footprint. No matter how well hidden, I’ll find it.”
But could she find it in time? A Gulfstream meant a three-hour flight.
When he looked away from Willow, his gaze collided with Maddox’s. Her steely eyes dissected him to the bone, transparent worry replacing the surprise on her face.
He washed his expression clean, tightening down his emotions. It was as if Willow sensed the change. She drew away, hands falling to her sides, doe eyes questioning him.
“Okey-dokey.” Reece gave an enthusiastic clap. “Let’s rock and roll before the cops arrive.”
Local law enforcement would only delay them with questions. Surprising they weren’t on the scene already, though it was possible they were hemmed up at the bank. Good thing the crime rate on the island was low.
“We need the merc,” Gideon said. “They’re holding Willow’s sister hostage.”
Ares flashed a wicked grin and elbowed Alistair. “Guess we might get to party after all.”
40
Near the Potomac River, Virginia
Monday, July 8, 12:00 p.m. EDT
Daedalus stared in the dingy bathroom mirror, running an electric razor over his cheeks. Nothing beat a hot towel shave with a straight razor, but his Braun was a close second. He swiped a hand along his jaw, the barest hint of stubble prickling his palm.
Unease dripped through him over how he’d left things with Omega.
Vincent.
Daedalus had been so fired up over Cobalt’s insurance and Stone wiping out some of their best men, he’d blamed Omega for this catastrophe.
They were bound together in this, for better or worse, since the beginning. Not once, in all the years they’d hustled, strategized, manipulated to rise like conquerors had Daedalus dumped the entire shitload of responsibility on Omega’s shoulders. Not until last night.
He raked his dark hair into place and clenched his hands, disgusted at himself for not having unleashed his venom at the proper target. Stone and Cobalt.
In this business, venting was a necessary evil. He relied on Vincent to be a sounding board, offering solid advice, even when it was unwanted. The man was more than his right hand. Vin was…his foundation, supporting him, holding their empire up with his dauntless backbone.
Sometimes Daedalus said things in anger—his hot-blooded Italian temperament flaring—but only behind closed doors. And only to Vin, who always brushed off harsh words in his usual steely fashion.
By the time he finished ranting last night, he’d seen the damage he’d inflicted in Vin’s eyes, the burden that weighed on him. Daedalus was the sole reason Vincent had stepped back into this cesspool of a business after washing his hands clean. If anything happened to him…
Daedalus drew in a deep breath, maintaining a grip on his unraveling sanity. Inside him, a tinderbox wa
s ready to ignite and incinerate the world.
This was the doomsday scenario they had shed blood, broken bones, and subjugated souls to avoid. If they didn’t fix this, everything they’d worked for could be wiped out.
They had a sizeable nest egg, capable of providing comfort in hiding, but their empire wasn’t solely about money. This came down to something far more satisfying.
Power.
They’d do anything to hold on to it.
There was another possible asset inside the Gray Box. Cobalt had done the research and given him a name last year. Reluctantly, but it meant less pressure on Cobalt to produce intel if the other person panned out. Vin had advised against digging around on the secondary. A tricky move at best, incendiary at worst. MI6, British Intelligence, supposedly thought Alistair Allen was dead. Asking questions about a ghost would raise red flags, and Allen seemed equally as likely to cooperate as he did to go out guns blazing in defiance, but these were desperate times. Using desperate measures, Daedalus had thrown out feelers a few days ago to have his contacts in Britain verify the credibility of the leverage.
For now, he needed to shut down the assassin and the analyst and take care of Cobalt.
The rest of their men could be here within two hours, but it wouldn’t help Vincent.
“Still no word.” Rho hovered in the doorway of the dilapidated bathroom. “He should’ve made contact hours ago. No one has picked up comms.”
Daedalus tightened his fingers around the electric razor. The hot rush of blood pounding his head blared like white noise.
Rho folded his arms. “Vincent wanted you to initiate the evacuation protocol.”
He chuckled. “Cut and run?” Never. He was the master of his own destiny.
“We should kill the woman.” Rho nodded toward the other room, where they had Willow Harper’s sister. “Let Cobalt hang and leave. Vincent wanted—”
“Don’t presume to tell me what he wanted.” No one knew Vin better, understood the complicated layers, appreciated all he had to offer. The indomitable strength, inexhaustible passion, radiating an endless heat that burned Daedalus down to his soul.
