Improvise.
He lunged forward again and kicked out, feinting that he was going for Boone’s left knee. Boone bent it in order to protect it. As he leaned away from the hit, Rick fisted his hands together and swung up with all of his strength.
He got Boone right under his jaw. The other man’s head knocked back, throwing off his balance, and sending him to his back like a hunk of lumber.
Adapt.
Rick knew he only had seconds before Boone would shake the sucker punch off and bound back into the fight. Their training was too similar when it came to hand to hand. Despite Boone’s gig as a rich man’s bodyguard, he’d been fighting with honor—Marine to Marine. Rick went dirty first. And he knew that he wouldn’t catch Boone off guard with a cheap shot like that a second time.
He needed the gun. The loaded gun.
Where was it?
There!
Rick dove for it. From the brief glimpse he got before Boone tossed his gun, Rick knew he had a Beretta, probably a 92. He saw his Glock abandoned near the mouth of his driveway. Boone’s Beretta was thrown farther. The glint of the gunmetal was coming from closer to the curb.
He hit the ground hard, adrenaline numbing him to the pain as he skid on the road, banging into the cement curb with enough force that his whole body shook. Once he was sure he had secured the semiautomatic pistol, he jumped to his feet and dashed back over to where Boone was starting to rise.
Rick came up on Boone’s side. This time, his kick did connect, his boot slamming into Boone’s shoulder and knocking him down again.
Overcome.
Moving so that he was standing over his opponent, Rick braced his legs, readying himself for the recoil. With one quick motion, he disengaged the safety and pointedly aimed the gun.
“I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it. He left the Marines because he was sick of the fighting. He joined the HSD because he wanted to save lives, not take them.
But this was for Grace. His Grace.
He had no choice.
Boone narrowed his gaze as much as he could. He wasn’t focusing on the gun, though. Tilting his head back, showing off his split chin, bloody lip, and swollen eye, he met Rick’s steely stare.
“Do it.”
Rick’s finger found the trigger. He let his training take over because, otherwise, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Or what he was capable of.
Right arm. Pop.
Right hand. Pop.
Left thigh. Pop.
Boone never once made a sound as Rick incapacitated him. The only sign that he felt each shot as it hit him was in the way his big body bucked, his jaw going tight as he fought to keep back his screams. Murder flickered in the depths of his dark gaze, the promise of a slow death in the way his chest heaved and his left hand twitched.
Rick could have finished Boone off. If the roles were reversed—if Boone got the gun first when he was done humoring Rick with the fistfight—he knew damn well that Boone wouldn’t have hesitated to off him with a headshot.
He would never be that kind of man. This was enough. With the three gunshot wounds, Boone wouldn’t be any help to Mathers. He could go get Grace, use the Beretta to incapacitate Mathers the same way if he had to, then buzz Sly to help him clean up this mess.
But first—
“He has her, doesn’t he?”
Boone’s eyes glittered viciously. “Fuck you.”
Rick took that as a yes. “I can’t let him take her away. And I can’t let you warn him that I’m coming for him.”
Rotating the pistol in his grip, Rick crouched down beside Boone. Despite his injuries and blood loss, Boone tried to jerk away. He didn’t get far before Rick lifted his arm up high and brought it down hard.
The butt of the pistol collided with the side of Boone’s skull. He aimed for the area near the temple, close to the back of his ear. With enough of a hit, he could knock the other man unconscious without fracturing his skull or running the risk of Boone never waking up again. The way he saw it, if he wanted to kill the man, he could’ve just shot him. And, despite how Boone might see him, he’d never do something so dishonorable as kill another Marine.
Rick planned his strike perfectly. Boone groaned upon impact, his eyes fluttering wildly before rolling back in his head. His whole frame shuddered and he went still. Rick shoved his hand under his nose, waiting until he felt the warm air as Boone exhaled.
It was a mercy as much as it was strategy. He wasn’t so cruel that he would leave Boone lying there in pain while he ran off to hunt down Mathers and save Grace. Pausing only as long as it took to relieve Boone of the Hamlet-style communicator he had strapped on behind his holster, Boone grabbed the Beretta and the radio and ran for his truck.
Mathers couldn’t have gotten too far. From everything he had learned about the man from Grace, he would be waiting somewhere close enough for his bodyguard to return to him. And if Boone had a radio, he’d bet every cent he had that his employer had one, too.
Hopping into his truck, Rick switched the radio on, praying that the channel was still set to the right one.
His heart thudded as he waited to see if his page would be answered. It seemed like forever, even though it was probably only a couple of minutes, and Rick fought the urge to toss the radio and slam the truck into gear.
A burst of static. A rush of relief as an angry male voice came through the line.
“You finished him, Boone?”
Rick’s smile was grim as he made sure to mimic Boone’s gruff voice. “Yeah.”
When the answer came through the line, all he heard was a short shout followed by muffled sobs.
Tiger.
24
Grace still felt the way Tommy’s fingers dug into her flesh, the sting in her eyes where he used his suit jacket to wipe angrily at her tears. He warned her repeatedly not to cry but she couldn’t help it. She hiccuped and gasped, rocking in the passenger seat of Tommy’s Jaguar.
The last of her hope was obliterated with Boone’s simple grunt of a reply.
Yeah.
He did it. He really did it. And now Rick was—
She shoved her fist in her mouth again, one last vain attempt to stifle the ache that went deep in her bones. Her teeth scraped over the marks from before, another jolt of pain that was nothing compared to the grief she was suffering from.
Rick was gone.
Tommy threw her another heated look. There was that dark something in his cobalt eyes, lust and a determination to have her in any way that he could. Without the other man standing in his path, he knew he had won.
What was the point of fighting it? Grace could try to run, try to escape, even drive headfirst into the gulley if she slipped away from him fast enough. Did it matter? He’d catch her.
He always did.
Raising his communicator to his mouth, Tommy said, “Meet me at the big pit on the way out of this shithole. I think I might need some help persuading Grace to leave with us.”
“I’ll roll him, take his keys. Someone might’ve heard the shots. If I’m driving his truck, they might leave me the fuck alone.”
“Taking Grace’s car could’ve bought us some time, but I underestimated how far the shots would carry. Someone will be coming to check on him soon, I’d bet. Taking the truck is a good plan. Make it quick, Boone, get the hell out of there.”
“Got it.”
Tommy walked back to the car, tossing his radio on his seat. Grace quailed as he walked around the front, stalking toward her like a lion after its prey. A fresh wave of fear washed over her. She was trapped. There was no escape for her.
What could she do?
Apart from the way he manhandled her body and tugged her hair, she knew that Tommy wouldn’t really hurt her. He professed to love her too much, and what kind of bride would she be if she was broken and battered and bruised?
But Grace wasn’t that naive. She knew him too well. Just because Tommy wouldn’t, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t stand back as Boon
e did whatever he needed to do to… what did he say? Persuade her.
Her stomach lurched again, and she felt her throat constrict as if she was about to vomit. She refused to fight it. Served him right if she threw up all over his stupid gown.
There was nothing in her stomach, though. Even as bile rose, burning the back of her throat, she didn’t let anything out as she gave in to her stomach’s urge to revolt.
Tommy crouched down at her side. “Grace, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” He ran the flat of his hand up and down her back. “Let it out.”
Did he seriously say that to her? In between a round of body-shaking heaves, she jerked away from him. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” she gritted out.
He gave her one last stroke, proving that he could, before he pulled back and away from her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his shield come down. His handsome face went emotionless as he straightened, wiping his hands against his slacks. His hands lifted to his throat, straightening the knot in his tie. Grace forgot how much it used to bother her, watching him go from passionate lover to ice-cold businessman in the blink of an eye.
Which was the real Tommy? she wondered.
Now she knew. The entitled, obsessive bastard who would do whatever he had to, play whatever role was expected of him in order to get what he wanted… that was Tommy Mathers. It didn’t matter if he was leaving gifts for her, begging her in one voicemail while ordering her about in the next. He thought he loved her, so much that he had an innocent man executed in her name.
The aftershock hit her. She lurched again, another awful dry heave that wracked her body and had her head buried between the ruffle of the godforsaken gown before she recovered from it. She wiped the saliva from her mouth against the expensive fabric. Then, folding in on herself, recoiling as if to avoid another one of Tommy’s touches, Grace had a sinking realization.
Rick was dead. If Tommy forced her to go through marrying him, she would rather be.
I should’ve jumped when I had the chance.
She cringed, waiting for him to grab her. He never could keep his hands to himself for long; since he thought of her as his property, he always took every opportunity to touch her. When he didn’t, she got worried. Slapping at the satiny gown, hating the feel of it beneath her nose, her chin, her fingers, Grace pushed herself until she was sitting again.
Tommy had moved away from the Jaguar. Standing tall, his hands perched on his hips, he watched as the dark shadow of a vehicle came inching down the empty street. The driver was being careful not to go faster than a crawl. The headlights were off. It was on purpose. She was sure of it.
It had to be Boone.
He didn’t pull up too close, parking the car and killing the engine when there were more than fifteen feet separating the two vehicles. That struck Grace as strange, but on the heels of that thought was the pang at knowing that that was Rick’s truck Boone was driving.
The door flung open and the big man unfolded his body out of the truck.
She saw the gun first. In the darkness, it was hard to make out what he was holding, but from the way he was standing, legs spread, arms aimed high, she recognized it as a gun an instant before a stray moonbeam glanced off the dark metal.
“Let her go.”
That voice. That voice. She’d know that grumpy, gruff rasp anywhere.
It wasn’t possible—
How could—
“Hart.” There was pure ice in the way Tommy said Rick’s name. So cold, she felt the chill freeze her in place. Tommy shifted his stance, blocking the open door. Blocking Grace. “If you’re here, where’s Boone?”
She moved, needing to see Rick. Needing to know that he was okay. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed inside of her chest as he held the gun steadily, looking past Tommy so that his gaze was firmly on her.
“I took care of him. He thought it would be a fair fight.” He dipped his chin, a nod toward Grace. “He thought wrong.”
Because Rick believed that there was no such thing as a dirty move. You either fight fair or you fight to win. And Rick always fought to win. He must have, too, because he had the gun. He was there, not Boone, and he had the damn gun.
Tommy was unarmed. She knew that. He never carried a weapon on him. Why would he? His shadow always had enough hidden on his big frame for three men. But Boone wasn’t here. Giddy relief rushed through her. Boone wasn’t here because Rick was.
She didn’t have to save him after all. Her Marine had come to rescue her.
“This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to help Grace up and then back away. I’m taking her home with me. My boss is on the way. You can either wait for him or get out of town, I don’t give a shit. But if you come back? If you bother Grace again? I’ll finish this. You’re a businessman, eh, Mathers? You won’t get a better offer than that.”
Tommy was quiet for a moment. She slid across the leather seat, putting her weight on her bare feet, preparing to rise. She didn’t care what he said. Nothing was going to stop her from getting to Rick.
And then Tommy said, “Is he dead?”
“I shot him three times.”
It wasn’t a yes. Grace might not have known Rick as long as she had Tommy, but he was a good man. Tommy gave the order to Boone to get rid of Rick. Whatever happened—and she was damn grateful for it—there was no denying that Rick got the upper hand. That didn’t mean he actually killed Boone.
But Tommy didn’t know that.
After thinking over Rick’s offer for a second, he finally nodded. He stepped aside, gesturing for Grace to get up. Bottom-heavy and awkward, she nearly toppled over in her haste to escape the car.
Tommy spun, reaching out to grab her by the upper arm. It might seem like he was just steadying her. Not so much. Squeezing so hard he’d definitely leave a bruise, he lowered his head until there was barely an inch separating them.
“Don’t get comfortable, Grace,” he whispered in her ear. “I told you. You’re mine.”
Her heart pounding, she waited until he let go of her arm before she hefted the gown up high and started to sprint across the cobbles toward Rick.
He opened his arms. She flew right into them.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re alright. It’s okay.”
“Rick, oh my god, you’re really here.”
“I am, and I’m going to get you out of here. Leave Mathers to me. Everything is gonna be just fine. I promise.”
As much as she needed to hear that from him, she hadn’t forgotten about Tommy. Her ears were quirked toward any sound coming from behind her, coming from him. When she heard the soft click of the Jaguar's door being shut, followed by the purr of the engine, she knew he was making his escape. He wasn’t going to stick around for Sly to show up with Ethan and Natalie in tow. Abandoning Boone, Tommy was getting the hell out of there.
Then she heard him revving up the car. Grace’s attention snapped over her shoulder.
A mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. What was she thinking? Taking her eyes off of Tommy for even a second was the biggest fucking mistake she could’ve ever made.
Because he wasn’t retreating.
If he was turning to leave with his tail tucked between his legs, Tommy wouldn’t need to rev his engine until he was back on the highway.
She turned in Rick’s arms, squinting against the blinding headlights. Tommy had flicked them on, illuminating the pair of them. The Jaguar was facing them straight. She had one thought—he wouldn’t—before Tommy slammed his foot on the gas and the Jaguar headed straight for her and Rick.
Rick realized his intent at the same time. With a rough toss, he threw her as far away from him as he could.
“Stay down,” he commanded.
Her landing was hard. The thick ruffle of the wedding gown protected her hip, her thigh, her leg, but her shoulder slammed into the road, sending a jolt of pain screaming down her side. Her neck snapped up in a desperate bid to protect her face. She sucked in a breath before clamping
her teeth together so hard, she bit her tongue.
Don’t scream, she told herself. It would only distract Rick. Don’t scream!
It was all happening so fast. Grace had no time to process it, no time to think, torn between wanting to heed Rick’s order to stay down and crawling as far away from the cobbled road as she could. The only thing she was sure of was that Rick was doing what he’d always wanted to do: he was protecting her.
The car was fast. But Rick? In tight quarters, he was faster. Already flat-out sprinting, he managed to get behind it before Tommy spun around. He emptied the Beretta’s clip in the Jaguar’s rear tires. They didn’t pop, but Grace prayed that he did something to slow Tommy down.
It had to have been worth it. The gun was useless now.
That wasn’t the only thing that was useless, either. How could any type of self-defense technique defend them from a maniac intent on running them down?
The tires squealed as Tommy threw the car into reverse. He backed up about ten feet, then changed gears so quickly, the air was rent with loud grinding. His tires spun, throwing up dirt and gravel, and he lurched forward again.
Too late. Rick already dodged the strike, diving to the rough road and rolling away before Tommy even realized he was gone. Grace’s heart leaped in her throat when she saw how close he was dancing to the mouth of the gulley.
He was too, too close.
Tommy must have figured that out, too. He sliced his car near Rick, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to hit the other man this time. Instead, he brushed him back, forcing Rick to the fringe before he flew past him and sped off into the night.
Surprise kept Grace grounded. Was that… was that it? Did Tommy realize that he was acting crazy? Rick gave him the opportunity to go, and if he was telling the truth about back-up, Sly would be there soon. No way he could take on both of them. Tommy was shrewd enough to know that.
I'll Never Stop (Hamlet Book 4) Page 26
