Capturing the Queen (Damaged Heroes Book 2)

by Sarah Andre

  Instead, Victor yanked the door handle. As the side door automatically lumbered closed, he jogged around the van.

  Black Hoodie gaped at Sean with wide eyes that held a healthy degree of fear. Blood still leaked from the right corner of his mouth. He leaned back against the driver’s seat, the 9mm shakily aimed at Sean. When the driver’s-side door slammed shut and the van light went out, he said in a trembling voice, “Victor, anyone could have seen or heard us.”

  “Shut up, Nizar.” Victor peeled out, but when he reached the busier city streets, he drove cautiously, his gaze in the rearview mirror switching between Sean and Nizar.

  Minutes passed into miles. At each traffic light, Gretch leaned against her door and stared out the window. Sean fought a smile. Play to your strengths, babe. Ever the magnet for men’s attention, she was clearly trying to signal someone, anyone they passed. Very few pedestrians were out, and the ones who were looked shell-shocked. The bomb… How many people had died? Had the FBI backed off Adyton and the investigation to flock to the scene?

  The van turned onto State and picked up speed. Victor blew through a yellow light, and Nizar gasped. “Do you want cops breathing down our necks?”

  “We’re on the other side of town now,” Victor scoffed. “The cops are over by the bombing. I could kill these two on the sidewalk and not have a pig anywhere near here.”

  Sean’s heart rate picked up. No lucky breaks tonight. The city had been terrorized by a no-name group, and Adyton was counting on ISIS to take the credit.

  The van plowed down Milwaukee, only blocks away from the Chinese restaurant he’d brought Gretch to yesterday. God, yesterday!

  Sean worked the wrist binds, which quickly broke through the scabs again. But this rope was looser and more pliable than the zip tie, and he was gaining momentum. Not enough for freedom. Enough to slip his arms under his tucked body and have the distinct advantage of being bound in the front. This would open up blocks, chops, and strangulation options.

  Struggling into the tuck under watchful eyes and a pointed gun, however, wasn’t optimal. The bench seat between him and Nizar was the only visual protection he was going to get, and Sean steadily slumped down, working his overly stretched arms around the soles of his sneakers. Where he got stuck. He hid the grimace of pain. If his arms gave another millimeter, his shoulders would pop out of their sockets. He broke out in a sweat and gasped air.

  Under the streetlights streaming past, Nizar kept the gun trained on him, but the metal quivered, as did his voice. “You’re doing it, right, Victor?”

  No answer. Victor flashed his brights at someone and swerved into an empty lot filled with rows of dumpsters and surrounded by a chain-link fence. A dark form held the gate open and closed it after they’d passed through. Back to three men; two now knew Sean could fight.

  The van screeched to a halt. In Sean’s compromised tuck, he rolled off the seat. Using the momentum of his fall, he wrenched his arms the final bit, grunting from the shock of pain in his shoulders. His left knee smashed something metal on the floor, and stars burst before his eyes. He snaked his stiff arms up the front of his body.

  “Where’d he go?” Victor’s voice held deep suspicion.

  Before Nizar could glance over the seatback, Sean hauled himself up enough to stick his chin between the headrests. “Learn how to drive, douche.” His voice was weary with pain. The hunger and thirst made his muscles quivery and weak. He had no time for this!

  Victor snapped his gaze to his friend, jaw twitching. “Yes. To answer your question. You better fucking believe I’m doing this.”

  The guy outside yanked the passenger-side handle, and the heavy door lumbered open. The interior light blinked on. The overpowering stench of refuse and mildew wafted in. Sean swallowed his revulsion and braced his aching shoulders. His glance skimmed the three terrorists and landed on Gretch, awkwardly turned in her seat to see if he was okay. He quirked a brow, something that usually annoyed the hell out of her, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Leave her here. She can watch.” Victor unbelted himself and slammed out of the vehicle.

  This was it. Adrenalin kicked in. Before two men became three, Sean dove forward, knocking the barrel of the gun with his bound wrists. It clattered to the floor. He encircled Nizar’s head and yanked him into the headrest dividing them, then heard and felt the man’s nose crack, followed by a shrieking howl. Using the momentum of his grip, he swung his right heel up, connecting to the new guy’s Adam’s apple as he leaned in the doorway. The guy flew out into the night.

  “Squirm out of the seatbelt, Gretch,” Sean said, panting. “We’re about to book.” He squeezed to the open door and launched himself at Victor, coming around the backside. The surprise on the bodybuilder’s face was priceless. Sean body-slammed him to the ground. Victor’s breath wooshed out just as Sean’s injured kneecap struck asphalt. He roared in pain and gasped breaths, trying to regroup from the white-hot agony. The stench of putrefying refuse and Victor’s body wash were all over him now too. Sean’s stomach heaved. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the stink was overwhelming. His brain went on overload, dissecting the layers, strongest first. Sour milk. Decomposing rodent. Mildew…

  “Sean!” Gretch screamed. “Sean, get up!”

  He rolled off Victor and opened his eyes. Stars twinkled. Feces. Hopefully dog. He had precious seconds left to get up. Rotting fish. Standing meant he could strike, block, or kick. If he lay here obsessing about smells, he’d end up in a wrestling match with useless hands and a bum knee. Victor’s sweet-woodsy wash…no. More syrupy than sweet. And a hint of something dark, like tobacco. No. More like…

  “Sean!”

  Shut. It. Down. Gretch’s life is on the line!

  Sean sat up and shook his head violently. Clarity prevailed. No way would he allow himself to die here in a lot filled with decaying garbage. He scrambled to his feet, and his leg buckled, knifing pain through him. “Shit.” Shifting his weight onto his right leg, he limped toward the open passenger door. The 9mm lay on the floor.

  Two feet away, Nizar sprawled across the middle row, wailing and wiping the gushing blood from his swollen nostrils. He silenced when he registered Sean’s focus on the gun. Victor rolled onto his knees. The new guy remained on the ground, back heaving as he gasped for breath. A sedan slowly drove by, but turned the corner.

  Fighting fair was out the window. Just as Nizar reached for the pistol Sean lunged and grabbed him off the seat, hurling him, WWE-style, into Victor. They both collapsed in a heap. Sean hobbled over and opened Gretch’s door. Thankfully, she was out of the seatbelt as instructed, but her hands were still behind her; she wouldn’t be able to defend herself or hold the gun if need be.

  Sean whipped the 9mm off the floor and aimed it at the bodies on the asphalt. “Get up,” he snarled. Victor climbed slowly to his feet. The other two remained conscious but were clearly down for the count.

  Sean felt more than saw Gretch’s presence by his left shoulder. “Untie her,” he ordered, limping over to Victor and sticking the barrel to his temple.

  Within seconds, Gretch’s rope fell off, and she untied Sean.

  “You think you’ll get away with this?” Victor sneered. “My great-uncle will burn this city down.”

  “I’m betting his blood tie is stronger than his mission. Your life for millions of Chicagoans? He’ll trade.” Sean waved the gun at the three men. “Gretch, get one of their phones and call nine-one-one.”

  “Let me just do this one thing,” Gretch answered, turning to Victor, lips curled into a snarl. “This is for Dwayne.” She hauled off and slapped the bodybuilder so hard he staggered. Before he could recover, she grabbed his arm and snapped him over her shoulder. His body thudded onto the asphalt. He let out a long groan and lay still.

  “That was beautiful,” Sean said. Victor had over a hundred pounds of muscle on her, and she’d taken him down like a pro. “Great form.”

  She bowed with a smile. “Thank you, Sensei.” A
quiet confidence came to her eyes. A true sense of control. No man would ever successfully mess with her again.

  40

  Swirling azure lights of the CPD, garnet lights of the CFD, and numerous high-beams all mixed together, blinding Sean. He slouched in the open doorway of an ambulance, sipping water like an elixir while a tech swabbed alcohol on his bloody wrists and knuckles. An ice pack was firmly wrapped around his throbbing knee.

  He glanced at Gretch, ten feet away. She sported a serious case of hat hair and a bruised cheek from Victor slapping her, and Trick’s t-shirt covered her like a sloppy CFD tent. Sean couldn’t remember her more beautiful. Real. Although uninjured, she was attended to by three strapping EMS guys, whom she completely ignored. She tilted her head and smiled at Sean like he was a hero.

  Yeah. He officially was. The final Quinn to reach that status. But he shook his head gently, hoping his meaning was clear. Life would suck if Gretch lost her sass and started fawning over him.

  “I’d like to check on her,” he said to the tech ripping the backing off a bandage.

  “Soon.”

  Jace hurried around the back of the vehicle, breaking into a relieved smile. “Hey.” He hunkered down and embraced Sean, which seemed much more natural than the shoulder-clap attempt at O’Hare a week ago. “You look a hell of a lot better than those three.”

  Sean’s lips twitched. “You should have seen Gretch go after them. Wasn’t pretty. She totally saved the day.”

  “We know it was you, Nancy.” Jace cuffed him gently and pulled out his phone. “Mom wants to FaceTime immediately.”

  “Not yet.” Sean leaned forward. “Listen, that bomb—how many people died?”

  “Three agents. Including Dirk.”

  The breath left Sean’s body in a whoosh. “I’m sorry, Jace. You know it was Adyton, right?”

  His brother nodded tightly.

  “What did he blow up?”

  “That warehouse you went to on Knox.”

  Sean jerked in surprise. “He blew up his own merchandise?”

  “Turns out it wasn’t his place.”

  “He had a key. He gave it to his great-nephew.”

  Jace shifted his weight and brushed a knuckle across his eyelid. “Then it must have been stolen. You were taken to his rival’s warehouse. Adyton probably planned to kill you there and our focus would have reverted straight onto the rival. A Tomas Hussain.”

  Hussain… “That’s the buyer’s name on a bogus sixty-million-dollar inventory list. According to Gretch, Adyton’s artifacts are only worth a hundred thousand. He’s hiding money, or maybe some kind of sophisticated money-laundering scheme.”

  “I doubt the inventory list is legitimate. We’ve interviewed Hussain for hours. Those men have never done business together; they're on opposite sides of the Syrian civil war. Adyton’s gone out of his way to set up Hussain these last few days.”

  “He’s gone out of his way to set up Chicago and the government, Jace.” Sean waved into the night. “Adyton planted many more bombs and will set them off every time the FBI interferes.” He quickly told Jace all they’d learned about the small faction letting ISIS claim responsibility, the confession to Dwayne’s death, and now wanting negotiating power for a U.S. exodus in Syria. Jace texted somebody like a demented man.

  “So whatever your task force did today to interfere set off the first bomb,” Sean said, smoothing a jagged tear in the label of his water bottle. “Maybe use his great-nephew’s custody—he’s the bodybuilder over there—to negotiate a ceasefire.” Sean paused. “Also, Walter, our boss, may be involved. I really hope it’s an ignorant business deal.”

  “It isn’t,” Jace said. “We’ve spent hours interrogating the anthropology consultant—”

  “I know Joe.”

  Jace scowled. “Turns out he’s been supplying false provenances for Adyton’s artifacts. And guess what? He’s Walter’s cousin.”

  It still didn’t add up. “I know it looks bad, but Walter doesn’t even jaywalk. Besides, if the sixty-million-dollar list was bogus, then all Moore and Morrow did was accept a gold-leaf Quran from a then-legitimate antiques dealer.”

  Jace massaged his bristled jaw. His exhaustion and puffy features made him look ten years older than the self-assured renegade who’d taunted Sean on the way to the airport. His phone dinged, and tension ratcheted up his spine. “I gotta go.” He clapped Sean’s shoulder. “Listen. You did great work this week. I’m damn proud to call you my brother.”

  Sean blinked. The words and the sincerity resounded like an echo in his head. If only he had a recording device to hear it again just to be sure. To replay over and over when his brain wasn’t this fatigued. To overlay onto a Mozart sonata… His brother stared at him expectantly.

  Sean shrugged and flushed. “You too.”

  “Say. There’s an opening for a consultant.” His brother broke into a sheepish grin as he stuck his phone back in his suit pocket. “I’d be happy to recommend you.”

  Sean dredged enough energy to return the grin. “I’m ready to go back to my unobtrusive life, thank you. Listen, have you heard anything about my students?”

  “No one was harmed, and the little guy Phillip is being treated as a national champ. He was on the Today show this morning.”

  Good. Phillip deserved the kudos, and would no doubt stand up to any future bullies at school. “And the painting?”

  “Boston already came and got it. Donatello made bail this morning.” Jace looked a little green saying both sentences.

  Sean couldn’t resist poking him further. “And now this. Who’d have thought I’d save the day and get the girl?”

  His brother frowned.

  “Aw, come on, Jace.” Sean broke into a grin. “You’ve gotta know by now that she likes me better.”

  They both glanced at Gretch, whose eyes were trained on them. When Jace saluted, she waved. Her gaze strayed back to Sean, and a small smile played on her lips. Jace did see this, right?

  “Well, shit.” His brother cleared his throat. “You know how hard this is for me?”

  Sean nodded, warmth skidding through his veins.

  Jace checked his watch and jerked his head. “Come on. Looks like she needs rescuing from the throng.” He assisted Sean up, and they pushed their way past the hovering technicians. Gretch seemed completely at ease with five men jostling before her. Her smile morphed into something more sassy and royal.

  Jace reached for her hand. “We could have been something, you and me,” he said solemnly, “but I’m going to have to uninvite you to my mom’s birthday party.”

  “Okay,” she answered, barely giving him a glance. That weird feeling settled over Sean again. He wasn’t used to winning The Girl. Certainly not one who had the rapt attention of medical personnel and who barely registered his hero brother.

  Sean stuffed his hands in his pockets at her expectant expression. Naturally, his brother, who’d been in a hurry moments ago, wouldn’t move off, and the other men turned one by one, to eye Sean’s lingering presence in puzzlement. “Would you…uh…like to…meet my family Sunday?” he stammered. He didn’t mean for his eyebrows to tilt upward—she hated that.

  She nodded, beaming. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

  Euphoria spread like molten lava through his tired limbs. “Great.” He smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. Score one for the geeks.

  41

  Gretch writhed beneath Sean’s powerful thrusts. Quaking desire built to pulsing tingles and something else, just out of reach. The haunting notes of Cavalleria rusticana strained to a crescendo over stereo speakers.

  “‘And when convulsive throes denied my breath,’” Sean muttered, nipping her earlobe. She moaned and gripped his undulating ass, tilting her pelvis higher, searching…

  “‘The faintest utterance to my fading—’”

  There! “Oh my God,” she shrieked, as lightning arced through her, sizzling every nerve. She squirmed wildly as he plunged again and again, drawing out
her throbbing orgasm. Suddenly his eyelids squeezed shut and his muscles seized. A harsh groan escaped his clenched teeth. Gretch gaped at the passionate intensity on his face. A new emotion rushed hotly through her—one that was clean and loving. It wasn’t about control at all; it was about giving. She’d put that joy on his face. She’d made him pant like this.

  He sagged onto her, the pulse in his neck hammering rapidly. Sweat trickled from his temples. He opened those deep brown eyes and broke into a smoldering grin. “Jeez, Gretch, I think they heard you down the block.”

  No way was she taking that as a jibe. She’d done it! She’d come with a man inside her. Who knew it could be this wonderful? She exhaled a luxurious sigh. “Wow. This was just… Wow.”

  “Sooo, that’s interesting.” He quirked a brow. “Sex makes you pleasant—”

  Guess so, because instead of snark, gushy words of love hovered on the tip of her tongue. In movies the characters immediately shared gooey feelings, but real life? This was all brand new. She’d have to take her cue from Sean. He rose on an elbow and fumbled for the remote, lowering the volume. The strong lines of his traps and delts undulated with the task. She sighed deeply. Yeah, maybe she’d have to take the lead in this area. “I…love you.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled as he glanced down at her. “And I have strong feelings for you too, Gretch.”

  They burst into silly laughter, the movement ungluing their damp bodies. The subtle slide of him sparked tiny tremors back to life. On instinct, she cinched her legs around his ass and squeezed, extracting every last mini jolt. She reveled in his sharp inhale, the comfortable intimacy between them.

  “When can we do it again?” Even the husky eagerness in her voice was a milestone.

  He chuckled, the vibrations from his chest warming her blood. “When have you ever asked for something nicely?” He aimed the remote at her nose and pressed buttons. “The queen’s gotta be in there somewhere.”