by Sophia Gray
"Drop your weapons!" someone yelled.
It wasn't Martin's men. Her eyes flashed back to a group of rusted-out industrial barrels behind the warehouse.
There had to be a dozen or more guys crouched there, all armed and all of them with their guns trained on Martin's men.
Bridgette did not understand. Her mind panicked. Froze. Her nerves locked up, and everything that followed seemed to pass over her, as if she were lost in a haze.
Most of Martin's men turned, alarmed, their hands flying to their weapons. No one seemed to fire at first.
Martin whipped around, too. She caught just a glimpse of his face, twisted into an ugly expression of fury. He reached for his gun and lifted the weapon with the rest of his men to return fire.
But he was too late. The ambush had been set up perfectly. Every man crouched there had been waiting for that exact moment. A cascade of gunshots broke out, filling the air with a deafening ringing.
Bridgette would have been caught in the crossfire if it hadn't been for Kyle. He dove at her, tackling her to the ground, covering the entirety of her body in his bulk.
She felt the rocks beneath her biting into her back, her tank top riding up to her shoulders from the force of Kyle's body. She felt the pain of her still-bound hands as they were crushed beneath not only her weight but Kyle's, as well. She closed her eyes again, but in that instant it wasn't because she was scared to keep them open.
It was because she knew she was safe. Kyle was her human shield. She'd seen the raw look of emotion on his face as he dove for her—the stubborn determination and the burning passion. That look told her, without words, that in that instant, in the most crucial moment of his life, caught between life and death, she was the only thing that mattered to him.
The sound of gunfire rang out all around them. It shook through her to her very bones. She heard shouts on both sides. Cries of pain.
She was close enough to Martin's men that she felt the ground quiver when they dropped.
She could only pray that Kyle's men were good shots. That the element of surprise was enough.
"It's all right," she heard Kyle tell her through the gunfire. She felt his stubble brushing against her cheek, his lips at her ears. His arms had closed around her torso like a cage. "It's going to be all right. Just count to yourself, Bridge. Start counting and don't stop counting."
She tried to take his advice.
One. Someone was screaming to God about his leg.
Two.
Three. Another round of gunfire broke out. This time more sporadic.
Four.
Five. She heard the roar of bikes tearing up the road toward them, kicking up dirt and gravel in their wake.
She kept counting. She didn't want to open her eyes. Didn’t want to think about what would happen if Kyle's guys hadn't pulled through. If she and Kyle were back in Martin's hands.
She started counting with the rise and fall of Kyle's chest. She fought to clear her mind of everything but the sensation of his body expanding and collapsing on top of her.
The gunshots continued. She heard shouts—from Kyle’s men, from Martin’s men. She heard the roar of the bikes’ motors die down to an idle, then cut out, beneath the cacophony of everything else.
As long as he was breathing, everything would be okay. She repeated that like a mantra.
She lost track of her count many times. But at long last everything was quiet.
Kyle picked himself up slowly, and helped her to sit up. She still did not dare to open her eyes all the way. She kept them narrowed into slits, so all she could see was Kyle's vague shape as he knelt down beside her, his hands tearing at the duct tape that kept her hands bound together.
Her lungs were not functioning properly. She was breathing in short, violent bursts. Her whole body still trembled from head to toe, the tremors violent. She could feel tears on her cheeks. So many tears.
She didn’t have to look to see the carnage. She didn’t know if it was quiet because there had been so many losses on both sides, or because there was simply nothing to say. In the wake of so much killing, maybe the only natural response was silence.
She had a gut feeling that none of Martin’s guys had survived. From what she’d seen of the Raging Reapers, her captors had been sorely outnumbered. That, and they had been attacking from a covered position. She realized she was probably sitting right in the middle of a pile of corpses.
But she didn’t give a damn about any of Martin’s men. She was only too happy that they would, in all likelihood, be rotting in hell. She couldn’t even muster too much concern for the Raging Reapers—at least, not immediately.
The only thing she cared about was that she and Kyle were both alive and, at the end of the day, she would get to sweep Gabby to her arms and hold her so tight and so close.
Because it was over. It was finally over.
Chapter 25
Falcon
Falcon glanced back at Bridgette one more time, just to make sure she was all right. Or, rather, to make sure she hadn’t completely broken down. He doubted she would be fully “all right” for a long time.
He’d pulled her back around the building to the place where the contingent of Raging Reapers had parked their bikes; it was a spot that was hidden by the building. The Reapers had managed to find a dilapidated section of the fence surrounding the complex and ride in through the back while Martin and his guys were distracted. And now the spot they’d chosen seemed like a good place to take Bridgette to get her away from the bloody scene that had just unfolded.
Falcon had stripped off his kutte and wrapped her in it. He didn’t exactly know how the gesture was supposed to help, since it wasn’t exactly cold. He’d done it on an instinct. At least that instinct had seemed dead on. She’d curled into the leather vest, wrapping it around herself like a shield, and smiled at him weakly with gratitude.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” he’d promised her. “I just need to tie up a few loose ends.”
She’d nodded at that and settled against one of the guy’s bikes. She looked pale and out of it, but not entirely despondent. Falcon hated leaving her like that, but he needed to figure out with the other Reapers how they were going to handle the mess on their hands.
Luckily, none of their guys had gone down in the shootout. From what he’d heard, it really had been over in a matter of seconds. But in their line of work, they all abided religiously by the double-tap rule: never assume that one bullet is enough. It often led to overkill and lead-riddled corpses, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.
The only injury had, ironically, been to a guy named Clover, who had taken a ricochet bullet to the arm. It hadn’t been a deep wound, just a graze, and one of the guys had been able to bind him up pretty quickly.
Falcon spotted Benny in the group of Raging Reapers. They were usually pretty fucking loud, so even under these circumstances it was strange to see so many of his brothers so quiet and somber. They all turned to him as he approached, most of them staring silently, waiting for him.
Falcon grasped Benny’s hand in a firm handshake, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so. He didn’t have words to thank the man for all the trouble he’d gone through trying to help him out of this tight spot—essentially hunting down every Reaper in the area and getting them to burn up the roads to get to the complex in time. If it hadn’t been for Benny, Falcon knew he and Bridgette wouldn’t still be standing.
“Fuck, man,” Benny burst out, breaking the ominous silence. “That was the closest damn call yet. A couple of us almost busted a nut trying to get up here.”
Falcon looked around him. “Well, that’s why God gave you two,” he shot back. He trusted they’d get the message. He owed them his life, and Bridgette’s.
Benny’s face split in a grin, and Falcon heard a chorus of low chuckles around him. “So, what the hell are we supposed to do about that mess back there?”
“You check for survivors?” Falcon demanded
.
Benny’s grin grew wider. “Well, there aren’t any out there,” he said, jerking his thumb back toward the open area where Falcon had met Martin. “But you’ll never fucking guess what we rolled in on when we pulled in the back.”
Falcon cocked and eyebrow at Benny. “What?” he demanded.
Another wave of laughter rippled through the group.
Benny turned to the others. “You guys wanna start searching the buildings and cars? Shark, Bill, Leo, come check on Big Luke with me.”
Falcon cast one last glance back at Bridgette before falling into step behind Benny.
Shark caught up to his side. The smaller man looked pissed. Falcon guessed he wasn’t exactly pleased with the way things had turned out. Falcon could understand where he was coming from. They all knew how little it took to lose a brother out on the road, and what he’d just asked of them—not to come save his ass, but to come save Bridgette’s—had put them all in danger.
“I’m not going to be sorry for doing what I had to do,” Falcon told Shark quietly, so Benny couldn’t hear. “If you don’t like it, fine. But I wasn’t going to lose her. Not again.”
“I get it.”
Falcon hadn’t expected to hear that. And Shark didn’t say it grudgingly either. He sounded sincere.
“She’s not just a girl. She’s your girl. It’s just…shit, man, if that’s how you felt about her, what the hell were you doing fuckin’ around with us for all those years?”
Falcon didn’t really have a good answer anymore. It was like Bridgette had said: if it had just been that he was afraid of Martin, why hadn’t he tried to get back in contact with her covertly?
The truth was, he’d been so damned sure she’d moved on. And he hadn’t wanted to waste a minute of his life in the heartbreak of having lost her. Leaving her, believing they couldn’t be together because of something else—a blood-crazed drug lord who would hurt her to get to him—that had been easy. It was the universe’s fault then.
But trying to get back with her and having her reject him? Having no one to blame but himself? He hadn’t been man enough to face that.
But he was now. No more games, no more pussyfooting around. He had another reason to be in her life now, and he was going to give her every reason to let him back in. Even if it took years. He was ready to put in the work. To fix the damage he’d caused.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Falcon told Shark. “We’re going to start over.”
Shark snorted. “She’s got a daughter, don’t she? You think she’s going to want to be within fifty miles of you after all this? Shit, man, she’s going to pick up and get the hell away from all this the moment you two get back to town.”
Shark’s words struck a nerve. The guy had a way of pushing Falcon’s buttons. “You don’t know shit,” Falcon growled. “It’s not just her daughter; it’s my daughter. And we’re gonna work it out. She’s not some prissy little princess. She can handle all this and then some.”
Shark shrugged easily. “Hey, man, all I’m saying is she’s a single mom who owns a bakery. Bottom line, she’s a mama bear and she’s gonna protect her baby however she can. You’re not exactly making a good case for yourself here.” Shark jerked his chin back in the general direction of all the bodies they’d just dropped.
Falcon didn’t respond, though it took a lot of restraint. It didn’t matter what Shark said or thought. He wasn’t a part of this.
Falcon refocused on figuring out where Benny was leading them.
They’d almost reached the far corner of the property, way behind the abandoned warehouses, off in a corner of a dirt-and-dead-grass lawn. Big Luke, one of the Raging Reapers, stood in front of what Falcon could only describe as a Porta John that had seen better days. Its blue plastic was faded and bleaching in parts from sun and weather, and there were streaks of dirt and dust all over it.
Big Luke grinned wolfishly at their approach. He didn’t get his nickname for nothing; he was a tall, burly man, towering at 6’11”, with a body a defensive linesman would envy. He had a bit of a beer gut too, but that extra weight only made him even more of an unmovable mountain, which was good for situations where intimidation was needed. His position in front of the Porta John couldn’t have been coincidental, which meant God knew who or what was trapped inside.
“Yo Falcon,” he called out. “Everyone get out alive?”
“Far as I can tell,” Falcon answered, still scrutinizing the Porta John.
Big Luke barked out a hearty laugh. “Reminds me of El Fuste. Shit, Diego didn’t see us coming at all. Stupid prick.” Big Luke spit on the ground. “But that’s what you get when you cross the Reapers, eh?”
“Wasn’t quite as bloody as El Fuste,” Benny remarked. “Still, feels good to remind fuckers like Martin that you don’t mess with the Raging Reapers. It’s a damned good thing Falcon called yesterday already for backup. We never would have made it if he’d waited any longer.” Benny paused, his eyes widening slightly as if he’d just realized something. “Shit, you never found the drugs, did you?”
Falcon shrugged. “We got all the time in the world now to look. And if we don’t find them, it’s no skin off our backs.” He gestured to the Porta John. “What’s the deal with this?”
Benny exchanged a toothy grin with Big Luke. “Let’s just say someone got caught with his pants down.”
That put a big, broad smile on Falcon’s face. He couldn’t help it. “No shit. One of Martin’s guys was taking a dump?”
“Yep. Hawk thought he heard someone in there, so we had a look, and sure as shit someone picked the wrong time for a potty break. So Big Luke knocked him out and let him stew in there. Figured he might be good for questioning. You know, it might be bad for you if Martin’s little empire here grew another head and came after you for vengeance. I don’t think the ten guys we mowed down out there is all we have to worry about.”
“I bet the guy in there’ll be real eager to cut a deal once he sees the mess out there,” Falcon mused. “Hell, we could have him send out a call to Martin’s lieutenants, have them all meet here thinking they’re divvying up the latest shipment or something. Or we tell them Martin got into a bind, needs help. Whatever we need to say to get them all down here, guns blazing. Then call in an anonymous tip and let the cops do the dirty work.”
Benny nodded along as Falcon hashed out the plan. “The lieutenants go to jail, and the cops draw their own conclusions about the corpses on the ground. The upper ranks collapse, the lower-downs scatter and go into hiding like the roaches they are. And our problem’s solved.”
Benny turned to Big Luke. “He conscious in there?”
Big Luke shrugged nonchalantly. “How the hell should I know?” He stepped aside. “See for yourself.”
Benny pulled back the door and glanced inside. Falcon peered around him, trying to get a good look at the guy.
Falcon saw an average-sized man slumped against the back of the Porta John. Even from his position behind Benny, Falcon could see the fresh swollen bruise on his jaw. Big Luke must have hit him pretty damn hard. At least his pants were up, Falcon thought.
Benny pounded hard against the plastic of the Porta John. “Hey, sleeping beauty!” he yelled.
The man didn’t stir.
Benny snorted. “Eh, we’ll take care of him later. We can take our time. We’re far enough out of the way that I don’t think we have to worry about the fuzz or anything.”
“Good thing this is Texas,” Leo grunted. “No one’s going to worry much if they heard all that gunfire.”
“Yeah, they’ll probably just write it off as some drunk gun nut firing off out in the middle of nowhere.” Benny slammed the door of the Porta John back shut. “You wanna get him nice and comfy in one of those warehouses, Luke?” Benny turned back to Falcon. “We’ve got this handled, man, if you wanna go take care of your girl.”
Falcon locked forearms with Benny and met the man square in the eyes again. “I owe you big, man.”
&
nbsp; “You don’t owe me shit. You’d do the same for me. Any of you would.”
Falcon still didn’t release Benny. “You sure you don’t need me here?”
“Get home, man. Get things straightened out with your old lady. We’ll take care of everything.”
Falcon nodded and let him go. Benny was right. Now that the Reapers had a plan of action, he needed to go see to Bridgette.
# # #
He picked his way back over to where Bridgette sat by the bikes. She didn’t look as if she’d moved since he’d left.
He stopped in his tracks a couple of yards back, wondering how he should approach her. She had, after all, just been kidnapped and survived a fucking shootout. And they hadn’t exactly made amends yet.
