Secondhand Smoke (Dartmoor Book 4)

by Lauren Gilley

  A thin shadow stepped out of the trees and moved toward them, seeming like nothing more than a trick of the imagination. Then a face suddenly appeared; Ian was drawing his ski mask up, revealing the narrow white jaw and high British cheekbones that made him look feminine in daylight…downright ghoulish now.

  “Jesus,” Carter said. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to know that most of the manpower is currently housed in the outbuildings. They’ll come running to the main house once someone sounds the alarm, but it should be easy enough getting in, at first.”

  Fox snorted.

  “You armed?” Aidan asked.

  “Of course.” Ian almost sounded offended. “You just worry about you, darling. I’ve got myself all covered.”

  ~*~

  Something Aidan had told her cycled through her head as she crossed the threshold: Pay attention. Be aware. Keep your head on a swivel and don’t get so spooked you don’t pay attention to what’s around you. She latched onto those words, remembered the earnest look in his eyes, and did her best to block out her terror.

  A stone-floored entrance hall flanked by mirrors. Open floorplan feeding into a massive formal sitting room. White furniture, roaring fire in the marble fireplace. She counted three other men, lounging on the white leather, drinks in hand. They all perked up as she and Jazz entered. The light in their eyes was nothing like the bright spark of interest she got from Aidan; it was flat and mindless with lust. A dozen mental pictures flicked through her mind, nightmares, all of them.

  She had to focus.

  Several case openings allowed an exit from the sitting room. One led down a hallway, she could tell, another fed into what looked like a dining room, a long glass table reflecting orbs of light from the overhead fixtures.

  To the right, an opening led into a slate-floored sunroom. No doors, only windows. But through the sunroom was a restroom…right across from the mud room. And there was an exterior door there, if Fox’s recon work had been accurate. That was her goal: the mud room door. She had no idea how the boys were going to get across the lawn without being seen, but she didn’t have to know. All she had to do was get to that door.

  Without being raped first.

  No big.

  Beside her, Jasmine stepped boldly forward, her walk a rolling, hip-popping gait that dripped pure sex. The woman cast a fast look over her shoulder at Sam, her blue eyes intense, frightening. She nodded, ever so slightly. She was going to be the distraction, she’d decided, while Sam went for the door. Putting herself in the line of fire.

  Sam wanted to hug her. Instead, she nodded back.

  Jazz put on a bright smile and said, “So fellas, I’ve just been awful lonely, and I’m wondering if a couple of you might wanna keep me company.” She strode into the center of the room and posed like a showpiece.

  Sam spun to face the man who’d let them in the house. Her fake sultry smile hurt her face, the muscles around her mouth not used to that sort of expression. “One quick thing,” she said, trying to bat her lashes at him. “Can I use the restroom real quick?” When he frowned, she scrambled to improvise. “You see, I was a little…overexcited about coming to meet you boys tonight” – oh barf – “and I had a little teensy sip of vodka to settle my nerves” – she was talking like her sister, which meant she was going to have a serious discussion with Erin about life choices in the near future– “and now I, well, you know.” She forced a high pitched giggle. “Let me just nip in and out and I’ll be all ready for you guys.” Oh, major fucking barf.

  But he bought it.

  “Sure, yeah.” His eyes raked over her, lingering on her cleavage. “Right through there.”

  Worried for Jasmine, she skirted around the corner, the casement, and into the sunroom. The room was cold and dark, the windows gleaming with moonlight. Beyond, she could already see a fresh blanket of white frost across the grass.

  She searched through the glass as she walked, looking for signs of approaching bikers. They’d be in all black, and so she saw nothing, and kept moving. Clip-clip-clip across the slate.

  The mud room stank of old cigar smoke, and on the bench beneath the hanging jackets, she spotted lots of empty cups and beer bottles, a few crushed-out cigarette butts. This must be where the goons came to smoke and piss out into the bushes.

  The door had a large glass pane in its center, but an impressive sequence of locks. Locks designed to keep people out. She was able to throw all of them from the inside with a release of a chain and a turn of a few bolts.

  Her hand was on the knob when a ghostly face appeared on the other side of the glass.

  She stifled a scream and recognized Aidan.

  He pressed a gloved hand to the pane and spoke through it. “Check for an alarm.” With his other hand, he pointed upward. He was nothing save a face, all the rest of him black-wrapped.

  Heart thundering, she glanced up and saw two plastic rectangles: the sensor and its mated half. Shit.

  “There is one,” she said. “What should I do?”

  Three more dark shapes crowded in behind him: Carter, Ian, and Fox. He shook his head. “You’re gonna have to trip it, and we’re gonna have to move fast.”

  Fox’s voice floated through the door. “It’ll only be the motion detector, love, but they’ll hear it.”

  Right. So. Move fast.

  She twisted the knob and yanked the door open, a blast of frigid air pouring in around the boys as they hustled past her into the house. As predicted, the motion detector gave an electronic chime of alert, but no major alarms went off.

  “Where’s Jazz?” Carter asked.

  “Down the hall, in the sitting room. She was distracting them.”

  He growled something unintelligible.

  Sam glanced out the open door, the cold air stinging her face, and thought she might be sick as she thought about fleeing. That was the plan, sure, but the idea of running away as Aidan was running in, saving herself, when –

  His hands locked on her wrists and he turned her to face him, his dark eyes shining in the moonlight. “Sam,” he said, like he knew what she’d been thinking. “Go. Like we talked about. Go now.”

  “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered. “But I know. I’m going.” Her eyes stung. “God, Aidan, be careful. Please.”

  “I will.” He kissed her, then shoved her out the door.

  She went three steps before she realized the shoes had to go. She stepped out of them, snatched them up, and fled, light-footed across the grass, gritting her teeth against the cold sting of the frost against her bare soles.

  They had talked this moment to death, and now she was glad for it. Most of Ellison’s property was crowded with trees, but a single wedge of lawn provided access to the pool, pool house, guest cottage, and a section of fence that wasn’t crawling with ivy. The cameras would catch her, undoubtedly, but with the boys inside making a big commotion, what kind of threat was she?

  Still. Fast applied here too.

  She sprinted, sucking cold air down into her lungs, her coat flapping wildly around her like a cape. Despite the landscape lighting at the foot of each building, and around the pool, this patch of grass was dark, and her imagination conjured countless terrors.

  Lights came on in the guest house.

  She kept running.

  “Hey!” someone shouted.

  She kept running.

  The fence reared up, closer than she’d thought, and she found the place where Fox had blow-torched a gap. She turned sideways, leapt through it, and landed with a gasp in the leaf litter of the woods beyond.

  She was off the property.

  But that didn’t mean she was safe.

  Sam scrambled to her feet, dragged in a deep breath…

  And was promptly lifted right off her feet, a pair of arms like steel bands closing around her and swinging her up off the ground.

  Before she could scream, a warm, familiar voice spoke in her ear. “Hey, it’s me.”
/>   Mercy.

  “Jesus,” she hissed, and he set her down. She whirled to face him, so relieved, so thankful, so pissed off that he’d scared her like that.

  Ava’s husband loomed colossal above her, another man beside him nearly as tall. His brother, Colin, had to be. It was dark, but the moon glimmered down the steel handles of the sledgehammers they carried.

  “Aidan and the guys inside?” Mercy asked.

  “I just left him,” she said, nodding, trying to catch her breath. A runner she was not. She clutched at her side. “Ava told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My God, I’m glad to see you guys.”

  Fast gleam of white as he grinned. “And we brought the whole crew.”

  That was when she heard the crunching of footfalls in the leaves. Lots of footfalls.

  Mercy turned and pointed up the hill with his hammer. “Sam, run up there. Littlejohn’s waiting at the top of the rise. Stay with him, and if shit goes too south, y’all run like hell for the truck, okay?”

  “Be safe,” she countered, “okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, chuckling darkly.

  She ran up the hill to Littlejohn.

  ~*~

  There was a hallway, Greg had told them, that ran a wide loop around the first floor of the mansion. The door to the basement was on the far side from the sunroom, beside the entrance to the kitchen. The door looked like it opened into a closet, he’d said, but if you walked all the way in, you found the inner door. It required a key card to gain access – a card Greg himself hadn’t been in possession of. Which meant they were going to have to snag a card off one of Ellison’s men.

  The least of their worries considering they couldn’t go any deeper into the house without revealing themselves. Better to go in guns blazing than risk starting a firefight.

  They paused in the sunroom, and Fox’s blue eyes gleamed with a preternatural light in the incoming fall of moonglow. He looked at each of them in turn.

  “No hesitating,” he whispered. “You kill, and you kill quick. I don’t wanna see no shots in the legs or arms, yeah? Center of mass, or in the head, boyos. Let’s get this done.”

  Aidan pulled in a deep breath, held it…and felt something dark and sinister lock into place inside him. Every house raid he’d ever conducted had been accompanied by shakes, chills, quick bursts of nausea.

  Not this time. In this moment, a solid ball of hate coalesced in his belly. His hands were steady as he double-checked the silencer on his gun one last time. “Yeah,” he told Fox. “We’re ready.” He had no doubts about his performance, no matter what was about to unfold.

  Killing made him sick? Was watching the people he loved put in the crosshairs somehow less sickening?

  No. Not at all.

  Fox pulled at the Velcro straps of his vest and nodded. “Okay. Move.”

  With quick, fleet-footed steps like police ghosting up to a scene, they slid through the sunroom and out into a lounge area tricked out in white on white, a fire crackling. There were four men, and all of them were greatly distracted by Jasmine, who stood in the center of the room, her jacket in a puddle at her feet, as she reached to untie the neck of her halter top.

  She heard them come in – a little twitch of her shoulders to show she was startled – but she didn’t turn toward them, didn’t betray them. Good girl.

  Aidan was on the left, so he aimed at the man on the far left, and dropped him with one shot.

  Low gasps of sound, as the silencers did their work.

  One of the men managed to turn toward them, eyes wide with shock, but Fox put him down before he could reach for his own weapon.

  Jasmine snatched up her jacket and rushed toward them, her expression wild with fright. “God.”

  “Go.” Carter caught her quickly around the waist, kissed her forehead, and shoved her toward the sunroom. “Follow Sam, go!” he hissed, and she went, high heels louder than their gunfire had been.

  “Kitchen,” Fox said, striding across the room. “I see it.” He leaned toward one of the fallen bodies without breaking stride and swiped the ID card from his jacket pocket.

  As they walked, Aidan registered a loud thump from the floor above them. “We’re gonna have company in a minute.”

  “Then hurry.”

  Greg – bless his stupid, mildly-evil dead heart – had told them the truth. They found the closet, and the door within it. Fox slid the card through, and the lock flashed a green light and beeped. Disengaged.

  “Thank fuck,” Carter muttered.

  The door swung inward, and cold, damp air rushed toward them. A steep set of concrete stairs led downward, bare bulbs in cages providing overhead illumination.

  “Shit, it’s like out of a movie,” Fox muttered.

  Before they could head down, Aidan heard the sounds of pursuit: thundering footsteps, alarmed shouts. The bodies had been found, obviously.

  Aidan started to turn back the way they’d come, and Fox laid a hand on his shoulder. “Go get your mate.” His face was absolute granite. “I’ve got this.”

  “Charlie–” Aidan started.

  “Go!”

  Shit…but he couldn’t argue. “You heard him,” Ian snapped, and he plunged down the stairs, the other two chasing at his heels.

  They encountered a man halfway down, another black-dressed goon. “What the–”

  Aidan shot him in the face, felt the hot splash of blood on his own. The man fell backward and slid down the stairs, thump-thump-thump, his head sounding like a hollow melon as it struck each tread.

  He slumped at a sick angle when they hit the bottom. Aidan leapt over him, and found himself in the middle of a nightmare.

  Cells. Like prison cells, with iron bars, overhead tube lights, stainless toilets and rock-hard cots. Three of them, stretched out before him. And in the first…

  “Oh shit,” he whispered, surging forward, wrapping his hands around the bars. “Tango? Kev!”

  His best friend looked small and frail, crumpled in a heap against the far right wall of his cell. His clothes were filthy and torn, his jeans hanging off his bony hips. His hair lay flat, dingy as straw on top of his head. And his face had been beaten badly…so badly. He would have been unrecognizable if not for the tattoos on his hands, and Aidan’s innate sense that this was one of his favorite people in the world.

  Ian came to stand beside him, breath catching audibly. “Oh, Jesus…”

  “Kev,” Aidan called again, and that was when he noticed there was someone in the next cell. Someone who was, best as he could tell, resting a tiny hand on Kev’s shoulder, through the bars. “Hey, who are you?” he called. Over his shoulder: “Carter, go back and try to find keys off that asshole I shot.”

  “Got it.”

  Aidan prowled down to the front of the next cell, and got a look at whoever was touching Kev.

  It was a girl, a small, trembling, dark-haired girl who didn’t look like she was out of high school.

  Aidan sighed and forced himself to calm. He could hear gunshots overhead, and he was panicking about Fox…but he had to be the good guy here. “Hey,” he said, softly. “Who are you?”

  She lifted her chin in defiance, but said nothing.

  He heard Carter coming up behind him, the rattle of keys the most beautiful sound in the world. “Sweetheart,” he said, even more gently. “My name’s Aidan, and I’m a Lean Dog, like Kev.” He was betting, given the way she crouched over him, that the two had shared personal details. “He’s my very best friend, and I’m here to take him home.”

  “Aidan?” Her expression changed, stark fear bleeding through the defensive mask. “Oh God. Really? He said…” Tears filled her eyes and she pressed her lips together.

  “Aidan?” Tango’s croaky, but unmistakable voice asked. “You’re there?”

  “I’m here.” He took the keys from Carter and tried one, the next… “I’m here, I’m here.” Ah, that one worked. The door slid back on oiled rollers and Aidan charged into
the cell.

  Tried to. Ian crowded him, attempted to get in first. Aidan elbowed him roughly. “Stay back, asshole. He doesn’t need your shit right now.”

  A long-fingered hand clamped on his arm and he shook it off. “Carter, if that English prick touches me again, shoot him.”

  “I’d be glad to. But, dude, you need to hurry.”

  He turned back to Tango, moved toward him once more. “We’re here to bust you out.” He’d meant it as a joke, but it fell flat, his smile unable to take hold as he drew close and got a good look at his friend.

  “God, what’d they do to you?” he whispered.

  Tango forced himself upright, teeth gritted, grunting with pain. Aidan knelt and helped him, arms looping around his ribcage.

  Tango’s eyes glittered feverishly through swollen lids, but his gaze was nevertheless steady. “What’s going on?”

  “Like I said. This is a rescue mission.”

  “The club…?”

  “Just me. And the kid. And Fox. You know how he is, crazy like a motherfucking fox, always looking for a good shootout.”

  Tango groaned. “You shouldn’t have…gone against wishes…”

  “Shut up,” Aidan said, gently. “You didn’t think I’d leave you here, did you? I’m trying to turn gay, remember?”

  “So not funny.”

  “Right. Come on, can you stand?”

  Tango flung an arm across his shoulders, but his eyes snapped wide – as wide as was possible, given the swelling. “Whitney,” he gasped.

  Aidan darted a glance to the girl, saw her staring at them with her lip caught between her teeth. “Is that you?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “I’m not leaving without her,” Tango said. “You get her out too, or you leave me here.”

  “Leave the little bint,” Ian said, sharply.

  Aidan frowned, but he wasn’t about to squabble over something as minor as one little chick. He jerked his head to Carter. “Get her.”

  Then he took a firm hold of Tango. “We’re gonna stand up, alright?”

  Tango nodded, and he tightened up in Aidan’s arms.

  “One…two…three…”