Cuffed

by Angel Payne

  “So what’s the plan?” she insisted. “Do we have one?”

  “Yep. It’s called stalling. Major Boone has a couple of chaplain friends and is sure he can round one up.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  They were back at the door to the canopy that covered Garrett and Sage’s back patio. Reluctantly, she let her hand slip from Zeke’s arm. The next appropriate step would be a cordial goodbye. Z was right. Sage was likely pushing code red in the freak-out department and needing her.

  Her brain pounded with what Zeke had just shared with her. Complicated. Dangerous.

  That meant some of the team could die. That meant Z himself could die. Shit. Shit.

  When he grabbed her fingers again, she clung just as tight in return.

  “Rayna,” he murmured. “Listen. When we’re out there, I could really use—” He cringed and cleared his throat. “What I mean is—” He stopped again, shaking his head. “Fuck. I know you can’t do the Friend Zone. I don’t blame you. But it would be cool if—”

  She cut him off by pressing her palm to his jaw. “You know where to get me. You know you can call anytime, Z.”

  The caramel warmth that entered his gaze melted her blood to the same consistency. She wanted to strip right here and take a bath in it—but in her fantasy, she’d only gotten her heels off before Garrett charged up and grabbed them both. His handsome face was alive with a manic combination of emotions.

  “Franz is here. I just saw his truck pull up.”

  “Thank fuck,” Zeke answered.

  “No shit.” Garrett snatched the bouquet from her and passed it off to Heidi, who’d just shown up with a gleeful grin on her face. “Is it okay if we skip your walk down the aisle, Ray? They’ve bumped up the snow call by two hours, and I want my bride’s lips pink, not blue, for that first smack I’m gonna give them.”

  “Not a problem.” She actually blew out a relieved breath. Having to pace down that white runner with Zeke waiting at the end next to Garrett was a pill of heartache she wasn’t looking forward to swallowing.

  Garrett kissed her cheek. “Good girl.”

  Did she hear a threatening rumble come from Z’s chest at that?

  There was no time for the contemplation. After Heidi assured them that the major was ready and she’d personally fuss over Sage’s final details, Rayna had no choice but to rush for the altar with Garrett and Zeke. The quartet segued into their processional song, Pachelbel’s Canon in D. The ribbons on the altar blew softly. A fine layer of mist still covered the ground. The crowd quietly buzzed with excitement. Rayna waved at many friendly faces from the base, as well as Garrett’s Uncle Wyatt and Aunt Josie, whose belly was round with their own child.

  As soon as Franzen joined them, everything would be set.

  John Franzen appeared, all right.

  He was dirty, sweaty, wild-eyed—and wearing nothing but a torn khaki T-shirt, scuffed shorts, and his combat boots.

  Rayna joined the crowd in a gasp of shock. She looked over to Zeke, who motioned her to join them on the groom’s side of the aisle. As she did, Franz grabbed Garrett by both shoulders, his Maori-tatted biceps bulging with tension.

  “Holy fuck. You are getting married.”

  Garrett’s jaw worked, but nothing came out for another fifteen seconds. “Uh…yeah. Like we talked about yesterday, Captain? After you texted me the alert about the op?”

  Franzen had big eyes, but they bulged even wider. “The what?”

  “The operation. As in the mission?” Garrett exchanged a look with Z that went beyond perplexed. If Rayna guessed it right, they hovered together in the realm of alarm.

  “What mission?”

  “Captain.” He reached for Franzen’s shoulder, but the man shirked him off. “Don’t you remember? We pop smoke tomorrow. You told us to prep for heat and bugs. You texted everyone about it, except Zeke—”

  “Who I pulled off the AWOL list.”

  At least the man said that with conviction. But after that, his strong face dissolved once more into confusion and loss. He gazed at the crowd like they were an army of enemy robots he’d have to fight with his bare hands any second.

  “Right,” Garrett confirmed.

  “Which I did an hour ago.”

  “Which you did over twenty-four hours ago.”

  “Holy shit.” Franz scraped a hand over his close-shaved skull. “Th-That’s the last thing I remember doing.”

  Zeke leaned forward. “Before what?”

  “Before I woke up this morning.” He swallowed hard. “In a room that looked like Shakespeare threw up. In Las Vegas.”

  “In Vegas?” Zeke and Garrett fired it off together.

  Franz nodded. “Yeah. Sheez. I was buck fucking naked. There was only this shit to wear. My phone, wallet, money, and tags were on the nightstand. I still had exactly ninety-three dollars in cash. Nothing was tampered with—except my phone. When I read the texts that I supposedly exchanged with Hawk, I knew some bad wango-tango had gone down.”

  “What the hell?” Zeke muttered.

  “Why didn’t you text me then?” Garrett asked.

  “After I woke up naked on satin sheets, half expecting some sugar daddy to prance in and call me stud muffin? I had no idea what they might have done to you, Hawk. Or if those messages were even from you anymore.”

  “Valid points,” Zeke concurred.

  “Christ,” Garrett said, shaking his head with obvious disbelief. “How did you get back?”

  “In the casino I found a couple of newbs who gave me a lift to Nellis.” He fixed Garrett with a dark stare and a tight jaw. “You say I had a whole conversation with you? As in, we talked?”

  Garrett nodded. “Franz, it was you.”

  “How did I sound?”

  “Happy for Sage and me.” Suddenly, Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “But distracted. Really distracted.”

  “Or drugged,” Franz growled.

  As if someone punched a turbo boost on his focus, Zeke’s demeanor zapped from active listener to decisive leader. “Someone needed to completely control your narrative,” he asserted at Franz. His shoulders tensed as he adapted the same battle-ready pose as his CO. “Someone who needed you out but not dead, who didn’t want the mess of murdering you. Someone who knew you’d be a nonissue as soon as they used you to make us all think a mission was going down.”

  “But why?” Garrett questioned.

  Franzen wheeled around. “They wanted Z back in play.”

  Zeke didn’t return his CO’s scrutiny—because his had swung to Rayna. She gulped. His face was full of sharp, glinting fear and a pleading, parted mouth. “No,” he uttered. “They weren’t after me. They were after Rayna.”

  “Garrett!”

  Rayna’s body turned to ice as her friend’s cry shattered the air. Zeke seized her and dragged her next to him. That didn’t stop her from shuddering from head to toe as she forced her stare down the aisle, looking to where Sage now stood—

  In Mua’s grip.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Do not let her go. Do not let her go. Do not let her go.

  As the self-imposed command thundered in his mind, Z’s body shifted into moves his muscles remembered from thousands of repetitions. “Down!” he bellowed. “Everyone down now!”

  He did the same but not before wrenching Rayna under him first. Immediately he looked up to locate Garrett, though he could’ve written the script for what his damn fool friend did. The guy had his gun in his hand and his heart on his fucking sleeve before he took two steps up the aisle. Zeke dropped his face into Rayna’s hair, expecting to endure Sage’s horrified scream any moment. He was certain Mua hadn’t come alone, meaning there was a small army of henchmen ready to drill Hawk full of lead any second.

  Sure enough, Sage’s cry sprang through the air. It was pitched in pure joy. Zeke gaped as she ran from Mua, sprinted straight up the aisle, and leaped into Garrett’s arms. Her shriek was joined by the heavy shouts of his men—Ethan, Tait, Ke
ll, Rhett, Rebel—along with the dozen other soldiers in attendance at the wedding, now with pistols locked on members of Mua’s force. Not a single shot had been fired.

  Not yet.

  “Freeze, asshole!”

  Having heard Franz roar those words a few hundred times, Z nearly chuckled at this rendition. The syllables rang with a distinct overtone of glee, especially because Ethan, having tossed his own pistol to Franz, now wielded the M4 he’d pilfered from Garrett’s loaded mission pack—right at the middle of Mua’s spine.

  Yeah, the situation had let’s-all-laugh-and-congratulate-ourselves all over it. But nobody did. Zeke glanced around. Everybody was stopped by the same glaring questions that he was.

  Why, if Mua’s team had the element of surprise, did they all drop and surrender so fast?

  Why had Mua simply let Sage go?

  Why the fuck was the man even still here in the city…in the country?

  And most importantly, why did the shiny-suited bastard look more peaceful than the goddamn egrets about it all?

  Trying to deduce any answers made his gut writhe and his blood boil.

  Because all the answers led back to Rayna.

  Mua clucked at Franzen while slowly raising his hands. “My goodness, Captain,” he intoned. “Touchy, touchy—especially for a man who’s had such a long and pleasant nap.”

  “Pleasant, my ass,” Franz growled.

  Mua tilted his head and eyed the captain’s shorts. “Hmm. Your ass certainly does look nice from here, but do we wish to digress at the present moment?”

  Z could feel Franz’s blood pressure rocket from where he still crouched over Rayna. She winced and squirmed a little. He pressed a gentle hand on her back. “Bird? Are you hurt?”

  “N-No.” She used the same whisper he had. “But shit…Zeke…”

  “Then don’t move a fucking muscle. Do you understand me?”

  She went still beneath him.

  “Good girl.”

  Oh, yeah. That sounded way better coming from his lips instead of Garrett’s.

  A gust of chilled wind blew in off the lake. Zeke sniffed. There was snow on the air. It was coming soon, and it wasn’t going to be light, fluffy, and pretty. It was going to be Seattle snow, soggy and messy—just like this entire confrontation if they didn’t soon congeal this walking pond scum into some wrist and ankle cuffs.

  Thank God Franz was tuned to the same frequency. Like the pissed-off bronze dragon he sometimes resembled, their CO boomed, “The only place you’re digressing is onto the ground, Mua. On your stomach now, unless you want me to do the honors. I haven’t dissected a worm since eighth grade. It’ll be a lot of fun.”

  Z snarled with deep approval but didn’t dial back an ounce of vigilance, a precaution justified by Mua’s reaction to Franz. The dickwad chuckled like a damn game show host.

  “While I enjoy your colorful banter, Franzen, the answer is no.”

  “Is that so?” Franz nodded at Ethan, who loaded the M4’s chamber. “I don’t think you have a lot of choice here, scumbag.”

  “Choices are so subjective,” Mua drawled, “are they not?”

  Zeke grunted, his frustration mounting. “He’s stalling!” he yelled. “Get the bastard and his latrine logs out of here!”

  His burst caused a noticeable rustle among Mua’s men. Though they all still knelt at the ends of his team’s guns, they glanced his way with unmistakable interest. Odd behavior from guys who’d just been likened to excrement and were bound for federal prison as accessories to Mua’s crimes.

  “Ah-ha,” Mua called. “Sergeant Hayes. Seattle’s newest celebrity. Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He concluded with the words that connected him to the motive Z had dreaded behind all this. “And while you’re at it, please bring Ms. Chestain along, as well.”

  “Suck my dick, Mua.”

  “You both stay put, Zsycho,” boomed Franz. Zeke watched him direct the other guys to round up Mua’s men and lead them into the reception tent. “These mates will be leaving the party soon.” Without taking his eyes off Mua, he called out again, “Ladies and gentlemen, we hope that directive will include you soon, as well. Until we know what mischief our friends are up to, we don’t want to endanger anybody. Thank you for your patience.”

  Surprisingly, that phrase cut loose the opposite effect on Mua. The man released a savage yip, his face twisting tight. “Your presumptions disgust me, Franzen. I’m a businessman, not a fucking savage. Set the peasants free. They mean nothing to me.”

  “Which is why you’d think nothing of blowing them all up to get what you want.”

  The accusation made a bunch of women in the crowd whimper. Beneath him, Rayna didn’t make a move or a sound. He only knew she was terrified because his hand was flattened beneath her breasts, feeling every terrified thrum of her heart. “It’s going to be okay.” He pressed every word to her ear in a determined whisper.

  “Franzen, you know what I want.” Mua’s voice was still a lethal drawl. “Let’s stop wasting each other’s time.”

  Zeke watched Franz widen his stance and steady his gun. “Sergeants Weston and Chestain aren’t on this bargaining table.”

  “Acchh. Weston isn’t my concern anymore.” He waved a dismissive hand. “As much as I would relish watching the little bitch scream for the part she played in King’s demise, I am, as stated, a businessman. A knocked-up slut is of no use to me.” The slick surety slid down to his lips. “There. Now I have sliced your dilemma in half.”

  “You’ve changed nothing.” Franz took a careful step toward him. “We’re done with this bullshit.”

  “Why don’t you let Sergeant Chestain be the arbiter of that?”

  “I told you already, asshole. Rayna doesn’t come anywhere near this discussion.”

  “She might disagree with you, Franzen.” Though Mua complied with the shove Ethan gave him, driving him down to his knees, his smile didn’t waver. Zeke craned his neck, determined to keep watching the bastard even if he had to do it through a sea of folding chairs and a shitload of aisle ribbons. “She might really disagree with you, once she asks Zeke how his little wound is doing.”

  Z’s chest suddenly throbbed. Though the pain was real, it was intensified by the horror that now tiptoed out from the edges of his brain and laughed at him in full, wicked glory. It had been lurking there since yesterday—since the moment Luna had hugged him and accidentally bumped his injury. He’d had enough gouges taken out of him over the years to know that a bump wasn’t supposed to yield the kind of pain he’d experienced after that—but he’d written off his suspicions to the stress of the wedding and the stupidity of being paranoid about everything from hangnails to overly friendly trash collectors.

  “Holy shit,” he choked.

  Rayna threw a stunned stare back at him. “Z? What—What is it?”

  He wasn’t being paranoid.

  It wasn’t just a bump.

  It hadn’t been just an accident.

  “It’s a chip.” He tore off his tie and ripped free the top buttons of his dress shirt. “Holy fuck. It makes sense now.” With his shirt loosened, he could finally get at his upper back. He instantly went for Rayna’s careful bandage work—and clawed it off. “They got it into me during the bust-up on Saturday night. It was why that round-faced asshole let me go at him with the chain like that. He was using that chance to put it into me.” He looked down at Rayna, still so goddamn gorgeous and perfect against the grass, and he struggled to form clear thoughts. Even one clear thought.

  “What?” she demanded. “He put what into you? Damn it, Zeke, what is it?”

  He met her gaze directly. “A tracking chip.”

  “A what?”

  Her shriek blew their location even if her bolt upright didn’t. Zeke grabbed both her wrists, keeping her pinned to the ground at least, but the action didn’t help this time. It didn’t stop the coil of dread that unfurled now at exponential speed, pulling all his logic from him…all his control.


  “They knew we were up at the cabin the whole time.” He let her go to claw again at the wound, tearing at his skin, grimacing from the pain but continuing on. “They knew because of me. Every move we made. They were probably watching us the whole time.”

  Mua’s evil was inside him.

  Being used against Rayna. Against Rayna.

  He clawed harder at his back.

  “Zeke!” The fear in Rayna’s voice drew him back to her. “Stop it! You’re tearing yourself up!”

  Mua’s hearty laugh burst down the aisle as if they’d merely shown up late at a cocktail party. “Ahhh, there she is! Rayna, my dear, how lovely you are. The royal hues suit you well.”

  “Shut up,” Franzen ordered. “Archer, if he so much as sneezes again, fill his ass full of lead and then make your way to his brain. Slowly.”

  “Roger,” Ethan uttered. “Gladly.”

  “No!”

  Before Zeke could move, Rayna squirmed free of him with frantic fury. She threw off her heels and started racing down the aisle. He bellowed her name, making it an unmistakable order to stop, but if the fury in her head matched the wrath of her steps, she was too consumed to hear or care. He stumbled to his feet and went after her. Too late. The little lunatic swept right past Franzen and launched herself at Mua, slapping him hard across the face.

  “What the hell have you done to him?” She swung her hand the other way, clipping him with a backhand that made even Z’s eyes bug. “I’m here, you giant ball of stinking rat sweat, so spit it out.” When Mua didn’t make a sound or lift a single finger at her, she seethed, “You think you can get at us with a stupid little tracking chip? Is that your idea of playing rough, Mua? Oooo, I’m really scared now.”

  Zeke took a stance next to Franz. After his CO assured himself Z was okay, he lurched to pull the plug on the confrontation with Rayna. Zeke backhanded the man’s chest. “Let her run with this.” Part of him was proud as hell of her for standing up to the vermin who’d sent his goons after her in the street in front of Bastille. But another part sensed, as deep as the cells of his blood, that Mua had more in this game than tracking them here. The mongrel was obsessed with her. That much was clear now. He wasn’t leaving the country unless Rayna was with him. But where was his leverage for making that happen? Rayna had just paraphrased as much, and the confidence of it followed every step she paced in front of Mua now. Z watched every move she made, ready to pounce if the asswipe even swayed her direction.