Hard Night

by Jackie Ashenden

  Kellan was on the couch, his arms folded, scowling. “What about her team? Where were they?”

  Jacob debated whether to tell Kellan he’d made sure they couldn’t find her either, then decided not to, especially since that would only provoke yet more questions and he had no damn time for that.

  A certain desperation was growing in his gut, a gnawing ache.

  He had to get to her. He had to get to her now. Because if he was right in thinking who was behind this mission, then . . . Jesus. No, that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Fuck, why had he come here first? He should have simply followed her straight there. Then again, heading in without backup or a plan, without knowing what kind of situation he was getting into, wasn’t something he did anymore. That was for Jake Foster, the fucking tool who simply obeyed, a slave to his fury.

  Jacob wasn’t that man. He planned. He strategized. That’s why he’d created a team.

  “Like I said, those questions are irrelevant.” He kept his voice expressionless, allowing nothing of his impatience or, more importantly, his anger to show. “Right now she’s—”

  “I’ve got the address,” Sabrina interrupted, staring down at the laptop on her knees. He’d told her about the bugs he’d placed in Faith’s clothing, and she’d instantly downloaded the program he’d used to track Faith so she could use it too. “Big place on the cliff to the south. Lots of cameras.”

  Cameras. Yes. Excellent.

  “Can you hack into them?”

  “Sure. Easy enough.” Her fingers were a blur on the keyboard. “There.” She got up, moving over to the computer area. “I’ll hook this up to the screens so you can see better.”

  A minute later they were all gathered around some of the big computer monitors, staring at a whole bunch of security camera feeds displaying different empty rooms.

  Except not entirely empty.

  There was one showing an outdoor terrace, currently occupied by a couple of what were obviously security and two other men. And one woman.

  She was sitting at a table, while one man stood nearby looking down at her, while the other one had his back to the camera, watching the other two.

  His heartbeat slowed down, nearly coming to a dead stop.

  Because he knew the man standing next to Faith. A man who should be dead. Frost.

  A man you betrayed.

  Jacob gritted his teeth, ignoring the thought. Because he had a horrible feeling he knew the other man standing there too. Not that he needed to see the guy’s face, not when his height and his build gave him away.

  Joshua. Alive.

  Another you betrayed.

  Anger filled him, deep and hot, and for a second he held on to it. Yes, sure, he’d betrayed his brother. Hadn’t saved him when he should have, hadn’t stopped what was happening to him. And the one action he’d taken had gotten them both split up and sent to different homes.

  So yes, that was betrayal.

  But then his brother had betrayed Faith. He was supposed to have been her friend and then he’d shot her, intending to take her prisoner. He’d hurt her and now she was Jacob’s, that complicated things.

  “What the hell is happening?” Isiah growled. “Is she negotiating with them? What?”

  On the screen the man who should be dead and yet wasn’t, moved quickly all of a sudden, taking Faith’s wrist and forcing it onto the table. She tried to struggle, but then the two security guards were there and they were holding her hand firmly to the tabletop.

  Josh stood there, making no move.

  Then Frost reached down and took something from his boot. A knife.

  Someone—Callie—gasped.

  “Oh, hell no,” Jack said viciously. “Blake? We on this or what?”

  But Jacob wasn’t listening. Something inside him had shattered and he was already moving, nothing in his head but the need to protect what was his. Protect them at all costs.

  “Night!” It was Kellan yelling. “Where the fuck are you going?”

  But he didn’t respond, heading straight to the door he’d come in through.

  He had his Glock. He didn’t need anyone else.

  Waiting had only led to this, to Faith at a table being held down while his ex-teammate got out a knife. And Jacob knew exactly why that was happening. He remembered.

  Frost wanted answers for what had happened all those years ago.

  For the mess that Jacob had created. For the deaths that were solely Jacob’s fault.

  Well, if Frost wanted answers, then Jacob would provide them.

  With his gun.

  * * *

  Joanna took a long, slow breath. Then another. She shoved Faith right down inside, ignoring the fear and the pain as the two security assholes held her wrist down forcefully on the table.

  She hadn’t been expecting Frost to lose patience quite so quickly. But he hadn’t been satisfied with her answers. Though maybe it wasn’t any wonder, seeing as how they were a pack of lies.

  Perhaps she’d given herself away somehow, or perhaps he’d simply gotten tired of waiting. Whatever, she hadn’t been able to avoid it when he’d suddenly yanked her wrist from the arm of the chair and had pressed it down on the table in front of her.

  He was holding a knife now, the blade as sharp and metallic as his gray gaze. “Listen,” he said flatly. “I know you’re lying. I know you’re protecting him. Though for what reason I have no fucking idea since he’s a lying sack of shit.” He waved the knife casually. “I don’t want to have to do this. I mean, I presume you like having your fingers where they are, but unless you start giving me some answers, I’ve really got no choice.”

  Breathe. Just breathe. Remember your training.

  Yes, she remembered. She’d been in torture simulations before. Physical pain was nothing. The trick was not to fight it, to embrace it, let it pass through you and that way it would leave the rest of you untouched.

  It was fear that finally got to you in the end, not pain.

  “But I already told you I don’t know where he is,” she said levelly, ignoring the hold they had on her wrist. “I knocked him out and came straight here. Sure, he’ll be trying to find me, but he won’t know how.”

  Frost’s jaw hardened. “You underestimate him.”

  “Oh?” She met his gaze steadily. “Do you know him then?”

  “That’s none of your fucking business.” The knife glinted in the sunlight. “What did he tell you about my little operation?”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I just did what he told me. I handed out his orders, that’s all.”

  The knife descended, the blade resting against the knuckle on the middle finger on her right hand. He didn’t press down, it was just resting there, but she felt the sharpness against her skin.

  Her heartbeat began to get faster, fear knotting in her gut.

  You could tell him. Let Jacob handle it. It’s not as if he couldn’t, right?

  It would be so easy. To open her mouth and tell Frost all about Jacob. To let slip everything he’d told her as he’d held her in his arms. To betray that trust. But she knew, deep in her soul, that she wasn’t going to do that. That she couldn’t.

  There were many people in her life who’d betrayed her. Who’d said they cared about her, only to do things that said they didn’t.

  But not Jacob. He was the opposite. He’d never said he cared about her, but everything he did told a different story. From the bath gel he’d bought her, to the phoenix she wore around her neck. To the things he’d told her, giving her his trust when he didn’t have to, telling her about himself, things he’d never told anyone else.

  He could have given her up for his brother and he hadn’t.

  So she wouldn’t give him up now.

  No matter what this man did to her.

  “Frost,” Joshua said from behind her, a warning.

  How had she ever mistaken his voice for Jacob’s? They were so different. There was something lacking in Joshua’s, a kind of richness, a w
armth. A passion maybe. Whatever it was, it made her ache. But it was a good kind of ache, reminding her of good things. So she held on to it, thought about that instead of the knife against her skin.

  “What?” Frost snapped, his attention over her shoulder.

  “Don’t fucking hurt her.”

  “Hey, you were the one who shot her in the first place. Don’t go getting squeamish on me now.” Frost’s gaze came back to hers. “Last chance. Where is he?”

  She waited, just on the off chance Joshua might have something more to say about the fact that this man was about to cut her finger off. But he was silent.

  Her heart twisted as the last shreds of their friendship died, but she shoved it aside. There would be no help from that quarter and she should have known that all along. Right from the moment he’d pulled the trigger and shot her in the chest.

  Instead she looked into Frost’s eyes. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Jo,” Joshua said. “You should tell him the truth.”

  “That is the truth.”

  Frost lifted a shoulder. “Well, okay. Your choice.”

  She could fight this, she knew she could. But not three men, all armed. Fighting would also put her life at risk and might mean she’d have to retreat in order to stay alive, which wouldn’t help Jacob trying to find her and his brother.

  No, she was going to have to stay here and endure whatever Frost was going to do to her.

  “Fuck you, asshole,” she said.

  He smiled. And pressed the knife down.

  * * *

  Jacob parked his bike in a street about a mile away from the address where Faith was being held and ran there. Sabrina—without being asked—had sent him plans for the house, not to mention numbers of security staff. She’d also texted him that she’d disabled the locks on the doors and the camera feeds so he should be able to get in without any drama.

  Unfortunately, she’d also told him that Kellan, Jack, and Isiah were on their way as backup.

  He texted back that they were to wait until he gave them the word to move, which he had no intention of doing.

  Faith was his. Which meant this was his show and he wanted no interference.

  There was a time to plan and to strategize, and then there was a time to act.

  He was acting now.

  Rage burned inside him as he approached the house, his silenced Glock in his hand. If they had hurt her, if they had even so much as put one single bruise on her body, then by God there would be hell to pay.

  Judge, jury, and executioner had nothing on him.

  Frost, that fucker, would suffer and as for his brother . . .

  The memory of that security camera feed loomed large in his head. Of Faith having her hand held down while Frost pulled a knife and Joshua . . . did nothing.

  What kind of man had his brother turned into? What kind of man had he really been searching for all these years?

  He grimaced, shoving aside the thoughts for the moment as he pushed open the gate that led to the house. There was no one around so he strode straight up the path to the front door. It opened as soon as he twisted the knob so he went right in.

  A man in a suit was standing near the door, leaning against a wall, reading a book. He looked up as Jacob entered, shock on his face. His mouth opened, ready to shout for help, but Jacob was faster. He shot him before the guy could get a word out. The man fell to the ground and didn’t move.

  Jacob ignored him, waiting, listening.

  The house was silent.

  According to the plans Sabrina had sent him, the terrace was up the stairs, so up he went, soundlessly.

  There were more guys at the top, but clearly, they hadn’t heard a thing downstairs because they weren’t at all ready for him.

  Then again, no one was ready for Jacob Night when he was on a mission.

  He put them down easily and without a sound, then moved through into an airy living area. Big windows faced the sea and led to an outside terrace.

  “Fuck’s sake,” a deep, rough voice was saying. “Don’t hurt her too badly, okay?”

  Three men were gathered around a woman in a chair. Two of them were holding her down with what looked like considerable force, while a third was bent over her, doing something he couldn’t see.

  She wasn’t making a sound, though her breathing was harsh. A small rivulet of blood was dripping off the tabletop and onto the tiles below it, pooling around the table leg.

  Faith’s blood.

  A grenade went off in Jacob’s head and blew everything all to hell.

  He didn’t think. He simply acted, moving through the living area, heading straight for the men holding Faith down. He shot them both without hesitation, making the third man’s head come up sharply.

  Frost. His teammate. A friend. His second-in-command.

  Who’d told him the intel they’d been given was shitty and whom Jacob hadn’t listened to, because he was supposed to follow orders. That’s all they were there to do. Follow orders, don’t think, and kill whoever they told you to kill, that’s all.

  Frost, whom he should have listened to and hadn’t. And so had led his team into a situation only he had survived.

  Frost, who was hurting a woman who mattered too damn much.

  “Jake,” Frost said, smiling as if Jacob were an old friend he hadn’t seen for a long time, and not the commander who’d betrayed everyone. “I knew you’d get here eventually.”

  He reached for something—another weapon probably—but Jacob had always been faster. In a couple of strides he was at the table, grabbing Frost by the neck of his T-shirt and hauling him off the tabletop. Shoving him back against the balustrade that bounded the terrace. Pressing him against it, over it, so that half his body was suspended in the air.

  There was so much anger inside him, a red veil of it. He remembered that anger from his military days, a berserker rage that had earned him a fearsome reputation, among both his own men and the enemy. No one wanted to get on the bad side of Jake Foster. No one.

  Jacob bent his head so his face was close to Frost’s. “You should have died back in Europe,” he said, his voice so low and guttural it was almost unrecognizable. “It would have saved me the trouble of killing you now.”

  Frost bared his teeth, not even looking at the ground below, as if he didn’t give a shit that all Jacob had to do was open his hands and he’d fall. “You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you, motherfucker?” he panted. “Especially since you killed the rest of our fucking team.”

  Something shuddered inside Jacob, a knowledge he’d been trying his damndest to forget.

  Your team was sabotaged and you were the one responsible for those deaths. You were the fucking saboteur.

  “You think I’m going to let you off that easy?” he demanded, the truth hollowing him out inside. “No, you prick. You hurt her, which means I’m going to cut your fingers off one by one, followed by any other appendage that looks interesting, and then I’ll kill you.”

  Frost reached for Jacob’s hand fisted in his shirt, trying to pull it away and failing. Then he laughed. “She doesn’t matter. She was only a tool I wanted to use to get to you. And it worked. I die here and she dies too. So you’d better choose, asshole. Which is it going to be?”

  At first he didn’t understand, because the only thing between Frost and a three-story drop was his hand clutching the prick’s shirt.

  Then Faith said in a voice sharp with pain, “Jacob.”

  Slowly, without letting go of Frost, he looked behind him.

  Faith was still sitting in the chair. Her face was white, one hand cradled protectively in the other, blood seeping out from between her fingers.

  And his brother, standing behind her. With a gun to her head.

  Jacob’s line of vision narrowed to the woman in the chair and the man standing behind her.

  He remembered those black eyes, so like his own. That had used to look at him with awe and admiration, because Josh had loved his twin
once. Eyes that had turned dark and scared the moment Greg had come into their lives. And then didn’t look at Jake at all.

  Jake, who’d failed to protect his brother and now that brother was holding a gun to the head of the woman who’d come to mean far more to him than she should have.

  And that’s your fault too. All of this is your fault.

  And it was, wasn’t it?

  Perhaps if he’d saved Joshua from Greg, then his brother wouldn’t have become the type of man who ran guns for a living. Who’d betray a friend and stand by while that friend was tortured. Who’d hold a gun to that same friend’s head and for what?

  If he’d saved his brother, they wouldn’t have been split up, and he wouldn’t have turned into the ball of rage he’d become. Wouldn’t have headed into the military so he could focus that rage, become the killer he’d turned himself into. He wouldn’t have been there to take the order that had led his team into death, which meant Frost wouldn’t have been there to survive it. Frost, who’d turned into a gun runner and recruited his brother. Who’d then hurt Faith purely to get to Jacob.

  Faith, who’d gotten caught in the middle and been hurt by all of them. Hurt badly.

  Yeah, and that was his fault. All of it was his fault.

  He was supposed to be different, supposed to be Jacob Night, who didn’t do shit like that anymore. Who saved people, protected them. Not Jake Foster, who destroyed them.

  But that past . . . He couldn’t escape it. That past had led to this future and now he was reaping what he’d sown.

  His gaze met Faith’s, her eyes dark with pain and something else he couldn’t decipher.

  She’d been hurt. She’d been hurt.

  “Are you okay, sweet girl?” His voice was as hoarse as hers.

  “Not really. I’ve still got my finger though, if that’s what you want to know.” Then, weirdly, she smiled. “Seems a fair swap for me hitting you over the back of the head.”

  Jesus. This woman. She was so fucking strong.

  There was an ache inside him and it deepened.

  “Let him go,” Joshua ordered, ignoring Faith. “You can’t kill him, Jake.”

  Jacob focused on his brother. “You’d shoot her to save this prick? She’s your friend.”