Winter Igniting

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Jax kicked rocks across the dusty roof. “Rumor has it you’ve given clear orders for April to stay away from the Pure. What’s going on?”

  Damon had been wondering when the questioning would start on that, so he gave a quick lowdown. There hadn’t been time as they tried to come up with a plan to attack Twenty.

  Jax frowned. “Some guy named Jerome who wasn’t listed? That’s all we’ve got?”

  “Yeah.” Damon took another drink and then handed the canteen over to Jax. “I have Vinnie going through the lists of people who’ve ever set foot in Vanguard to see how many Jeromes we find. It’s odd he wasn’t on either of the lists April had, though.”

  Jax shielded his face from the sun with his hand. “We’ll figure it out. One thing at a time. Let’s teach Twenty a lesson and hopefully find intel on the president and a Bunker or two. Then I’m about ready just to enter the Pure apartment building through the front with force.”

  Damon was almost there. “All right. Let’s do this.” He turned and headed for the stairs. After jogging down the four floors, he felt a little dizzy but nothing bad.

  Once on the ground, the air cooled. Marginally.

  He reached the team of five, who were all sweating profusely. “We’re doing it again. This time, here’s the plan.” He laid it out, answered questions, and then gave the go-ahead. As usual, he was the first one through the door, sweeping left and taking out staged targets.

  Pings sounded in the other room, right on time.

  Excellent.

  They cleared the house and ran outside. He glanced at his watch and looked up at Greyson.

  His buddy didn’t look happy, but he still gave the thumbs up. “Okay. Again,” Damon ordered.

  They practiced five more times until Damon was satisfied. His squad was fairly green, but they caught on quickly. “It’s different when they shoot back at you,” he told a kid from Oregon who’d grown up hunting. “Get some food and sleep. We go at noon tomorrow.”

  The kid wiped grime off his upper lip. “Shouldn’t we go at night?”

  Damon had thought long and hard about that part of his plan. “No. They won’t be expecting us in daylight.” He needed every advantage he could come up with.

  The kid looked around Damon. “Um.”

  Damon turned to see April storming his way, her sandals clip-clopping on the heated pavement. Her hair was up and off her neck, and he could swear steam was coming out of her ears. Man, she was a sight to see. “Might want to make a run for it, kid.”

  The kid thought about it and then turned. “You’ve got this.” Even in the heat after working for hours, he loped into a jog to get away faster.

  Damon watched her approach, his dick getting harder with each step. She really did look like Cherry Valance, damn it. Why she was mad this time, he had no clue. But something told him he was about to find out.

  She still wore the cut-off shorts and black shirt, which stretched nicely over her tits.

  Finally, she reached him.

  He waited.

  “You are not going on a raid tomorrow,” she said, her voice a low snarl that was all the sexier for the way she held it back.

  He paused. Not what he’d been expecting. Okay. She apparently had strong feelings about that, and he definitely wanted to hear her out. “Maybe we should go talk about this.”

  “No.” She pressed her hands to her hips and levered up into his face.

  A glint from the rooftop caught Damon’s eye, and he looked to see Greyson and Jax fighting over the binoculars to watch him get his ass chewed. Idiots. “Honey, if this is a personal matter, and I’m thinkin’ it is, let’s go into the shade to talk.” Where they weren’t being watched from all sides.

  “Don’t you honey me,” she snapped, her temper looking glorious on her. “I get the lecture from hell about putting myself in danger, and you think you’re going on a raid tomorrow in the middle of the day with a fucking concussion?” Her voice rose enough at the end that he winced.

  He wanted to remind himself that she had a point, and that this rant was coming from a place of concern for him. He really wanted to.

  But he was hot, he was tired, and he was done. “Turn your cute behind around, and we’ll go discuss this.”

  Her hands dropped, and she clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I am so finished taking orders from you. This is happening, and it’s happening right now.”

  Well, he had told her to drop the challenge anytime. “Fair enough.” Ignoring his pounding head, he ducked a shoulder and tossed her right over it. She’d been correct. Every time she tried to get bossy, he put her right where she was.

  “Damn it,” she yelled, punching him in the kidney hard enough that his stomach clenched.

  A couple of his ribs might’ve clattered a bit, too. Since she was probably expecting another slap to her butt, he pinched her inner thigh.

  She stilled completely, like the quiet before a lightning strike. Then she let loose with a string of expletives that was truly inspired. He wasn’t sure how motherfucker and jackass Neanderthal dickhead flowed together so well, but the rhythm was pure music.

  He pinched her again for good measure, wanting to whistle but needing to concentrate on his footsteps with the wriggling woman over his shoulder.

  And man, did she squirm. He’d caught a flounder on a fishing trip with his Grandpop Jim one time that had moved like this. The little guy had shown so much spirit that Damon had released him back into the lake.

  Not this fish. This one, he was keeping.

  April’s hair flew every direction when Damon flipped her onto her feet in her apartment. She charged immediately, punching out with all her strength.

  He caught her fist with one broad palm, instantly closing his fingers over hers.

  She gaped. That was something she’d seen on television once. He’d actually stopped her punch with one hand, and now he had it. She tried to yank free, but he held tight.

  Tears filled her eyes so quickly it shocked her more than him.

  Maybe. Panic crossed his face. “It’s okay.” He pulled her closer. “All right. Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” She snuffled into his T-shirt. The pinch to her thigh had just spurred her on. Her knuckles ached a little bit, but it was kind of her fault for trying to hit him. “I’m not a violent person,” she murmured.

  He pressed his hands through her hair and gently pulled her head back. “We live in violent times, sweetheart. It’s okay. I can take whatever you throw.”

  Obviously.

  How could he even think about going on a raid the next day? He was going to get himself killed. The room tilted. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs compressed, and her chest ached like she’d been hit with a bag of nickels. She leaned over, panting.

  “Whoa.” He rested a strong hand on her upper back. “April? What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know.” She coughed out, her vision narrowing and then fuzzing. It hurt. She started to sink to the floor. Was she having a heart attack? She was too young. God, it hurt. “My chest. I can’t breathe.”

  Damon picked her up and headed for the door, breaking into a full-on run the second he cleared the burned grass.

  She closed her eyes and gasped for air, going almost limp. He held her securely. The buildings flew by them, and people jumped out of the way. Tears fell from her eyes, and she planted a hand against her upper chest, trying to stop the pain.

  They reached the old free clinic, and Damon burst inside.

  Marcus Knight leaped into their way.

  “Move, or I’ll fucking kill you,” Damon growled, his voice scarier than April had ever heard it.

  Marcus took one look at her and edged to the side.

  “Doc Penelope?” Damon yelled, rushing April into the smaller examination room and setting her on the table.

  Penelope ran inside, drawing on her lab coat. “What is going on?” She moved efficiently forward and looked down at April.

  “My c
hest,” April gasped. “I can’t breathe.”

  Penelope grabbed a stethoscope and listened intently. Then she took April’s wrist and counted, her eyebrows rising. “Damon and Marcus, please leave.”

  “Not a chance in hell,” Damon snapped, his eyes a raw hue. “Is she having a heart attack?”

  “No.” Penelope shook her head. “I don’t think so anyway. Give me a minute.” She looked up into Damon’s face. “Trust me.”

  Damon looked at April, his expression fierce.

  She nodded. “It’s okay.” The pain was lessening a little bit.

  Marcus tugged him back out into the hallway and closed the door.

  Penelope reached into a drawer and pulled out a small peach pill. “Open your mouth. This goes beneath your tongue.”

  April did as she was told, and the chalky sourness almost made her gag. It melted quickly. “Is this for a heart attack?”

  “Nope.” Penelope drew up a chair. “That was a Valium. I think you just had the king of all panic attacks.” She reached for April’s wrist again and apparently counted the beats. “It’s getting better already, but you’re not leaving until your pulse slows more than this.”

  A panic attack? “But my chest hurt.”

  “Yep.” Penelope’s eyes twinkled. “First one, huh? That’s always the worst.”

  April took her first full breath and let her body relax. She couldn’t do this. Could not be this person.

  Damon poked his head in. “April?”

  Penelope stood and gestured him inside before meeting Marcus in the hallway. “She can’t leave until her pulse returns to a normal range.”

  Damon looked from the doctor to April. “Not a heart attack?” The relief on his face nearly made her cry. Then she realized she was crying. She sniffed and tried to get some air into her lungs.

  “Just a panic attack,” Doc Penelope said, disappearing down the hallway.

  He took Penelope’s seat and grasped April’s hand. “It’s okay. Hold on.”

  “No. I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.” Her vision fuzzed again.

  He wiped the tears off of her face. “It’s okay. Just take a deep breath.”

  She did so, struggling to get the words out. “I thought I could try with you and pretend to keep it all casual, but I can’t. I can’t do this, Damon. It’s too much.” What in the world had she been thinking to even try?

  He frowned. “What are you saying?” Even so, his voice remained gentle.

  She gulped down some air. “Us. We’re over. There is no us.” When he let go of her hand, she didn’t protest. “I’m sorry.” More tears fell down her cheeks. That had seriously felt like a heart attack.

  He gently rubbed the tears off her face. “Maybe we should talk about this later, when you’re feeling better.”

  She shook her head. “No. It’s done.” Now her heart really felt as if it was being attacked. “I mean it. Please leave.”

  She had to handle this alone. It was too much to be with anybody else.

  36

  Let’s do this.

  —Damon Winter, Journal

  The bulletproof vest changed the day from intolerable to pure hell. Damon adjusted the straps, sweat already pouring down his back. It had to be well over a hundred degrees, and the inner-city humidity was a killer. Literally.

  They’d already lost one guy to heat stroke. He’d had to head back to Vanguard-Merc territory, puking his guts out on the way.

  Damon made a quick change to the attack plan, explaining it to his team until he was sure they had it. The Twenty gang house was in an old, rather affluent neighborhood toward Pacific Palisades with some taller office buildings close by.

  He shoved thoughts of April out of his mind. She’d asked him to leave the night before, and he’d done so to sleep alone in his crappy apartment at headquarters. Not that he’d slept. He couldn’t blame her for dumping him. There wasn’t a chance in this life that he’d stop doing his job, and that was too much for most people. Not to mention a fragile softball mom who’d lost everyone.

  She was smart to find somebody else. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a knife to the balls.

  His radio crackled, and he lifted it.

  “Over-watch in position,” Greyson said calmly. “We have visual on two targets guarding the front of the house. Sort of. They’ve taken up position beneath the trees in the shade. But they’re in my scope.”

  “Others?” Damon asked.

  “Negative,” Greyson replied.

  So everyone was inside the house. That’s what he’d figured. “Take positions,” he ordered his team, waiting until everyone had spread out in different directions. Then he took the lead down a side alley that had been made for golf carts until he reached the side stone fence. “Now,” he whispered.

  Only two slight pings echoed through the air. Damon leaned around the fence to see two Twenty members down, blood coating their purple shirts. “Two down,” he whispered into the radio.

  Then he started counting down. “Now,” he told the two men on his flanks. Ducking low, he ran across the burned yard and past a couple of statues of what looked like gnomes. Reaching the door, he set his weight and kicked hard.

  He went in to the left, and the guy to his right went fast.

  A bullet winged by his left ear. He turned and fired twice, hitting a Twenty member center mass. Then he swung around. Two gang members rushed out of the nearby hallway, one already firing an AK-47.

  Damon dropped to the ground, rolled, and fired three times. The guy spraying bullets flew back to hit the far wall, and then smashed onto the gun on the floor.

  The kid next to him shot the other gang member right between the eyes.

  Damon stood and pulled the kid who’d shot up from his knees. “Great shot, Byron.”

  Byron looked around. “I’ve been practicing.” He was the whiz kid amongst them, and Jax had definitely been training him hard. Apparently, the kid had a pregnant girlfriend to protect.

  Damon nodded toward the hallway. “Stay behind me.” He crept close, leading with his gun. Then he listened.

  “Kitchen clear,” one of his men called out.

  “Rec room and offices clear,” another one bellowed.

  Damon nodded and headed into the hallway. Last time he’d done this, he’d gotten attacked by Rippers. Staying on full alert, he cleared a master bedroom, bathroom, and two more bedrooms being used as storage for what looked like a lot of weapons and a cache of drugs.

  “It’s clear,” Byron said, his slim body relaxing.

  Damon paused, looking around. Something was off, but he wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was him. His head hurt, and both of his shoulders were still sore. He looked around again.

  “What?” Byron asked.

  Damon straightened. “I don’t know.”

  On his last syllable, the air vent in the ceiling crashed down, and a Twenty member dropped, already shooting.

  Damon leaped in front of Byron. Pain exploded in his back, propelling both of them into the hallway. He shoved Byron to the right and spun around, firing as accurately as he could. He hit the attacker in the knees, and the guy fell.

  Greyson leaped over Damon and punched the gang member in the neck, knocking him out cold. “We need one alive.”

  Damon gasped and rolled to the side.

  Greyson was there immediately, lifting him to sit.

  Agony spread through Damon’s body, and he groaned. “Fuck.”

  Greyson gingerly removed the vest and lifted his shirt, turning him. “No broken skin.” He pushed against Damon’s ribs.

  Damon coughed in pain.

  “Don’t think they’re broken, but you’re going to have a hell of a bruise.” Greyson gently slid the shirt back into place. “You hit anywhere else?”

  “No.” His head was ringing, and his left leg felt a little numb from crashing to the floor. “Jesus, Grey. I need a drink.”

  Greyson drew a flask out from beneath his vest and handed it over. “It’s s
upposed to be for medicinal purposes, but this qualifies. Your back is already turning a very cool reddish black with a hint of purple.”

  Byron shoved his glasses up his nose, his hand shaking. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

  Damon tipped back a big swig of what turned out to be Jack Daniels. He handed the flask over to the kid. “It was my pleasure. Drink up, Byron. You’ve earned it.”

  Byron’s brown eyes twinkled, and he took several swallows of the alcohol before handing it back. “Any news from the other two teams?”

  “Negative,” Greyson said, tapping his radio. “We’re more than fifty miles from either, so not enough range.”

  Byron sobered. “Okay. Please let me know if you hear from them. They need to come this way to get home, so hopefully they’ll be in range soon. I’ll go organize the squad to start loading drugs, guns, and any intel.” He stood and jogged down the hallway.

  Ah, to be young again. Damon made to stand up, and Greyson waved him back down, sitting across from him with his back to the stucco wall and his legs extended. “Take a minute.”

  Damon drank another couple of gulps, letting the booze dull the pain. “Okay,” he gasped.

  Greyson studied him. “What’s up with you? You seem off.”

  “I was just shot.” Damon handed over the flask.

  Grey took a good pull. “Yeah, there’s more. Talk.”

  Damon studied his best friend. They were sitting in the middle of a gang house with bodies all around them while their team stole everything they could. Seemed liked as good a place as any. “April dumped me. Couldn’t take the danger.”

  April sniffled some more, staring out at the over-bright evening. She’d fed the kids dinner but hadn’t eaten anything herself. Atticus had finally all but pushed her out of the rec room, telling her to go and get some rest.

  How could she relax? Damon and the others were still out, probably getting shot at by the Twenty gang.

  A knock sounded on her door, and she yelped. Then she ran for it, yanking it open.

  Lynne Harmony stood in shorts and a white-T shirt next to Doc Penelope, Vinnie Wellington, and Samantha Steel.