Brotherhood Protectors_Carved in Ice

by Kris Norris

  Cyn walked over to him, glancing behind him at Quinn before arching her brow. “What’s wrong, tiger? Getting cold feet over that kitten?”

  “See those three men at the table in the corner behind you? The ones who ordered a beer ten minutes ago?”

  Cyn frowned, glanced to her left then nodded. “Yeah. What about them?”

  Russel gave her thirty bucks. “I want you to wait two minutes then take them all a round of Manny’s. Stand in front of them and lean over. Tell them that blonde near the jukebox bought it for them.”

  Cyn’s eyes widened. “Bella? You know she’s part of that biker crew that comes in here, right? The ones playing pool in the back room that will tear those men apart if they so much as smile at her?”

  “Yup. Just do me a favor and try to linger. All I need is thirty seconds, but I’ll take as long as you can give me.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Do I want to know what’s going on?”

  “Probably not. In fact, the less you know, the better. Just…trust me. Please.”

  “Right. Trust the guy who’s been coming in here every night just to meet up with the redhead, again, who he avoids the moment she walks in. Nothing suspicious there.”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  She snorted. “Fine. But I swear I will send you a bill if this turns into a full-out brawl.”

  “Deal.”

  She rolled her eyes but motioned for him to get lost. Russel nodded his thanks, carefully picking his way back to the hallway. He was already working through steps four and five when Cyn loaded three bottles onto a tray and headed toward the men. Russel watched each step, judging when she’d block enough of their view, then slipped out, mentally counting out the time in his head.

  Ten seconds.

  He was at Quinn’s table, ass in the chair beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

  Fifteen.

  He’d avoided the elbow she’d directed at him followed by a swing of the cooler bottle in her other hand.

  Twenty seconds.

  He had her attention, her green eyes wide, her mouth open. She inhaled sharply then held it, as if she couldn’t quite remember how to breathe. How to speak.

  Twenty-five.

  He leaned forward. “You have five seconds to decide if you’re leaving here—alive—with me, or dead at the hands of those men that are watching you from the corner of the bar. Because, sweetheart, they aren’t here to buy you a drink.”

  Quinn’s gaze flew to where he motioned with his head. Cyn was standing in front, blocking most of their view as she leaned in low, no doubt flashing them a healthy dose of cleavage before pointing to Bella. The men all looked that way, giving Quinn a clear view of one of the men’s profile.

  Quinn gasped, most of the blood draining from her face. Her fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle, bleaching her knuckles white. “Thomas.”

  “He and those other two came in the back. And they’re armed.” Russel cupped her chin, tilting it toward him. “Time’s up. What’s it gonna be?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Quinn stared into Russel’s eyes and wondered if this was all a dream. If the sleepless nights had finally caught up to her, and she’d passed out in her studio, scanning through the last of the photos she’d taken—photos that guaranteed to either take down Thomas and his goons or get her killed.

  Russel squeezed her shoulder, and everything snapped into focus. This wasn’t a dream, and if she didn’t get out of the bar right now—didn’t convince Russel to get in his truck and leave, again. For good, this time—they’d both die.

  Her stomach protested the thought. She couldn’t imagine him dead, his blood on her hands. She’d done everything she could to forget him. Forget the way he’d rescued her. How he’d spent the night watching over her. The lethal look in his eyes when she’d begged him to leave. But nothing had worked. It was as if he’d been burned into her memory, surfacing whenever she lost the least bit of focus. That’s why she’d come back to the bar—against every instinct that told her it was dangerous. A part of her had hoped he’d be there. Waiting. Even though she knew she’d have to tell him to leave, again.

  Russel’s grip tightened, drawing her out of her thoughts. He narrowed his eyes, holding her down when she went to stand. “I know that look. If you leave here with me, you stay with me. No trying to run away. No lying to me. We’re a team, and teammates have each other’s back. That’s the only option.”

  She glanced at where Thomas sat ogling the bartender and the blonde woman by the jukebox. “It’s too dangerous. Russel—”

  “With. Me. Take it or leave it.”

  “Can’t we discuss this after we escape?”

  He stared at her, green eyes fixed on her. His chin firmly set.

  She huffed. “Fine. With you. But we have to go, now.”

  He kept his hold on her, motioning for her to wait as he glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t seem the least bit worried that Thomas would see them. That he’d open fire in the middle of the bar. Christ, if he’d discovered what she was doing—and she had a bad feeling he had—she knew he wouldn’t care how many people he hurt in order to get to her. But Russel didn’t flinch as he switched his grip to her fingers, staying still one more second before standing and pulling her behind his back.

  He didn’t speak, using his hand to convey which way he was heading. He took her to the hallway that led to the washrooms, always keeping her body hidden behind his, then pressed them into the shadowed space along the wall. He didn’t look at her, his focus on the room beyond.

  She waited, heart pounding, her breath panting painfully in and out of her chest. God, when had it become so hard to breathe? As if there were a series of bands cinched around her rib cage. She glanced at Russel, but he wasn’t breathing hard. Wasn’t standing there sweating, fidgeting in an effort not to run out of the bar screaming. She considered it a miracle she wasn’t trying to drag him out of a bathroom window.

  Time ticked by, each second stretching out until she wondered if an hour had passed. If Russel had somehow dozed off because they should be running, not standing there, waiting for Thomas to find them. She squeezed his hand, but he merely held up a finger on his other hand—the universal sign of “hold on”. But she didn’t want to hold on. She wanted to be outside, racing to her motorcycle. Disappearing into the darkness. She had evidence stashed inside, and if they could just get to it, maybe they’d live long enough to take down the organization.

  Russel’s shoulders lifted a moment before he was moving—pulling her along at a pace that nearly had her running behind him. He kept to one side, shifting left and right at a moment’s notice. She wasn’t sure why he didn’t simply walk in a straight line, but she did her best to follow him. He passed the table Thomas had been sitting at—now empty—then continued to the other side of the bar. No one gave them a second glance as he veered toward a door at the end of a small hallway, stopping in front.

  He motioned for her to wait, again, as he looked out the dirt-smeared window. “Shit. Can’t see anything.” He twisted to face her. “Here’s how it’s gonna play out. We go together. You keep your body low and behind mine. If there’s anyone out there, you let me handle it. Chances are, they aren’t expecting anyone other than maybe their buddies to come busting out. I’d leave you in here, but… Not chancing those assholes won’t spot you or you’ll try to ditch me. Are we clear?”

  “I’m not going to try and ditch you.” Yet.

  He merely arched a brow. “Right. Are we clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

  “Keep low. Let you beat up the bad guys.”

  “Good girl.”

  Quinn’s glared at his back as he turned around. Good girl? Seriously? But what bothered her more than him saying it was the way her damn heart quickened, as if the sentiment was hard-wired into her system. She didn’t need his praise. Hadn’t needed anyone�
�s in a long time. Yet, there was no denying the warm sensation spreading through her chest and into her core. Independent or not, her body obviously reacted to the thought of pleasing him.

  She groaned inwardly, moving with him when he opened the door and stepped out. Rain hid whatever moonlight there could have been, encasing the entire area in deep shadows. She tried to stay low but had only just turned when Russel shoved her to the ground before diving to his right. She managed to look up just as he rolled to his feet in front of another man. He knocked something out of the guy’s hand, blocked a punch then advanced, tripping him onto the pavement. Two quick strikes and the guy went limp.

  Russel looked at her, signaling her to join him. Quinn scrambled to her feet then darted over.

  He lifted the guy up by his jacket, the man’s head hanging limp. “Recognize him?”

  “He’s part of the security detail. Thomas hired him. Guy’s probably a mercenary.”

  “Let’s just hope he’s the only—”

  The door behind them swung open, and two of the men from inside barreled out.

  “Down!” Russel shoved her to the ground, again, lifting the man he’d punched in front of him as one of the men from the bar raised his arm.

  A series of dull pops sounded, the limp guy’s body jerking in response. Russel shifted and flicked his wrist. The thug at the door went down, clutching his shoulder. His partner watched it happen, eyes wide, his gun half-removed from the holster. He looked back a second before his feet flew forward, and he landed hard on the wet asphalt beside his partner.

  Quinn stood on shaky legs as Russel dashed forward, knocking both men out before grabbing something then hurrying back. She stared up at him, mouth slightly open, chest heaving, wishing she could ask him what the hell had just happened, but all that made it past her lips was an embarrassing squeak.

  Russel grabbed her hand. “Answers later. Let’s move.”

  Then, he was running, darting down the first alley then weaving his way across a few yards, over a fence then onto another road. She wasn’t even sure if her feet were touching the ground, and he’d all but tossed her over the fence—vaulting it without even breaking a sweat. She was sweating. Sweating and breathing and barely keeping up with him as he made another turn then headed for a truck. God, she hoped it was his.

  Russel didn’t slow until he’d damn near run them into the tailgate. He opened the back, grabbed a bag, then went to one knee, rummaged through his kit until he removed a container. A minute later he was smearing dark paste across his plate.

  “What are you doing? What is that?”

  He didn’t pause to face her as he wiped a bit more across the numbers then tossed the can back into his pack. “Camouflage paint. Might be enough to make it hard to read the plate. Toss your phone away, then get in.”

  Quinn rounded the truck, opening the door and sliding in. She dug through her purse for her phone, sighing as she tossed it out the window, watching it clatter onto the slick surface. She’d just finished paying the damn thing off. She yanked on the handle when something pinged off the back of the truck.

  “Keep your head down, sweetheart.”

  Russel’s fingers were in her hair, shoving her head below the dash as he spun the wheel with his other hand then peeled out, fish tailing across the slick road and around the next corner. A few more shots hit the truck, matching the slap of the window wipers, before they were clear, barreling down some alley, jumping across an intersection, then into another alley.

  Quinn held on, buckling up as soon as Russel released his death grip on her. “Jesus, if Thomas doesn’t kill us, you will.”

  He hit another intersection, cruising through at full speed, apparently confident the street was clear. “Nothing I can’t handle.” He looked over at her, winked. The fucker actually winked, full lips lifting into a killer smile.

  She glared at him, the ass. He may have saved hers but there was no denying the urge to smack his smug smile right off his rugged face. The one she’d been dreaming about whenever she managed to actually sleep. “I thought you weren’t from here?”

  “Grew up in LA.” He glanced at her, skidding the truck around a corner then onto another street. “Sorry. Was that too personal for you?”

  She ignored the remark. “So, how is it you don’t seem worried that we’ll get T-boned every time you hurtle us across four lanes of traffic?”

  “There’s only two, and I’ve done my homework. Each street is one-way. I only need to check that direction, and I can see it a few seconds before we emerge. I’d react accordingly if necessary. We’re fine.”

  He might be fine, but she’d left her stomach somewhere back on one of the alleyways.

  She sighed, releasing the breath she’d been holding before glancing behind them. “Think we lost them?”

  “For now. But there’re street cams all over the place. Hard to avoid all of them. If they’re smart and have the right connections—or someone who can hack—they’ll be able to search for us. And, seeing as we haven’t passed another vehicle, yet…”

  “They’ll be able to follow, even if they don’t your truck or can’t see your plate to know it’s us.”

  “Pretty much. At least until we get onto the interstate. Get lost in the crowd.”

  “Interstate?” She frowned at his stern look. The one that said she’d agreed to go with him. “My bike’s back at the bar. It’s pretty much all I had left, other than what’s in my purse. I had some important stuff locked in it.”

  “Things can be replaced. People can’t.”

  “I don’t even have any clothes.”

  “I’ll make sure you have clothes and other supplies, but first, we need to disappear.”

  “Disappear? How?”

  “With a little help from a friend.” He hit a button on his steering wheel. There was a slight hum, then ringing.

  The line clicked, followed by some static. “I swear, Ice, if you’re drunk dialing me…”

  Ice?

  Russel grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it Midnight. I need a favor.”

  “Can I send you the bail money wirelessly or do I have to drive all the way to Seattle?”

  “Get hauled off to jail once in Paris, and that’s all you remember.”

  The guy—Midnight—chuckled. “I happen to remember why they hauled your ass away, too.”

  “You would. No bail, just a number. Hank told me you’ve been talking to Rigs. Heard he’s living…remotely not too far from here.”

  “If by remotely you mean the guy’s become a hermit, yeah.” Midnight sighed. “His injuries have healed but the scars, the flashbacks—he’s having a pretty rough time. I was hoping to convince him to come out here. Stay with Bridg and me for a bit. Maybe talk to Hank. We could use an explosive’s expert. And I swear he could shoot the balls off a mosquito.”

  Quinn snorted. Men.

  Russel smiled at her. “Sounds like he needs a visit from the guy who dragged his ass out of that firefight. Tell him to stop wasting the chance I gave him.”

  “You’re welcome to try. I’ll text you his information. Just… Tread lightly. And call, first, or he’s liable to shoot you in the ass.”

  “Roger.”

  “Hey, Ice? Why didn’t you call Hank? He’s the one who got me the number.”

  “It’s damn near midnight. He’s got a family. That would be rude.”

  “You are such a jackass.”

  “I know. Thanks, buddy. Kiss Bridg for me. Tell her I’m sorry for calling so late.”

  “Right. Like she’s not working.”

  The line disconnected, plunging the cabin into an odd silence. Quinn waited for Russel to say something—tell her who Midnight was or maybe call this Rigs he’d been asking about—but he seemed intent on the road, staring off toward the horizon.

  She looked out the window for a while, watching the shadowed landscape blur past, until the endless hum of the tires got to her. She twis
ted to face him, staring at the hard beauty of his face until he acknowledged her with a slight shift of his eyes.

  “Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

  “What happened back there? That guy had a gun, then he was down, the other guy was down, and we were running.”

  His mouth twitched just a bit, enough to make her realize she might not like his answer before he sighed. “Unlike most of my buddies, I don’t always walk around packing a gun. But I never go anywhere completely unarmed. I had a couple of knives and—”

  “You threw knives at them? That’s what that was?”

  He glanced at her, brows furrowed, jaw set. “I didn’t really have much of a choice when that one asshole started shooting at us. If it’s between us or them, I’ll take us any day of the week.”

  She swallowed around the crest of fear. In all the commotion, the running, she’d forgotten she’d heard muffled shots.

  “Having second thoughts about accepting my help, sweetheart?”

  She smiled despite herself, remembering how he’d said something similar that first night. “Actually, I’m thinking it’s the best decision I’ve made in a while.”

  He laughed, this time. “Touché.” His smile fell. “You know I’d never hurt you, right? Despite what I might have to do to keep us safe.”

  He’d said “us” but she knew, without a doubt, that he meant “her”. He’d do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. “I’m not afraid of you. Just remind me to hide the steak knives the next time we eat.”

  “I can live with that.”

  She rolled her shoulders, doing her best to stretch out the kinks in her back when another oddity struck her. “How did you know to park a few blocks off?”

  He shrugged, merging onto the highway. “It pays to think seven steps ahead. I had a feeling that if you ever came back to the bar, it might go sideways before we got out of there. You were obviously frightened, so I took precautions. Plan for the worst. Hope for the best. That’s how we do it in the Teams.”