Colby watched his fingers tighten on the gun and his finger slide in front of the trigger. He wouldn’t desert her like that. He wouldn’t.
Mace met her eyes. But she saw nothing but an empty shadow of his former self. Colby wanted to scream, but the damn tape kept her mouth shut. She wanted to tell him to stop. To beg him not to pull the trigger.
“I love you,” he mouthed.
Colby squeezed her eyes shut. Fine time to tell her now—when they were about to die. She fought back the hysterical laughter bubbling up from her throat. She couldn’t watch. She couldn’t. God, she loved him. She loved him.
She loved him.
But he was going to die.
The gun exploded, and Colby jumped, her ears rang painfully. It was over. Now it was her turn.
The ringing in her ears wouldn’t go away. Neither could she open her eyes. They burned with tears and smoke and hatred. She didn’t want to see the gun pointed at her. She couldn’t hear anything, but after a few moments, she felt the body heat of someone near her. The duct tape was ripped off her mouth. The stinging pain couldn’t compare to the suffering in her heart.
Colby opened her eyes to see men swarming around her. They were wearing dark blue wind jackets and baseball-type caps with ATF and FBI on them in big yellow letters.
They were too late. Too late!
Someone cut her ropes. The sudden circulation to her feet and hands caused a stinging sensation. An awful prickly pain. But the pain of knowing Mace was dead was worse.
Her hearing must have been still muted from the gunshots because it took the dark-haired man in front of her a couple times before she could make out his words. “Ma’am. Here, put this on.”
Colby tried to reach out for the offered jacket, but her arms refused to move. “I can’t.” Her raw voice sounded hoarse, and she tried to clear her throat.
The agent helped insert her arms into the sleeves, and he snapped the jacket closed, covering her nakedness. She wanted to stand, but her legs shook so badly, she tried twice before the man lifted her up. Though grateful for his help, she couldn’t say thank you, for if she opened her mouth again, she would wail uncontrollably, and they would have to sedate her. Or put her in a strait jacket.
From outside the building, she finally heard the sirens. She hadn’t noticed them earlier due to her hearing loss. But those high-pitched wails sounded good to her now.
She looked around to see the officers dragging Spinozi’s men out of the door, shackled like the animals they were. She wished she had her Glock so she could shoot every one of them between the eyes. She spotted the gun in the agent’s holster. It was within reach.
He must have noticed her gaze, since he turned his hip away from her and said, “The ambulance is here, ma’am. Do you think you can walk? I’ll help you.”
Taking her arm, he supported her while she walked out the door, careful to keep her on his left side, away from his weapon.
“There’s only one ambulance left, ma’am. So, you’ll have to hitch a ride.” The man gave her a gentle smile as he handed her over to the EMTs, who helped her climb into the back of the ambulance.
“Sit here,” one of them said, pointing to a seat next to the gurney.
She sat, in a daze, and looked to see who she rode with. If it was Spinozi, she’d kill him right now, before they could get to the hospital. She didn’t need the agent’s gun; she’d kill him with her bare hands. “My God…” she whispered. She turned to the EMT next to her. “Is he alive?”
“Yes. He’s been in and out of consciousness. Look.”
Colby leaned forward. Mace. He hadn’t shot himself. Those deafening gunshots must have all come from the agents’ guns.
He was alive. But— “Is he all right?”
“He’s in a critical condition.”
Mace slowly lifted a hand to Colby’s face. He couldn’t quite reach, so she leaned closer, crying out with disbelief when he touched her skin. His bottom lip was split and blood trickled from his mouth, but he tried to speak.
She leaned even closer until her ear was a breath away. “What?”
“Will you marry me?”
She was hearing things. Why would he ask her that? Here, now? While he fought for his life?
The EMT pulled her back. “Ma’am, please. Sit back, give us some room to work.”
Colby sat back. And wept.
15
“Why won’t they let me see him?” Colby yelled to no one in particular while she paced the hospital hallway. Not only frustrated and angry, she was plain spitting mad. She had waited for six hours—time enough for doctors to clean her up, stitch her up, and officially release her—and now they refused to let her see Mace.
“Probably because you aren’t family.”
She spun toward the voice. “Who are you?”
The man was short, bald, and stocky but wore a well-fitted, deep blue suit and dark glasses. Who wore sunglasses inside?
“I can’t tell you who I am. Just think of me as a concerned citizen.”
Concerned citizen. Right. She damn well knew he was Mace’s boss. She was sick of this secret squirrel shit which landed them both in the hospital. “Why won’t they let me in to see him? I’m his fiancée!” Maybe he had enough influence to get her into Mace’s room.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Then Colby swore she heard, “The SOB finally got the best of me,” under his breath. Before she could question him on it, he continued louder, “Well, Ms. Parks, congratulations. And for your wedding present, I’d like to give you Mace’s walking papers.”
He handed her a thick manila envelope. Though free of writing on the outside, a federal government seal marked one corner. She tore her eyes away from the official-looking envelope to catch her reflection in his sunglasses. “Walking papers?”
“Yes, Agent Walker is officially retired as of midnight tonight.”
Colby sank down in a chair, staring at the packet. She flipped it over in her hands a couple times before saying, “Retired? Honorably, I assume.”
The man laughed. “There are no honors in his line of work, Ms. Parks. Just be glad we got there in time to keep him alive.”
She picked at the sealed edge of the envelope. She glanced up. “May I?” He gave a slight incline to his head, enough of an answer for her to tear the flap open. As she slid the paperwork out she asked, “How did you know where we were?”
She started to scan the cover letter when she realized he hadn’t answered her. Colby looked up. He was gone. If it wasn’t for the paperwork she held in her hands, she would have thought she imagined him.
She finished scanning the letter before flipping through the rest of the package which included details of his pension, retirement benefits, and a lot of legalese.
A nurse quietly approached her. “Ms. Parks, you may see him now.”
“What? I thought—”
“Mr. Smith explained your situation, and we realized we’d been mistaken.”
Colby silently thanked Mr. Smith as she rushed past the nurse and raced down the hallway. She couldn’t push the door open fast enough to enter Mace’s room.
His head was cushioned by a pillow, his upper body held in an upright position due to the medical bed. Ugly black stitches crisscrossed his face, one ear, his arm…She stopped searching. There were too many sutured areas to count. He reminded her of Frankenstein, though not as scary. His eyes were closed, and his breathing steady. An IV protruded from his left arm, and he had some sort of machine hooked to him, beeping every second or so.
She dragged one of the blocky hospital room chairs next to his bed and perched on the edge. When she reached out for his right hand, the one unencumbered with tubes, he met her halfway. His warm, long fingers enveloped hers. Her eyes flicked back to his face, and he watched her through unreadable swollen, purple eyes. He gave her fingers a slight squeeze.
Without letting go of her lifeline, she placed the packet of papers gently on his chest. He lif
ted his head off the pillow a little, asking “What’s that?” through puffy, bruised lips.
“Your tour of duty is officially over. You’re retired.”
When he didn’t respond, she didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing. He couldn’t want to continue getting shot and beaten up. How much could a body take? After tonight, she couldn’t take any more. She didn’t want to say, “It’s me or your career.” She wouldn’t do that to him, but she couldn’t stand by and worry about him. Or worse, lose him for good.
“Good. Now I can concentrate on other things.”
Colby released her breath, not even realizing she held it while waiting for his response. He would let his job go. “What other things?”
“Building you a new home. Somewhere far away from here. Somewhere safe.” His words came slowly, and it took him effort to get them out, but she understood every one of them. He gripped her hand harder. “I’m sorry your house was destroyed, Colby.”
“I know.” She smiled softly. “I can replace a house. I can’t replace you.”
He gave her a gentle tug, and she slid over to the edge of the hospital bed, careful not to jar him too much. “I know how much it meant to you, what a haven it was for you.”
“You’re all I need now.” She brushed a finger lightly down his bruised, broken features. She laid her head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall softly with his steady breathing. “I love you, Mace.”
The movement of his chest hesitated under her cheek, and a moment later, it surged and continued on with its soothing rhythm. He brushed her hair away from her face with his free hand. “How soon can I get out of this place? I’m sick of hospitals.”
“Soon,” she answered, but truthfully, she didn’t know. He had a lot of healing to do before he could ever build their home. Their home.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“Go?”
“Yes, where do you want to build our new house and our new life?” he clarified.
“Anywhere, Mace. Anywhere you go, I’ll follow.”
He chuckled softly then groaned in pain. “No, I think you’ve got it backward. I’ll follow you. To the ends of the Earth if necessary.”
Colby sighed as he tightened his fingers around hers. He lifted them to his mouth and pressed them ever so lightly to his lips.
She moved to lean her cheek against his, careful not to hurt him. She needed him, needed to feel him against her. She loved him and never wanted to let him go.
“You never answered my question,” he murmured into her ear. Question. What question?
Oh.
“Yes.” She laughed through her tears. “Yes, yes, yes!”
If You Enjoyed This Book
Thank you for reading DAMAGED. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review at your favorite retailer and/or Goodreads to let other readers know. Reviews are always appreciated and just a few words can help an independent author like me tremendously!
Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
About the Author
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing and her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.
Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
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Also by Jeanne St. James
Made Maleen: A Modern Twist on a Fairy Tale
Damaged
Brothers in Blue Series:
(Can be read as standalones)
Brothers in Blue: Max
Brothers in Blue: Marc
Brothers in Blue: Matt
Teddy: A Brothers in Blue Novella
The Dare Ménage Series:
(Can be read as standalones)
Double Dare
Daring Proposal
Dare to Be Three
A Daring Desire
Dare to Surrender (Coming soon)
The Obsessed Novellas:
(All the novellas in this series are standalones)
Forever Him
Only Him
Needing Him
Loving Her
Temping Him
The Rip Cord Trilogy:
Rip Cord: The Reunion
Rip Cord: The Weekend
Rip Cord: The Ever After
Down & Dirty: Dirty Angels MC Series:
(Can be read as standalones)
Down & Dirty: Zak
Down & Dirty: Jag
Down & Dirty: Hawk
Down & Dirty: Diesel (Coming soon)
Down & Dirty: Axel (Coming soon)
You can find information on all of Jeanne’s books here:
http://www.jeannestjames.com/
About Down & Dirty: Zak (Dirty Angels MC, bk 1)
Welcome to Shadow Valley where the Dirty Angels MC rules. Get ready to get Down & Dirty because this is Zak’s story…
After spending the last ten years in prison, Zak, former DAMC president, has a few priorities: to reconnect with his “brothers,” to get drunk, and to get laid. Not necessarily in that order. When he spots a stunning woman in the clubhouse and mistakes her for one of the club’s strippers, those priorities get a bit skewed.
Sophie has no idea what happened to her life. One minute she’s totally focused on building her bakery business, and the next? She’s delivering a cake to the Dirty Angels motorcycle club’s “homecoming” celebration for a member who just got out of prison. Little does she know baking that cake will change the rest of her life, not to mention, make her a target for a rival MC. Normally, Sophie wouldn’t be caught dead with a man like Zak, a tattooed, ex-con, badass biker.
When a decades old territory war threatens to rip them apart, Zak will do anything to keep Sophie, his club, and the town safe. But being from two different worlds, the threat they’re under may not be worth the risk.
Turn the page to read Chapter One!
Down & Dirty: Zak - Chapter One
A high-pitched buzz sounded. The magnetic door latch released and with a violent push, Zak stepped out into the sunlight.
Not even six feet from the building, he stopped, closed his eyes, flared his nostrils and inhaled a deep breath.
Smelled like freedom.
He opened his eyes, spun on his heels and raised his arms to give the double middle finger salute to the guards watching him on the cameras. He threw his head back and laughed.
Fuck them all.
His breath condensed in the frigid air and he wore no jacket but he didn’t care.
Life. Was. Good.
A horn honked and he turned to see who it was. Though, it wasn’t who he’d hoped, he wouldn’t gripe about it. A brother was a brother, whether blood or not.
He picked up the small bag of personal items from where he dropped it in his haste to flip the guards the bird and jogged to the curb where his chariot awaited.
Diesel tossed him his leather cut, as well as a hooded sweatshirt. After pulling the sweatshirt over his T, he raised his colors to his nose and inhaled.
Yeah. His vest smelled like leather, smoke,
booze and pussy. Best combination in the world.
The patch was dirty and worn but still made a clear statement. He was a fucking Dirty Angel and after ten years in the joint, that still hadn’t changed.
This was his homecoming. And it would be his last one because he swore to himself he would never go into that concrete box again.
Never.
Diesel, the club’s “Enforcer,” wore a huge grin when they clasped hands and bumped chests. “Good to see you, brother.”
The man’s smile was infectious. “Same, brother. Been too fuckin’ long.” He jabbed a finger at the Sergeant at Arms patch on the man’s cut. “I see nothin’s changed. Still bustin’ heads?”
Diesel only laughed and moved around the hood of the car to the driver’s side.
Zak yanked open the door of the classic Pontiac GTO—Diesel’s baby after his bike—and slid onto the seat, holding his vest on his lap like it was precious. Before climbing in, Diesel shrugged out of his, turned it inside out and slipped it back over his shoulders.
You never wore your colors when riding in a “cage,” and if you did, you turned your colors in. Because DAMC was a damn bike club, not a car club. That was a lesson not to be forgotten. Zak smiled at the memory of kicking some prospect’s ass for disrespecting the club by wearing his vest colors out while in a car.
Good times.
As Diesel pulled away from the parking lot, the larger man’s head swiveled to study him, but Zak wasn’t in the mood to talk about his time inside so he said, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
“Sounds like a plan. Need to get to church anyway, everyone’s gettin’ together for your homecomin’ celebration.”
Zak glanced at him in surprise. “Yeah?”
“Fuck yeah. Want to welcome home our President.”
Damaged Page 17
