Reckless Road

by Feehan, Christine

  She pushed away from the counter a little desperately to put some more space between them. She had to get shoes on her feet so her silly wayward, faulty, misguided, unhelpful parlor trick of a gift wasn’t feeling him and adding to the ferocious, almost desperate hunger rushing through her veins at his close proximity. The hell with that. She could find someone else to see to her sexual needs and not get her heart shredded.

  Abruptly, she sank down on the little stool behind the counter and fished for her shoes. “I knew you were very tired, Player.” Deliberately she said his name, reminding herself what kind of a man he was. “I was fine with leaving. I went to the party as a sober driver, and Francine hadn’t texted me, but I went looking for her. As it turned it, she’d found a ride home, so it all worked out.”

  Player glanced over his shoulder and immediately Alena came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist as she leaned over the counter toward Zyah. Zyah honestly couldn’t tell if she was a reinforcement for Player or if she had really come on her own, but the truth was, jealousy was a bitch and it reared its ugly head the moment Alena casually wrapped herself around Player.

  “I forgot to ask. The club has a huge favor to ask of you, Zyah. It’s big.”

  Zyah braced herself. Surely her job wouldn’t be contingent on dating Player. She wouldn’t do it. If he had made that one of the requirements, she was out. Walking away. She didn’t care if they needed the money. She would sell her stocks. Pull her retirement early. Whatever it took. It didn’t matter.

  She forced her gaze up to meet Alena’s as she slid her foot into her shoe. “I’m listening.”

  “Naturally, before you were hired, Code did a background check on you, and he’s very thorough. He found out about your grandmother, Anat. Not to mention, Inez talks about her all the time. She sounds like the coolest person ever born. So strong. We were all raised together. None of us ever had a grandmother. Well, Destroyer did, and his was awesome, but still, none of the rest of us.”

  The moment Alena said Mama Anat was cool and strong, the tension drained out of Zyah to be replaced by pride, because her grandmother was both those things and a million more.

  “What I’m getting at is we’d like to meet her. Not all of us at the same time, but if you wouldn’t have an objection and you don’t think she’d be afraid of us, we’d really like to meet her,” Alena continued.

  Zyah frowned. “Why would she be afraid of you, other than if you all came at once? You could be a bit intimidating all together, I suppose.” They were big men with a ton of muscle. Definitely intimidating.

  “We look rough, scarred,” Player supplied. “With a lot of tattoos.”

  Zyah ignored him. “Mama Anat would love to meet all of you. At the moment she’s confined to bed or a wheelchair and she isn’t happy she can’t get around. She’s normally very active and she loves company.”

  “Good,” Alena said. “We heard what happened to your grandmother. I hope she’s feeling better. I’m so glad you don’t mind. We thought, since Czar insists any employee closing at night has an escort home, that person would be the best one to meet your grandmother each time. That way she knows you’re safe on the way home and she’ll be happy about that and won’t mind them stopping in and saying hello.” She looked suddenly anxious. “Unless you think it’s too late for her to have visitors.”

  The grocery store officially locked the doors at seven and she was supposed to be out of there by seven-thirty. Eight at the latest. Her grandmother would love the company. Zyah nodded. “Mama Anat will definitely be up. She’ll have music playing, and she’ll want whoever she meets to drink tea or coffee and eat fresh-baked cookies or cake. If there isn’t any, she’ll expect me to whip something up.”

  “Can you bake?” Alena asked.

  “It is a prerequisite in the Gamal household to learn all domestic arts.” She avoided looking at Player. In fact, she pretended he wasn’t there.

  “Player will be escorting you home tonight. He’ll be the first to taste your baking, so I’ll be anxious to hear what he has to say about whatever your grandmother offers him.” Alena gave her a quick, genuine smile. “We’re always very truthful with one another. I’m the chef at the restaurant just up the street, and I’m always looking for good help. You need extra work, give me a call. I’ll see what you’ve got.”

  Zyah almost didn’t hear the job offer, she was so busy panicking over the fact that Player would be following her home and then she’d have to introduce him to her grandmother. If she tried to come up with an excuse not to allow him into her house, she’d look less than gracious. Or worse, as if that one night had really mattered. Like it meant something and she was holding a grudge.

  She forced herself to breathe slowly and then looked up with her trained smile. “I’ve heard from dozens of people that your restaurant is extraordinary. Getting reservations on weekends is apparently difficult. There’s a waiting list. I promised my grandmother when she’s able, I’ll take her there. She’s really looking forward to it.” That was perfect. She didn’t have to acknowledge Player one way or the other.

  “You work for us, Zyah. There’s always a table or two set aside for Torpedo Ink or anyone who works for us. Just call ahead and we’ll have one ready,” Alena promised. “I can’t wait to meet your grandmother. She sounds incredible.”

  “She is. I know you’ll really enjoy her,” Zyah said. That much was true, and she knew her grandmother would welcome all of them.

  SIX

  “I did the best I could for you,” Alena whispered, her arm slung around Player’s neck as they watched Zyah get into her little car. It was a modest vehicle, nothing fancy. “I got you into the house. You’re charming. Be sincere and charm the hell out of her grandmother. Pay attention to her. Give her your complete attention. That’s going to be your only way in, because your girl has frozen you out.”

  “Thanks, Alena.” Player brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Get home and get warm. It’s turning cold on us. She’s probably very happy I’m on my bike and she’s in that nice warm car without me.”

  “My guess is she’s trying not to cry and building that wall as high as she can. You want her, you’re going to have to fight for her. She’s not just going to roll over because you’re cute.”

  He winced. “Don’t be calling me cute. It aggravates the hell out of me.”

  “I know.” Alena sounded smug.

  “Who’s on you tonight?” Alena looked around at her fellow club members. They waited patiently for her as she stood beside Player.

  “Maestro. He left to go back to the clubhouse to get the truck and weapons. We’ll be set up to watch over them for the night, and we’ll be warm. Thanks for getting me into the house, Alena, I appreciate it,” Player said. “Savage and Destroyer will join us later tonight.”

  She shrugged. “I like her. Lana likes her. Seal the deal, babe, bring her into the fold.” She gave him her saucy grin and headed to her Harley.

  Player immediately pulled out of the parking space. Zyah was long gone. She hadn’t waited and he had known she wouldn’t. She made it more than clear she wasn’t going to make it easy on him. He could live with that. From everything Code had uncovered about her grandmother and Zyah, she was worth whatever fight it took to get her.

  The Gamals earned money from working hard—a lot of money—and yet Zyah drove a very modest car, one that was good for the type of weather she would run into on the coast but that didn’t cost much.

  Instead of using the money the two women had worked so hard for, they had stashed it for retirement, or in savings. Zyah was willing to work two jobs—at the grocery store and at a restaurant where the waitresses were all belly dancers—to pay for her grandmother’s extra care and her therapy.

  Player was very grateful to Alena for offering extra work to Zyah closer to home. The last thing he wanted was for his woman to belly dance in front of a bunch of strangers and then drive home alone, not that he’d let that happen. He would have to find
out from Code whether or not she had accepted the other job—because anyone who’d seen her dance was going to offer her the job.

  Player knew the road between Caspar and Sea Haven. The motorcycle, even in the mist coming off the ocean, was easy enough to maneuver. He caught up with Zyah before she turned onto the street where the house she’d bought for her grandmother was located. The street was narrow like many of those in Sea Haven. Most houses were set off the road behind fences or hedges, with arbors of vines or climbing flowers.

  He wasn’t at all surprised that the Gamal house was a little different. It had the requisite white picket fence that seemed to line the road, adding charm to all the houses, but their property was unique in that it was a double-lot parcel. The house was a vintage Victorian, remodeled and beautifully kept, painted white with a red porch and accents. There was another building that appeared spacious, either a guesthouse or an art studio, as well as a double-car garage that was accessed from the back street.

  Player followed Zyah around to a much narrower and less traveled road that was paved but was almost an alleyway. There were a few sparse houses, but mostly a long field of grass that separated the homes from the bluffs overlooking the ocean. As he parked across the street and walked over to the huge lot, he couldn’t help but be impressed with the massive, elegant gardens that made up the large backyard.

  There was no doubt in his mind why thieves had targeted the Gamals. Property in Sea Haven didn’t come cheap no matter where it was situated, but if it had any kind of ocean view—and it was clear the Victorian at least had sweeping views of the bay from various points of the house, particularly the upper story—then the place was worth a fortune. He hadn’t bothered to look to see what the original price had been when Zyah had bought it for her grandmother, but the value had gone up, not down.

  Zyah drove her car into the garage. He heard her exit the car and close the door. She must have been irritated at him for standing there looking at the garden because the garage door began to descend. That seemed out of character and even a little petty of her. She had agreed to allow him to meet her grandmother. It didn’t seem likely that she would force him to go around to the front door and knock when she could just bring him with her. Yeah, not at all like her. Definitely out of character. Zyah wasn’t a petty person.

  Pure instinct more than anything else galvanized him into action. He sprinted up the drive and threw himself under the garage door, rolling at the last moment. The sensor on the door did its job the moment the ray came in contact with his body, and the door reversed direction, slowly, laboriously, rising toward the ceiling.

  He heard three voices almost simultaneously. A male on a radio, gruff but clearly warning those inside to get out, that she wasn’t alone. A female inside, her voice distorted but adrenaline laced or very high, shouting, Fuck her up— fuck her up bad. And last, Zyah, warning him. Player, look out.

  That told him they had a lookout and that Zyah had been specifically targeted. More, it was very personal to the female. He kept rolling toward Zyah, who was fighting with two men in ski masks. As he came to his feet, someone swung a baseball bat at his head. He caught the movement more by feel than by sight.

  He blocked the baseball bat, went under it and struck hard, catching his assailant in the ribs, swung around and hit hard with an elbow to the jaw. His opponent dropped like a stone and Player took a step toward Zyah. She was keeping the two men off of her with fists and feet. They seemed determined to drag her out of an open side door almost directly behind her. She was equally determined to remain in the garage. His mind catalogued the smooth way she fought, fluid, flowing like water, never stopping. Yeah, his woman could fight.

  Snapping a front kick at the next man coming at him, catching him hard in the upper thigh with the ball of his foot, knowing from experience that would deaden his leg, Player continued straight at him, going for his throat. The man grunted and pulled a weapon, aiming and firing in the small confines of the garage. Player threw himself over the hood of Zyah’s car, diving for the concrete. The burn of a bullet sheared off denim and skin as he landed, but it was the sound in the close confines of the garage that was the worst, his ears ringing with the blast, even though the gun had a silencer. Silencers were never as silent as most people thought, and with it so close, the blast hurt.

  He landed hard and tried to roll toward Zyah, keeping his momentum going forward. Knowing the other side was using guns put an entirely different perspective on the fight. He came up, weapon in his fist, tracking the man closest to Zyah. He was grateful he’d had the foresight to use a silencer as well. Not all of his weapons had them, but each of the Torpedo Ink members carried them just in case.

  Zyah was suddenly swung around, her body between him and his target just before he could take the shot. Player came up smoothly to get in a better position to aid her just as someone to his left shot him.

  The bullet caught him on the left side of his head, blazing a groove from the back of his skull along the side to the front, and kept going straight, not slowing down in the least, hungry for more. It spun the man trying to drag Zyah out the door completely around, taking a chunk of skin with it as it tore through the garage wall and out into the street, where it lodged into the van waiting with door open.

  Player went down hard, blood pouring down his skull and face and into his eyes, making it impossible to see a target. He didn’t dare shoot, not with Zyah close. His stomach lurched, and for a moment the room went black. He hung on to consciousness through sheer will.

  Where the hell was Maestro? How long did it take to get the fucking truck and a few weapons?

  “Get to me,” Player called to Zyah, wiping at the blood. He couldn’t get to her. He could barely breathe through the pain in his head. He could hear running.

  “What the fuck are you thinking?” a voice yelled. “He’s Torpedo Ink. You kill him, they’ll never stop coming after us. We have to get out of here. Get the bitch and let’s go.”

  “Zyah, call out now, right now.” He needed to know where she was. He had the position of the other voice.

  “Right here.”

  She was off to his left. Close. Protecting his hurt side. Her voice was strained. She knew they were trying to take her with them, and he was down, but hell if he was out. Stretched out on the concrete floor of the garage, cradling the gun in both hands, steady as a rock, completely blind, he fired at the first voice, the one warning the others that he was Torpedo Ink. Yeah, he was, and he’d trained blindfolded over and over, weeks, months, years of training, but they didn’t know that, did they?

  Someone screamed. High-pitched. Someone else grunted. Went down. “Shit. Shit. He’s hit. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  He fired a second time at the second voice. Another loud grunt and a thud as a body hit the floor. The scream came again. There was the sound of dragging bodies, of running. Boots hitting the concrete. The roar of an engine. Silence.

  “Don’t move, Zyah,” he whispered. His stomach lurched again. His head felt like it was coming apart. Maybe it was, but she was going to be safe before it did. “We have to clear the garage. Make certain all of them are gone and they didn’t leave any surprises behind.”

  He couldn’t throw up. He couldn’t lose consciousness. Everything was black already in his mind. Blood was so thick in his eyes he couldn’t see. He wasn’t certain he could cover her adequately if they had to move position, but he doubted if any of their attackers were left behind. The purpose seemed to be kidnapping her. His Torpedo Ink brothers would be there in a few minutes; he just had to hang on. Maestro was supposed to be right behind him. How much time had passed? He had no idea. Time always slowed down in a gun battle.

  “I have to check on my grandmother,” Zyah objected, but she went to her knees beside him, her hand on his head.

  Her touch was gentle, trying to cup over the vicious wound, but it was very long, winding from the back of his scalp to the front. Player didn’t move, didn’t flinch. It
hurt like hell, but he’d grown up in an environment where one never showed pain. Never. She pulled her blouse off and folded it into a wide band.

  “Head wounds bleed profusely, Player. This one is terrible. I have to see how bad it is. I may need to call an ambulance.”

  “I’m alive. Hurts like a mother. And I don’t do ambulances. Just be still for a moment. Hold your breath. Let me listen for movement. Breathing. Anything to give away an enemy.”

  He took the blouse from her with a shaky hand and wiped the blood from his eyes. She was right, it was streaming. More took its place. He sent a voice text to Steele. He needed the doc, and he damn well wasn’t going to a hospital. He was counting on Maestro not being far behind him. Where the fuck was he? He was going down in another minute, and he wouldn’t be able to control the situation.

  “We’re alone,” Zyah said with confidence. “The garage is small and there aren’t that many places to hide. I really have to check on my grandmother and then I’ll be right back.”

  He glanced at his cell with blurred vision. The time. Shit. What seemed like forever to him had really only been a matter of minutes. The attack had lasted only three minutes, and then the men were gone. On the run. There was no waiting for his brothers to get there. Fortunately, the guns had silencers. No one had heard those little pops. Hopefully not her grandmother.

  He had known all along he couldn’t stall her very long. He would have gone to check on the grandmother immediately— it had to be done. His head felt like it had already exploded, had come apart at the seams and was leaking his brains all over the place. The least movement sent his stomach lurching alarmingly. Still, there was nothing else to do—he had to cover her. There was no way he could let her go alone.

  Player had extraordinary abilities thanks to his psychic talent. He could control his brain for periods of time by shifting what was happening in real time to alternates, which meant he had to take himself as far from where he was as possible and still be there to protect her. He’d never felt so sick in his life. He knew the wound was bad and it was possible he might not even make it, but he had to protect Zyah and her grandmother until Maestro showed up.