Unbreakable: Unrequited Part Two (Fallen Aces MC Book 2)
Page 11
I hesitate, mid-step, genuinely surprised. “I am?”
“Mmm,” he hums. “Same independent streak, that stubbornness that defines your will to fight.” He pauses as I edge closer to the door again, peering at his position. “Makes it strange then that I don’t feel any of the same affection toward you as I did her.”
He fusses with the toe of his sock as I leap across the opening with two long strides. Safe on the other side, I reply, “She was the mother of your child, though. That probably changed things.”
“Perhaps.” Another pause. “What are you doing?”
I freeze, two steps from the bathroom. “Talking to you?”
“You’ve passed by the door twice now.”
Damn it. “Just looking around.”
“Well don’t,” he snaps. “None of this is yours to look at, to touch, or even breathe. I want you out.”
“I need the toilet.”
“Didn’t you just go?”
“Call it a nervous bladder.”
He grumbles, slamming something—presumably his elbow or fist—against the wall. “This isn’t your house!” he roars. “I make the fucking rules. Get. Out. Now.”
I slam the bathroom door in response and lock it. His garbled yells are muffled by the solid wood as I dump the frames on the floor. A white-haired boy smiles up at me from the arms of a brunette woman whose eyes are the kind that hold genuine compassion. She’s the type of person who you immediately trust not to hurt you, whose expression holds no trace of the cold, calculated evil her husband breathes.
Pushing my guilt at destroying the memories aside, I crack the frames open and split them into the back, front half, and the glass. Two have a solid wooden stand hinged on the back, and I rip each off with all intent of using the point of the stand as a makeshift screwdriver.
My hands can only just reach the window though. I hop up and down, trying to see what I’m working with as thunderous bangs echo through the walls. My time’s limited, my seconds too precious to waste. I rip the vanity drawers out of their slides, thankful they have proper dovetail joins and not flimsy balsawood bases. Stacking two up as a stepstool, I lever myself up with my fingertips biting into the window frame to keep my balance.
The catches have a single screw securing their ends to the wood. I run my eye over the hinges, making sure there aren’t any arms restricting how wide I can push the window once I have the catches off. It all seems okay.
My breath jams in my throat when a second voice joins Carlos’s. I can’t make out who it is, but the resonance is too low for it to be Sully. Damn it. Hopping off the drawers, I snatch up the stands from the picture frames and try them on the screws. One’s too fat, not giving me any leverage to get the damn thing moving. The other is too flimsy, bending when I try to turn the tight screw. I look across at the mess of pieces on the floor, praying for an answer as the repetitive pounding of footsteps moving closer tells me I have company.
My heel catches the shower frame as I dash across to the bathroom door and check the quality of the lock. It’s a bolt slid inside the thick door and seems too much to be able to kick in. The thought gives me some hope for this crazed plan.
A piece of frame glints under the overhead fluorescent, catching my eye. It’s steel and has an angular join at the corner. Latching onto the frame with both hands, I smash it down on the marble counter, hoping to break it apart.
Several agonizing moments and a bleeding hand later, I have it in three bits. My palm throbs where the frame sliced in as it tore apart, and my ears drum with the beat of my heart, matching the tempo of the fists on the bathroom door.
“Open up, Elena.”
Hammer. Carlos has finally got his guest to do the dirty work. “No.”
Heavy thuds rattle the door in its frame; he’s trying to kick it in. Pushing the pain in my hand aside, I mount my “steps” again and use the corner of the frame to work the screws. The blunt edge bites into my hands, pulling at the flesh as I finally get movement. I cry with relief and bite my lip to try and deal with the burn of my injured palms as I undo the two screws.
The bloodied frame and steel screws hit the floor with a clang.
The door cracks as it starts to splinter.
I shunt my bloodied hands against the windowpane and gasp with pure elation as it swings up far enough that it won’t restrict my attempt to get out. With my hands on the bottom edge of the frame I hoist myself up, once, twice, three times before I get my head and shoulders through the opening.
Garden greets me, a concealed corner of the internal courtyard where the pool is.
I drop down to the shower floor and push up again, crying out as my injured hands peel a little more with the tension. It takes five further attempts before I get my chest to the frame and finally have enough push to get my torso to follow.
The whole time Hammer yells at me to give in and “open the fucking door.” It’s pointless—he’ll be through it soon enough himself.
I wriggle, push, pull, and worm my way through the high window until I’m pivoted on the ledge by my hips. There’s no sign of anybody out this side of the house, and the only obstacle I have to contend with is a stone-chip-covered garden with plants so small in it that I doubt they’d be able to cushion anything.
I’ve got no choice.
The bathroom door opens with an almighty crash and boom as my shoulder takes the force of my fall. My head is forced into the unrelenting ground as the rest of my body crumples to the side.
Hammer yells to Carlos, letting him know I’ve escaped. I can barely make out his words through the adrenalin-induced whoosh of blood through my veins, my ear throbbing from the impact with the garden. My temples pound under the pressure as I look around, checking my options.
The only way out is by going deeper into the property, past the pool house. I set off toward it and grit my teeth against the ache in my hips and knees. Lord, please make sure I haven’t harmed my baby. Please make sure I haven’t hurt myself too bad to get away. I force the crippling thoughts aside, useless other than keeping me distracted from what’s around me, and focus on the task at hand.
I need to get out.
I need to find King.
SIXTEEN
King
“I don’t know if that helped, or made things worse.” Hooch stops outside the bar to light a smoke, cupping the lighter to the end of the cigarette.
“Worse,” I muse. “I’m going with worse.”
He opens his mouth to say something but is cut short when my phone rings, the tune slicing through the dull hustle of the street around us. I rip it out of my pocket as soon as I recognize the ringtone I set for Sully.
“Problems?”
He lets out a jaded chuckle. “Yeah, you could say that. How far away are you?”
I check the time on my watch and frown. “There’s still four hours until I was supposed to meet you.”
“We need to step that up to now.”
Cool sweat breaks across the back of my neck. “What’s happened?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead I get scratchy static and the muffled sound of angry voices. My chest vibrates with every frantic thump of my heart. Things have gone wrong. He must know. She’s in trouble. There’s no other valid reason why Sully would call and let me know I need to be there now.
Hooch steps in front of me and ducks his head to catch my eye as he puffs on his cigarette. “Everythin’ good?”
I shake my head, at a loss for what to say. No, it’s not good. But that’s all I know.
Hooch watches me intently as my hand tremors on the phone. I’ve got the fucking thing pressed so hard to my head, focusing in on every little scratch and huff that comes down the line, that my ear aches.
“You still there?” Sully’s question deafens me gievn the phone is zeroed in on my ear canal.
“I’m here.”
“I need to wrap this up. Be at the pick-up point as soon as you can. If I need to change it, I’ll text you.”
Looks like my complete trust is in the man beside me.
“What was that about?” Hooch holds my gaze as he stubs out the cigarette under his boot. “Your woman?”
My woman. “Yeah.” She’s my woman, all right.
“You’ve got the minute it takes us to walk to the truck to explain,” he states, marching off as he speaks. “Bullet points, King. What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. But none of it’ll be good.”
“She in trouble?” Hooch asks.
“Always is.” The words hurt to say. Almost as though if I didn’t admit it out loud, it somehow lessened the impact my choices have made on where Elena is now—fighting, alone.
“You got a location then?”
I round the back of the vehicle to the driver’s side and open a metal storage box secured to the back to lift out a handgun and a box of bullets. The sharp click as I load the magazine punctuates the urgency of the moment. “Only to a rendezvous point.”
He reaches around me and snatches the keys out of my front pocket with the deftness only a trained pickpocket possesses. “I’ll drive.”
“No way,” I say with a disbelieving chuckle. “If we’re even a second too fuckin’ late, I don’t want anyone to blame for that other than myself.”
“And by the way you’re freakin’ the fuck out, we’ll be late because we have to pull over for you to get your shit together.” His dark brows dip as he glares at me, hard. “I’ll drive.”
With a grumble, I slam the storage box closed and hot-step around the hood and launch myself in the passenger seat. The truck starts with the throaty rumble of a V8—courtesy of Fingers’s tendencies to tinker—and we peel rubber as Hooch jettisons us out of the car park and into the traffic.
“Where we going?” he asks, steering with one hand while the other makes a hell of a noise rummaging around in the center console.
I scroll through to the message from Sully and recite the address.
“Where the fuck is that?” He looks down at the empty clip in his hand and growls.
“I’ve got some idea; I’ve got to look it up. Hold on.”
Hooch glances at me with the same frustration I feel at not knowing where exactly that is or how fastest to get there before returning his gaze to the road. I’d planned to map out a route before I left . . . hours from now. Two taps later, and the robotic female voice from my phone tells us which turns to take. The ride is dangerously silent, save the odd shake and rattle after we hit a bump.
“Can I count on you to keep it quiet if we drive straight to where I plan on keepin’ her?” I ask Hooch as I stare out the window at the houses and trees flashing by.
He stays quiet for a moment, the rumble of the engine as we slow for a corner and then accelerate back to the limit the only sound between us.
“Firstly,” he bites out, “I’m offended that you have to fuckin’ ask.”
“No harm intended, man. But with every—”
“Secondly,” he continues, cutting me short. “Where have you decided to stash her? You get that this Carlos fucker is as tuned into everybody’s lives as the fuckin’ Lord above. The asshole knows where you’ll be before you even do. Are you sure this pick-up point is legit?”
“I’ve got no option but to hope.”
The robotic voice on my phone interrupts to tell us to take a right soon. I tuck my left foot up on the seat, resting my arm against my leg, and wrap my hand over the knife that’s sheathed inside my boot. The feel of it gives me some comfort, some hope that we’ll be okay.
I’ve met Sully enough times to count on one hand; I’m pinning my hopes on a guy who hasn’t had time to reveal his true intentions yet. What reason does he have for risking his job, his life, for us? Until now I’ve been so blinded by the gifts he’s delivered—stolen moments with Elena—that I’ve never questioned it.
What reason would a man who’s in Carlos’s inner circle have to turn against him, all in the name of helping two near strangers?
“You didn’t answer my question,” Hooch states, shifting the truck down through the gears as we come to a crossing amidst nothing but fields ready for harvest.
“My parents’ place.”
He slams the truck into neutral and twists in his seat. “You’re draggin’ your family into this?”
Could he make me feel any worse? Thinking of what crossing Carlos could mean for Mom and Dad if shit went south already keeps me awake at night. I’ve been looking for the better way, the way that only involves me in the damn consequences if I fuck this up, but as time passes it becomes abundantly clear: there is no other way. I need somebody’s help to get this done, and Lord knows that ain’t the club thanks to Apex, so my family it is then.
“Well?” he asks quieter.
“Yeah, I am. They’re the only people not involved with the club that I can trust.”
“Now’s the time to change your mind on that, brother.” He shifts the gears and sends us back on our way. “Me? I have no choice because I was born into this club; my family has been a part of the southern chapter since its inception. But you, man? You’re one of the lucky ones. The rest of your life is outside of this. If you want to walk away from her, from the club, from fuckin’ everything and start again clean, you can. So I’ll ask again, are you sure you want to go through with this and make your family a part of it?”
“It’s only temporary,” I protest weakly.
“Yeah, but if it all turns to shit, death ain’t.”
He’s right, but what else do I do? I’m not leaving Elena in hell for some selfish hope of a “normal” life. Could I take Elena and run? Where to? I don’t know who Carlos has connections with in other cities. What kind of life would we live, never settling? What kind of life would that be for our kid, as an outlaw gypsy? I couldn’t do that to him or her. I’ve got plans, an idea in my head of how raising my child will be, and running from town to town isn’t part of it.
A home that holds memories and provides a safe place to return to is.
“Just drive,” I grumble.
According to the damn map in my hands we’re less than five minutes from the pin marking our target. All going well it should be a straight snatch and run, but when it’s Carlos I’m going against, when our club is riddled with ears in all the wrong places and people I can’t trust . . . well, I’m prepared for anything.
I hope.
SEVENTEEN
Elena
My hands burn. As superficial as the damage I did with the picture frame and then climbing out is, it’s deep enough to have drawn blood. Given my current predicament, though, it’s the least of my worries.
A voice I don’t recognize is to my left, dangerously close. A rich, deep baritone tells whoever is on the other end of the radio that he hasn’t located me. A crackly response clips out, too hazy to decipher. Carlos’s guards.
He’s set his hypothetical hounds on me.
The sharp edges of a succulent dig into my thigh as I shuffle in the hiding space I’ve found between an air-conditioning unit and the side of the pool house. Leafy shrubbery disguises where I crawled in under the low branches of a small tree. Freedom taunts me from the far side of a chain-link fence that runs between the back wall of the pool house and the main residence. The garden is so overgrown that even if there were a weak spot in the metal links, I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hel
l of reaching it.
“I’ll sweep again,” the man says before his heavy footwear pounds across to the other side of the courtyard.
Silence falls over me like an unwelcome blanket. With noise, I can locate people and assure myself they aren’t coming for me, and that I’m still hidden. The eerie stillness that’s come over the poolside has me fearing the worst: I’ve been spotted, and now they’ll close in. A dull throb in my kidneys grows the longer I stay crammed in the small space. Panic triples as my mind goes crazy coming up with all sorts of extreme reasons for the pain: trouble with the baby, internal bleeding, a back injury.
Whatever comes of this, it’ll be worth it to be free.
“Elena.”
I duck my head into my knees and rub the heel of my hands over both ears. I’m hearing things. I’ve driven myself crazy.
“Elena.”
With my eyes wide open, I still my breaths. That’s no illusion. “Sully?” I whisper.
“Where are you, girl?”
“Here.” I wriggle forward, disturbing branches in the process.
“Quick. Come here,” Sully instructs. “I don’t think we have much of a window before this goes fucking bad.”
I let out a bitter laugh as I push under the tree to emerge into the night. “Has it not already?”
“Are you dead yet?” he answers with a raised eyebrow.
I shake my head, understanding his point. “Which way, then?”
Sully frowns as his gaze rakes over my disheveled and bruised appearance. A softness that I’ve only seen him show Maria hides in the slight tip of his head to the side. “You’re crazy, but a damn fighter, aren’t you?”
“Too much to miss out on if I give up.” I duck my head to peer around him. “The guard who was just here?”
“Taken care of, but his absence will be noticed soon when he doesn’t reply to his radio.” Sully straightens out and looks over my head at the house as the stone-cold determination he always wore when I first arrived at Carlos’s returns. “This way.”
I cling to the man like a cape, so close I can feel the heat radiate off his back as he walks quickly yet quietly toward the pool house. “Shortcut,” he whispers as we duck through the glass doors and into the square building.