Running Wilde

by Tonya Burrows

  Bellisario hit the side of the cage and went down but grappled for control, briefly grabbing Vaughn in a chokehold before he was able to slip out. They broke apart and circled each other.

  Vaughn swiped at the sweat stinging his eyes and realized it wasn’t only sweat. A gash at his hairline streamed blood, but Bellisario’s chest was heaving, and he had a cut under his eye leaking down his cheek.

  Thank fuck Vaughn wasn’t the only one bleeding, because that would have been embarrassing.

  Bellisario punched. Vaughn shoved it aside and struck a blow that glanced off Bellisario’s jaw. It didn’t slow him down. He swiped out again, and his fist collided with the bruises along Vaughn’s ribs.

  Every molecule of air left Vaughn’s lungs, and pain blinded him. He tried to swing, but Bellisario had dropped and grabbed his leg, yanked it out from under him. He hit the concrete with a bone-rattling force that whited out his vision. Punches rained down, and he had no leverage to hit back. All he could do was block. Protect his face and head. Distantly, through the ringing in his ears, he heard someone screaming his name.

  Cam.

  His brother was not going to witness his death. No fucking way.

  He tried to hook his legs around Bellisario, tried to gain control and switch their positions, but his strength was fading. Bellisario knew his weakness now and was taking full advantage, aiming shots at his sides.

  He was losing.

  Another voice joined the first. Female. Dahlia. He twisted on the mat and through the flurry of fists, saw her at the door of the cage. She struggled to open it while Tommy was hot on her heels with a gun. He lifted it and brought the butt down on the back of her head. She crumpled.

  No!

  With a roar, he let the cork pop on the bottled up emotions inside him. Heat flashed through his body, and with the flood of rage and fear and love came strength he didn’t know he had.

  He didn’t fucking lose. Not this time. Not ever.

  …

  Dahlia crawled to her hands and knees and told herself not to puke as her head spun and multi-colored spots danced through her vision. She felt the sticky heat of Tommy’s body directly behind her, too close, his breath sending cold chills down the back of her neck.

  “No interfering,” he sneered.

  She struck out but missed since she was seeing two of him. “Fuck you.”

  “That’s what you’ve always wanted. You’ll fuck anything with a cock.” He wrapped an arm around her middle, hauled her upright, and there was no mistaking the lump of his erection when he ground it suggestively against her ass.

  A small lump.

  Just like the rest of him—small and ugly and not worth her notice. She refused to even acknowledge the little worm and broke out of his grasp. Ignoring her roiling stomach and the pounding in her head, she focused all of her attention on the octagon and the fight still raging inside. She could barely see Vaughn under the onslaught of Giuseppe’s fists, but he was down and there was a lot of blood. Everywhere. Sprayed across the concrete, splatted on Giuseppe’s face and clothes, dripping from his knuckles. So much blood.

  She curled her fingers into the steel fencing. “Vaughn! Get up! Oh God. Please get up.”

  As if he heard her, he hooked his legs over Giuseppe’s shoulders and bodily flipped him. With him on top now, she finally saw his face. One eye was swollen completely shut, and he was bleeding from multiple cuts. His knuckles were raw and sent blood flying when he trapped Giuseppe on the ground and pounded on him, punch after punch after punch. He looked feral, like an animal fighting to survive, attacking without any hint of civilized thought.

  “Fuck,” Tommy said behind her, and she peeled her gaze from the sheer brutality in time to see him run for the door. Cristiano was still holding a gun on Cam, but when he saw Tommy run, he wavered. Without anyone to order him around, he was about as dangerous as a lost puppy.

  Cam pounced, fast despite his injuries and just as brutal at his twin. He wrestled the gun away, and Cristiano raised his hands in surrender as sirens screamed somewhere nearby.

  Cam shoved Cristiano to his knees. “Hands behind your head, asshole.” He finally glanced over at her. “Get in there and stop Vaughn before he kills the guy.”

  Stop him? But… she wanted Giuseppe dead. How many times had she dreamed of that very thing? She’d savored the thought of Giuseppe Bellisario six feet under where he could no longer terrorize her. And now Cam wanted her to stop it from happening?

  “Lark—” He stopped, shook his head. “Dahlia. Listen to me. Bellisario’s down. He’s not a threat anymore. If Vaughn kills him now, it won’t be self-defense. He’ll go to prison, and I won’t be able to stop it from happening.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath and clambered up the steps into the cage. “Vaughn?” He didn’t seem to hear her, and she wasn’t sure how to approach him. The sheer intensity of his rage terrified her, brought back all the ugly memories of Marcel and the beatings. Would Vaughn attack her if she tried to pull him off? Would he hurt her?

  No. Dammit, no. This was Vaughn. He wasn’t Marcel, and he’d never raise a hand to her. Ever. And she was ashamed the thought had even crossed her mind.

  “Vaughn!” She threw herself on his back and cinched her arms around his waist, pulling as hard as she could. He didn’t budge.

  “Vaughn,” she whispered against his ear. “Baby, you need to stop. You need to stop. I know you want to kill him for me, but you can’t. I don’t want you to. He’s not worth it. He’s not worth me losing you.”

  The punches slowed, then stopped. Silence fell in the warehouse, broken only by his wheezing breaths. She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged him from behind until he shifted. He sat down hard on the concrete and she circled to crouch in front of him, ignoring the bloody mess that was Giuseppe’s face. The bastard was still alive—she could tell because he was breathing—and that was all that mattered.

  She focused on Vaughn’s face, gently cupping his battered cheeks in her palms. He was shaking, and tears streamed from his good eye. He lifted one bloody hand to cover hers. “Dahlia.” His voice didn’t sound like his own.

  “I’m here. Cam’s here. We’re both okay.”

  “I want you…” His words slurred. “To be safe.”

  “I am.” She choked on a swell of raw emotion. Nobody else in her life had ever wanted that for her. “I am safe. You made sure of it.”

  “I’ll always make sure. Always…” His eyes rolled back, and she grabbed him before he hit the floor, lowering his head into her lap. He didn’t need any more one-on-one time with the concrete.

  She stroked his damp hair back from his face and smiled a little. “I know you will, Vaughn.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fucking paramedics. They wouldn’t leave him alone.

  Vaughn snarled as one asshole named Dawson shined a flashlight in his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Dawson was unruffled and put the flashlight away. “Pretty good chance you have a concussion.”

  “Not the first time.”

  Dawson glanced over to where two of his colleagues were working on peeling Bellisario off the concrete. “Somehow I don’t doubt that.”

  Vaughn followed his gaze and winced, because turning his head fucking hurt. “Will he live?”

  “You messed him up, broke his jaw, but yeah. Barring any complications, he should live.” Dawson turned back and scanned his face. “He did a number on you, too. I’m going to take you in for an MRI.”

  Back to that again. “I’m. Fine.”

  “So you’ve said, but you’re still going. Hang tight while I get the rig ready for you.” Dawson gathered his supplies and left the cage.

  “Stubborn bastard,” Vaughn muttered to the guy’s back.

  “Yes, you are,” Marcus Deangelo said.

  Vaughn turned toward his voice and winced when every muscle and joint in his body protested the move. “Where’d you come from?”

  “My mother.”

  “
You’re a fucking smartass.”

  “And you’re a fucking dumbass. We all have our faults.” Marcus stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced toward Bellisario. “I told you to give me ten minutes, but I didn’t mean you should jump into a cage-fighting match with him.”

  “You took more than ten minutes.”

  He bared his teeth. “All the fucking interdepartmental red tape. I hate bureaucracies.” Then he sighed. “Bellisario could’ve killed you, Vaughn.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “You’re lucky.” Marcus didn’t take his eyes off the stretcher until the medics carted it away. His lip curled in disgust. “They say the bastard’s going to live. You should’ve finished him.”

  The uncharacteristic darkness in his tone had Vaughn sitting up straighter against the cage. “Why? Who is he to you?” But even as he asked, he realized the answer, saw it in Marcus’s posture, his jawline, his skin and hair color. Fighting with a guy, you got to know him pretty intimately—the way he held himself, the shape of his body, the way he moved—and there was no mistaking the similarities he saw right now between Marcus and Bellisario. “Holy fuck. You’re related.”

  Marcus’s jaw—which was the same shape as every other man’s in the Bellisario family—tightened. “He’s my grandmother’s youngest son. My mother’s half-brother.”

  “Giuseppe Bellisario is your uncle?”

  Marcus finally faced him again. “As far as my mother and I are concerned, the Bellisario branch of the family tree is dead and rotten.”

  “But you said you’ve had personal dealings with Bellisario.”

  He nodded. “I have. When the FBI found out my connection, they didn’t share my view on the subject of the family tree. My acceptance to the Bureau came with a caveat: Reestablish ties with Bellisario or else.”

  Vaughn winced. No wonder Marcus was bitter. His family had cut ties with the Bellisarios, and the FBI had shoved him out onto that rotten branch in hopes of gathering information about the crime family. “It didn’t go well, I take it.”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. “All I’ll say about it is you should’ve sent the bastard straight to hell where he belongs.”

  He thought about Dahlia and her soft hands on his face, dragging him back from oblivion. He’d scared himself. He’d been so lost in rage and fear he’d nearly drowned in it, and he could have so easily killed Bellisario. It was only Dahlia’s voice pleading with him to stop that had snapped him out of it.

  He leaned against the cage and heaved out a breath that caught on the pain in his ribs. “It wasn’t my call to make.”

  Marcus only grunted in reply.

  Dawson returned with a buddy, and the two of them wrestled a stretcher into the cage. “All right, Rocky. Up and at ‘em.”

  Vaughn eyed the stretcher. “If I have to go to the hospital, I’m not riding on that thing. I’ll walk.” He held out a hand and Marcus helped him to his feet. Standing took a lot more energy than he had anticipated, but he’d never before left the octagon flat on his back, and he damn well wasn’t going to start now. He used Marcus as a crutch, and together, they hobbled out into the parking lot, which was clogged with emergency vehicles—cop cars, marked and unmarked, and several ambulances. He spotted two medics lifting Bellisario’s stretcher into the back of an ambulance.

  Cam sat on a stretcher in another ambulance, and Vaughn nudged Marcus in that direction. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to his twin yet and needed to more than he needed to go to the hospital.

  “Hey.”

  Cam lifted his head and blinked. He looked like he’d gone a few rounds in the octagon, himself, and the medics had stabilized his leg. Vaughn climbed up into the ambulance and clasped hands with his brother. He nodded toward the leg. “Is it broken?”

  “Yeah,” Cam said on a sigh and settled back against the pillow.

  “Hey, we’re even then. A broken leg for a broken leg.”

  Cam lifted his head again and scowled. “Bullshit. This does not make us even. And goddammit, Vaughn! I told you to stop playing hero.”

  “You told me I couldn’t take anymore car bombs for you, and I haven’t.” Though it kind of felt like he had. At least after the bomb, he’d been doped up on meds through the worst of the pain. Right now, every muscle screamed, and if his ribs weren’t broken before, they sure as fuck were now.

  “No,” Cam agreed. “You just climbed into the octagon with a champion fighter with a sadistic streak the size of Texas. No big deal, right?”

  “I was supposed to let Bellisario kill you?” Vaughn shot back, getting annoyed. “Sorry, I didn’t get that memo on the twin hotline.”

  Cam groaned and draped an arm over his face. “Fuck. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But…now I’m oh for two. This is the second time you’ve saved my life in a matter of months and what the hell have I done for you?”

  “You’ve saved me, too.” Vaughn hadn’t planned to say it out loud, but he was still too raw from the fight, too emotionally charged, and the wall he usually hid his emotions behind was in crumbles.

  Cam dropped his arm. “What?”

  “You, uh, save me every day. Keep me level.” He rubbed a hand around the back of his neck, but even that hurt, so he stopped. “These last few months, I started to go off the rails. But every time I did, you were right there with me, the voice of reason yanking me back from the edge. Nobody else could have done that for me.”

  Cam said nothing for a long time, but his throat worked like he was trying to swallow down his emotions. Maybe they weren’t that different after all. Finally, he nodded and cleared his throat. “Uh how’s Lark—er, Dahlia?”

  “I don’t know. She’s been with the feds since they arrived.”

  Cam lifted his head and looked at Marcus, who was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible as he loitered around the ambulance’s back end. “What are they planning to do with her?”

  “I have no idea.” Marcus lifted a shoulder when Vaughn’s gaze swung to him, too. “Sorry, guys. I’m not FBI anymore.”

  Cam struggled to a sitting position and clasped Vaughn’s hand, pulled him in for a hug. “If they put her in WITSEC, go with her.”

  Of all the things he’d expected Cam to say, that was not one of them. He reared back in surprise. “I’m not leaving you or Wilde Security.”

  “Yeah, you will. If it comes to it, you will. You’ve found something good with her, bro. The same thing I have with Eva— I can see it in you and you’ll be miserable without her. You were miserable without her.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  Cam cracked a smile. “Usually. But this time I’m right. Go with her.”

  “No. Fuck that. I’m not leaving my family. I’m done chasing her.”

  “That’s good,” Dahlia said softly behind him, and Vaughn swung around to see her standing where Marcus had been moments before. She offered a weak smile. “Because I’m done running.”

  Vaughn glanced from her to his twin, who nodded encouragement. He sucked in a breath that hurt like a bitch. He wasn’t sure if he was still pissed at Dahlia for pulling his gun on him, or if the anger was born of fear because she’d nearly sacrificed herself to help Cam. Either way, he was not happy with her.

  He squeezed Cam’s shoulder. “I’ll see you at the hospital. Eva’s probably already there waiting for you.”

  “She is. I talked to her.”

  “Good. I’ll be right behind you.” He gave Cam’s shoulder another quick squeeze then climbed out, moving slowly since his body was starting to stiffen up. He spotted the pain-in-the-ass medic waiting impatiently by another ambulance nearby and gave him a one-finger salute. Dawson’s mouth twitched as if he was holding back a grin. He gave as good as he got, then shut the ambulance and walked away, obviously realizing it was a war he wasn’t going to win.

  All right. Yeah, Vaughn liked the guy.

  Dahlia had gotten a blanket from somewhere—probably one of the medics—and she hugged it to herself agains
t the icy February wind. He waited for her to speak again, but she didn’t.

  “So you’re done running?” he finally asked.

  She nodded and released a breath in a huff, like she’d been holding it. “The FBI says they’ll protect me.”

  His heart sank. “You’re going into witness protection then?”

  “What? No. There’s no need. They’ll have all the major players in the Bellisario family in custody by the end of the night. I’m not running anymore because…” She laughed, and the sound of it was bright in the snowy, overcast day. “I’m free. Vaughn, you freed me.” Her laughter dissolved into sobs, and she curled in on herself, pressed a hand over her mouth to hold them in.

  Faced with her tears, he couldn’t stay angry, couldn’t keep his distance. He stepped forward and dragged her into the circle of his arms. He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t cry, vixen.”

  “I don’t mean to, but I’m so relieved.” She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with her hands. “I was afraid I’d have to leave you. I didn’t think I could do it again.”

  Go with her.

  He heard Cam’s voice, as clearly as if his twin had just whispered in his ear, and staring down at her tear-streaked face, he realized he would have followed her into witness protection. In a heartbeat.

  But he didn’t have to make that decision. He didn’t have to choose between her and his brothers. He could have both.

  She was done running, but he wasn’t done chasing. Not yet.

  “Dahlia—”

  She pressed a finger gently to his lips. “Please don’t call me that. Dahlia is long dead.”

  “Okay.” He kissed the pad of her finger. “I told you before, it doesn’t matter to me what your name is. What do you want to be called? Sage?”

  She shook her head and backed away from him, wrapping her arms around her middle as if trying to hold herself together. “Before I moved to DC, I had the choice of three names. I chose Lark because of the saying ‘happy as a lark.’ I just…wanted to be happy for once. And I was. With you. I want that happiness back.”