Bruno opened his yap to argue when the room shook, and a series of loud cracks snapped their attention to the ceiling. Something gave way. Something necessary.
Bruno went into the chute like a guy on a luge in the Olympics, on his back. With his injury, he hadn’t a choice. Good, because he was too big to manhandle.
Harden was right behind his underboss. The chute wasn’t a ride at Disney World. No twist or turns, just a straight drop into the half-filled garbage waiting for pick up. He landed on Bruno, not the cushion he wanted.
Bruno grunted. “Damn, you weigh a ton. Get off.”
“Trying to.” It wasn’t easy with the shifting garbage bags, some of them split open, spilling the day-old food.
Harden helped Bruno out of the dumpster before climbing out himself, silently laughing because bodies were supposed to go into the dumpster, not climb out.
Other than his men and Tripler’s, they were alone. No sign of Colin’s entourage. Good. May they all rest in pieces.
The garage was mainly intact, lights off except for emergency lights. A few pillars knocked over and crushing cars that bleated for assistance. There was a body by the southern staircase. Quickly, Harden jogged over for a look. The man wasn’t one of theirs and wasn’t one that joined Colin in the game room. A bullet to the throat had ended him.
Harden glanced at the stairs. It was wrecked, the metal door twisted, but wedged in place. No one could’ve escaped from there.
Sirens drew closer. Help was on the way.
“Get out of here,” he said to Tripler and his men. His injured man was limping, bleeding, but he was upright enough to make it to a hospital on the other side of town. Good thing they didn’t ride their bikes here. “Pavel, give them your keys.”
“We aren’t leaving?” Pavel asked as he handed over the keys to his Lexus, then watched Tripler and his men pile inside.
“Can’t when too many people know we’re here,” Harden said and headed toward the exit. “Come on, let’s get the wounded victims and get some help.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Jentry woke coughing, each chest rattling hack worse than the last one. She hurt, everywhere. Her body was one giant bruise. Yet, as she did a mental check on her body’s processes, she found she was whole, blind in the dark staircase with no light, and decorated with nicks and scrapes all over, but essentially in one piece.
And squeezed into a two-by-four space—a.k.a. between a rock and a hard place, a.k.a. the wall and a slab of concrete. How long was I out? And stuck here? She shifted and had just enough room to wiggle.
“Quincy,” she croaked, the dust in the air made it impossible to catch her breath. No answer. “Quincy?” He’d been right beside her.
She rubbed the dust out of her eyes and blinked hard. Her eyes burned, teared. “Quincy. Please tell me you’re okay.”
A soft groan echoed in the tight space close to her. Relief flooded her chest, leaving her limp. She wasn’t alone. “Where are you?”
Panting and a deep, gut-wrenching cry, panic wrapped around her chest and squeezed. “Quincy!”
“Jentry.” His voice was weak and full of pain.
“I’m here. Where are you? Are you okay?” She squinted in the direction of his voice.
“…No.” He panted and groaned. “I’m not okay.”
That didn’t sound good, not at all. “Alright. Hang on, I’m coming.”
“Get out of here.”
“Shut up. I’m on my way.” It wasn’t easy in the tight space, but she managed to shift to her hands and knees and scoot her way through the rubble. Her eyes were gritty and inflamed, her throat raw, getting worse with every breath. Sharp pieces of concrete cut into her hands, knees, and feet. Hissing, she shuffled on. A jutting piece of rebar scraped a swath of skin off her thigh. Jerking away, her shoulder slammed into what felt like the railing, now twisted metal.
“Leave me.” A mere whisper, his voice barely reached her.
She gripped the neckline of her dress and ran it across her puffy eyes. Once she’d wiped the tears and grit away, her vision cleared to make out shadows in the near darkness.
From her angle she guessed the explosion had collapsed at least two staircases on top of them. Luckily, the landing to the garage was fairly large. The shit had hit the fan just as she stepped onto the last stair. Quincy had been right behind her. He’d shoved her and that was the last thing she remembered.
He was close, had to be. She reached out and swept her hand back and forth over the ground. Feeling nothing except debris, she inched forward and repeated, inched forward and repeated, until her hand brushed fabric, then a leg.
“Found you!” she cried. She patted his leg and scooted closer. “I can’t see you, but I can feel you.” They were together and that made everything better. Harden would be here soon and everything would be fine.
Quincy’s breath hitched and his voice turned thready. “I can’t feel you.”
What? Her hand drifted higher and smacked into a chunk of concrete skewered with rebar in the center of Quincy’s pelvis.
No-no-no-no!
She couldn’t see him, but she could feel the blood pooling under his body and didn’t need to be a doctor to know what it meant. A sob ripped from her before she could contain it. Her blubbering wasn’t what he needed, yet she couldn’t stop.
“Quincy…”
His hand brushed her arm and latched on. His grip was weak, barely hanging onto her. She covered it with her hand and helped when he trailed his hand up to her face.
“I love you.”
Now, she bawled. “Quincy… Save your strength.”
“I would’ve made you happy, if I had met you first.” His hand slipped off her face and she brought it back.
“Sh-shhh. I’m going to get help,” she said, knowing any help would arrive too late to make a difference.
“You don’t have to say the words back. I don’t expect you to feel that way, and I never ever would’ve told you. But, I love you.” His voice faded. “You’re my one that got away.”
“Quincy… Quincy!”
∞∞∞
Shirtless, Harden sat in the back of the emergency vehicle, soot streaking his face, a mask over his nose and mouth. A paramedic fussed over him, wanted him on the stretcher and taken to the hospital to address the injury to his shoulder. It wasn’t bad enough to need immediate attention.
“Bandage the cuts then leave me alone.”
“Yes, sir, but then we have to take you for X-rays.” The EMS tech slapped another bandage on Harden’s lower back.
Yeah. Later. He looked at Bruno sitting in the back of a second ambulance. Not surprising he’d reinjured himself when the gunshot wound was only a few weeks ago. He was the one who should be in a hospital.
Pavel and Leonid remained on the scene. Ninety minutes since they’d escaped the building. It seemed more like ten years. The bomb squad had arrived and shut everything down. No one in the building until every square inch was checked out. That included the police, fire department, and emergency services.
Harden’s attorney was here. For the official record, he had no idea what happened. His best guess: The boiler blew up. How many people were left in the building? No clue. As far as he knew, the staff had left for the night. What was he doing there? On his property? Just playing a friendly game of cards with his buddies. Whatever happened outside of the game room, none of them were party to.
“Sir, you’re about to get hypothermia!” The tech wrapped an emergency blanket around Harden.
Pavel came through with a sweater from the stash of clothing they all kept in their trunks. Never knew when one would get bloody and need a quick change. It hurt like a motherfucker dragging it on over his head, but that was life. Everything hurt. All the time.
“What do we know?” Pavel asked.
“So far the blast was targeted. Only Catalyst—all three floors were damaged. The rest of the building, unscathed. Whoever did this knows his shit.” Yet, Harden h
ad survived. They all survived. A miracle when he didn’t believe in miracles.
“He’s my brother!”
The words pierced the haze clouding Harden’s mind. He looked up, then around at the chaos surrounding him.
“Wait here.” A policeman peeled away from the perimeter and jogged over to Harden for approval. “Sir,” he whispered. “Julius Morgan is here.”
Harden glared over the cop’s shoulder and spotted Julius. What the fuck was he doing here? He crooked two fingers, motioning him forward. “Why are you here?” His voice was a harsh rasp.
“Jentry?” Julius scanned the crowd searching for her.
“Home,” he said, his voice ragged from coughing. “I sent her home a while ago.” Though now, with Julius clearly unsettled, he wasn’t sure. No! She’s home. She’s safe.
Julius sighed in relief. “What the fuck happened?”
Harden’s head jerked up and he glared holy hell at Julius. Fucking Colin came and blew the club to hell. “The boiler exploded. Brand. New. Boiler. Blew up.”
“The furnace.” Julius’s blank stare gave it away. He didn’t believe it. Why would he when the bomb squad was out in force keeping the firemen and everyone else at bay?
There was a ton of unspoken shit between each word Harden spewed, shit they couldn’t verbalize in public with the cops milling about, even if those cops were deep in Harden’s pocket.
“Strange, don’t you think?” Julius posed the question. Brows low over pitted eyes, mouth pressed into an angry slash as if holding back a litany he wanted to say, yet couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
“Don’t I know it.” Sarcasm dripped from each word as rage bled from his gaze. “One minute I was in my office working on the books and playing a little cards.” He paused. “The next, I was flat on my back, climbing out of the debris. Along with everyone else.” Except Colin.
Harden was lucky to be alive. They both knew it.
“Was this an accident…until the bomb squad proves otherwise?” Julius whispered as his phone rang.
Harden shook his head once. “Karpovilov,” he mouthed. He inhaled a rough breath, then wheezed it out slowly. He wasn’t stupid enough to think Colin planned the bombing on his own. He suspected Colin didn’t plan it at all. Why would he when he planned on inheriting everything Harden had built upon his untimely demise? Definitely, Karpovilov was behind the bombing.
“How many people did you lose?”
The paramedic returned, only for Harden to shove him away again.
“At least two.” Being his employee drastically shortened your life expectancy. He hacked up a lung. “Probably more. Won’t know ’til the bomb squad is out, and the firemen get inside.” A trail of blood seeped from the bandage on his scalp. “How did you know to come here?”
Julius’s head cocked to the side. “You must have a concussion if you don’t remember sending me a text telling me what happened. You said you needed me.”
Harden threw his hands up and wiped the blood off his face. “Do I look like I have a phone?” It was in his jacket back in the game room.
Julius pulled out his phone and showed Harden the text. “You didn’t text me from a burner phone?”
Light dawned in Harden’s eyes even as his face went blank. “I didn’t text you. But someone did, and for what reason?”
The blood drained from Julius’s face. “To get me away.” He spun and disappeared into the crowd.
Harden started to follow, along with Pavel and Leonid, but stopped. What if… No. Jentry and Allie were safe, at home, waiting for him to return. Except, by now those at home would’ve heard the news. He scanned the crowd and none of his people were on the other side of the perimeter trying to gain his attention.
He spun and faced Pavel and Leonid. “Anyone call in from the penthouse?” If someone had and they couldn’t reach him or Bruno, Pavel and Leonid would be the next in line. Both pulled out their phones and checked. Both shook their heads.
“Boss.”
Harden whipped around at the familiar voice. Nick limped from the front of the ambulance. The man looked like shit. One eye black and blue, and swollen shut. Blood caking the side of his head, he cradled his right arm.
They all rushed up to him. “Where’d you come from?” Harden demanded as he eased him into the ambulance he vacated. The EMS tech rushed over and helped get Nick onto the stretcher.
“The trunk of the Hyundai parked around the corner.” His words were slow and slurred. “They beat me unconscious and left me there. I woke, I guess about thirty minutes ago. Took that long to pop the trunk open with just one hand.” He looked around. “What happened?”
“Later.” Harden patted his shoulder, relieved Colin was a dead lying asshole. Nick was alive. “We’ll tell you all about it later.” He turned to the EMS tech.
“He needs a hospital. Now.”
Harden exited the rear. Flashing lights and sirens flicked on and the ambulance raced away. The second ambulance did the same with Bruno inside.
Jentry.
Harden held out his hand. “Phone.” Leonid slapped his into Harden’s palm. Gripping it tightly, he punched in Jentry’s phone number and listened to it ring, and ring, until voicemail took over.
He called it again.
Voicemail.
His heartbeat slowed as his world narrowed. He called the house. “Gerard. Where is Jentry?”
“Sir? I-I thought Ms. Playne was with you.” Gerard sounded confused, and worried.
All of his senses came alive. The crisp air on his skin, layered with smoke and diesel. The crackle of the bomb squad’s radios competing with the commands between them and the fire department. The coppery taste of old blood in his mouth. He looked at the building with smoke billowing out of the destroyed glass front, seeing the destruction and…
“She never made it home?”
“N-n-no, sir. Not since she left with you.”
Harden ended the call. Ice expanded from his core outward, and he dialed Jentry again. No. Goddamn it. Answer. He dialed Quincy’s number. Jentry left with him. It was his job to keep her safe.
No, it’s my job. And I’ve failed her, again.
The ice creeping over his insides cracked down the center, a precursor to fracturing into a thousand pieces and taking him along with it.
The morgue. Standing outside the stainless-steel drawer, waiting for the coroner to open the door and slide the body into the light. Only after the sheet was removed did he believe it was his mother on the slab. Just a teen and he had to identify her body. He broke that day. On the cusp of manhood and suddenly, brutally, he was a squalling child desperate for his mother, the shelter of her arms, the scent of her shampoo clinging to her blond hair, the crow’s feet around her soft blue eyes accompanying her smile whenever she looked at him.
He wasn’t the same after he left the morgue. His given name became apropos because he hardened, from the inside out. No person, place, or thing could ever, would ever, affect him the way his mother’s death would.
Until Jentry.
Quincy’s phone rang, and rang, and rang, and finally went to voicemail. The fissure in Harden’s chest widened and all the anguish he’d suppressed, all the loss he managed to bury and push through, bubbled to the surface threatening to destroy him.
She was out there, somewhere. Either Colin had snatched her or… God forbid, she’d never made it out of Catalyst. He prayed it was the former and not the latter because if she were still in the building… The wind shifted, bringing a cloud of black smoke over the staging area.
“Fall back.” The fire captain ordered, but Harden couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe.
Because the phone in his vise grip vibrated and Quincy’s number appeared on the screen.
“Is Jentry with y—”
“Harden?”
Her voice was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. “Baby! Where are you?” he shouted into the phone.
“He’s dead,” she sobbed.
He didn�
��t care who was dead as long as she was alive. “Get the car,” he mouthed to Leonid blocking his path. “Who’s dead, baby, and where are you?”
“Quincy’s”—her voice hitched on a sob—“dead.”
He felt bad. He did. He liked Quincy. He was a good man, a good bodyguard. Especially if he saved her. “I’m leaving Catalyst and on my way to get you right now. Just tell me where you are.”
“No-no-no! Don’t leave me! I’m here. At Catalyst. Trapped!”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Feet folded under her, body hunched, curled inward, Jentry cradled Quincy’s head in her lap. The weight grounded her, kept her from flying apart, but in truth, she was already in pieces.
Blind, she stroked her hand across his forehead and down his cheek. She slipped a finger beneath his nose, praying for a wisp of air, the very necessary inhale and exhale ninety percent of the planet required. But he’d stopped breathing a while ago.
All she had left of her friend was his cooling corpse. And his last words. I love you.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t say it back. I should’ve because I do—did.” She sobbed. “You were my friend and I loved you like a friend.” Tears streamed down her face. “You’re right. Maybe…maybe if I hadn’t met Harden, you and I could’ve had more than a friendship.” They would never know. “I’m so sorry, Quincy. So damn sorry.”
It was lame and all she had to offer, which made it ten times worse. She should’ve left immediately and not lingered. Not checked on Hillary, that traitorous bitch. If she hadn’t, they would’ve been home, right now, playing with Allie, laughing over her antics, waiting for Harden to come home.
Instead, she was in the dark with Quincy, a life interrupted. Did he have a family? A lover? A girlfriend? Parents? Would anyone miss him, but her? His easy smile, that’s what she would remember, and his quiet presence. He was a friend she hadn’t truly appreciated and now it was too late.
The floor vibrated, sending her into a panic until she realized it wasn’t the floor vibrating, but a phone. Quincy’s phone. By the time she carefully shifted Quincy’s head off her lap and pinpointed the pocket, the call had ended.
Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4) Page 42
