by Tate James
Pressing my fingers to my bruised eye, I frowned. Nope, it wasn't that much of an injury; it'd probably barely even darken. The bridge of my nose was a bit puffy, but nothing drastic. A concussion bad enough to make me drowsy had to be from harder hit than that.
Alarm tripped through me, and my instincts screamed that something else was going on. Something else was wrong.
I tugged the tissue out of my nose now that the bleeding had stopped and stood up from my desk. A wave of dizziness washed through me and I staggered. The only things that stopped me from falling flat on my face were my hold on the edge of my desk and sheer determination.
Something was very wrong.
Gritting my teeth, I kicked off my heels and carefully made my way to the door. I needed to call someone for help and get the hell out of the office.
The farther I went, the worse my dizziness seemed to get, until I found myself clinging to the stair railing as I halfway fell down the narrow staircase. The smell of disinfectant was still strong in the main club—distorted by the swelling and blood in my nose—but I doubted a bit of bleach would make me this messed up.
So I gritted my teeth and pushed forward. The club was still totally empty downstairs, and I used furniture to keep my balance as I staggered. After what felt like three years, I finally hit the front door and shoved it.
It didn't move.
"What the fuck?" I moaned, trying the handle again and finding it locked. I hadn't locked it when I came in, knowing the bar staff would be arriving soon.
Most of my staff—the management mostly—had keys to the clubs for access, but I hated needing to remember keys for everything. It was bad enough that my cars still needed them, but I'd decided ages ago I didn't want to carry around a huge bunch of keys for the clubs too.
That was a diva moment I was eternally grateful for now because it meant I could slide open a keypad panel beside the door and unlock it with a biometric lock, same as I'd had installed on my apartment.
The lock bleeped, blinking green and clicking open a moment later, and I grabbed the handle to wrench it open. But I was too slow.
I stumbled out, only making it two steps before the explosion detonated, blowing up 7th Circle and throwing me into the air with all the force of a freight train.
A lightning-fast moment of realization passed through my mind before everything went black. It had been a gas leak. The dizziness, the nausea, the sleepiness... there had been a gas leak. Just like at the Lockhart house the night I killed Chase.
30
High-pitched ringing wailed on and on as I woke up, and I groaned in pain. I wanted to cover my ears and shut out the noise, but I couldn't move. Why the fuck couldn't I move?
Pain radiated all the way through me, every single inch of my body in agony, and I winced as I blinked my eyes open. What the hell had just happened? Where was I?
It took several moments to figure out what the fuck was going on, but once my brain connected the pieces, there was no denying the sight in front of me.
7th Circle, or what was left of it, engulfed in flames. The information quickly snapped back to the front of my mind as I watched my venue burn down. The gas leak. The explosion. It was a goddamn miracle I was still alive at all.
The ringing in my ears was still there but not as bad as when I’d woken up, so I ignored it and craned my neck to see why I couldn't move. As best I could tell, a section of the front wall—complete with steel supports—had landed partly on top of me.
My injuries weren’t as bad as I'd initially thought, and it only took a bit of pain-filled wiggling to drag myself clear of the weight. When I was free, I was able to push myself into a sitting position, so I didn't think I'd broken anything major.
With my hearing slowly returning, I could make out sirens in the distance. Probably the fire department. Not that there would be anything left to save by the time they arrived. The gas explosion had done a thorough job. If I'd still been inside, I would be little more than bloody, chargrilled chunks now.
Everything hurt. My whole body, my head, but mostly my heart.
I just sat there in the middle of the parking lot, surrounded by smoldering debris under the bright morning sun while my club burned down. Except I wasn't watching my club burn. In my mind, I was right back on the front lawn of the Lockhart mansion, watching it burn to the ground, fully aware of how many innocents had been trapped inside. Knowing it was my fault.
My gaze remained locked on the burning building for a long time as the memories haunted my mind. I didn't move as the fire trucks came skidding into the parking lot or when an EMT crouched down beside me and started asking questions.
Logically, I knew I was in shock. I'd had plenty of near-death encounters in my life, but this hit me in a different way. It wasn’t just an attempt to kill me... it was an attempt to terrify me, and to me, that was a hundred times worse.
The EMT was getting annoying, and I blinked slowly to break my trance and shift my glare to the well-meaning medic. He was spared the scathing words sitting on my tongue, though, when a familiar black Ferrari came screaming into the parking lot.
Zed was out of his car in a shot, not even turning off the engine. He sprinted across the gravel, dodging debris from the building, and fell to his knees in a dramatic skid in front of me.
"Dare, holy shit. Thank God." He knocked the EMT out of the way and hauled me into his arms, hugging me like an anaconda. My body screamed with pain, though, and I let out a groan of protest.
Zed released me as quick as he'd grabbed me, his face a picture of alarm. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. Shit, you're hurt. Where are you hurt?"
"That's what I'm trying to work out," the annoyed EMT snapped.
Zed glared absolute death at the man, then gave me an accusing scowl. "Cooperate with the medic, Dare."
"I'm fine," I muttered, despite how my limbs had just started trembling uncontrollably. "I was almost out when the explosion happened."
"Almost out," Zed snapped back. "You're fucking bleeding and look like death warmed up. Can you stand? We need to get you into the ambulance."
"Agreed," the EMT added, giving me a frown.
I was too fucking wrecked to even argue. I just let Zed wrap his arm around me and support my weight as I gritted my teeth and found my feet.
"No, you shouldn't be walking," the EMT said with a shake of his head. "I'll get the gurney. Just wait a second."
I grunted with the effort but took a little of my weight back from Zed. "Hell no," I growled. "I'm not getting strapped into a fucking gurney right now. Some motherfucker just exploded my club. They declared war on the Timberwolves. No fucking way will I do anything but walk out of here on my own damn feet."
Zed hesitated, his expression torn. "Dare..."
"No," I snapped. "No. I guarantee whoever did this is watching right now. They set this up to test me, Zed. But now I'm just mad as hell."
The EMT looked conflicted, but when I took a couple more pain-filled steps forward, he threw his hands up in defeat. I didn't mind getting checked over in his ambulance—I needed it—but I would walk my ass over there and let it be a show of strength.
Zed kept his arm around my waist, though, and I let him.
"You're so fucking stubborn," he whispered as we stepped over broken, scorched bricks and twisted metal.
I snorted a laugh. "You love it. Did you get my email about my phone?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I saw you'd emailed from the 7th Circle server, then the alarm company called to say there was a fire... I panicked. When I saw the flames as I drove up, I thought—"
"Stop it," I told him firmly. "I'm not so easy to kill."
Zed just shook his head. "You're still human, Dare. Even though you act like you're not. This was close. Really fucking close."
We'd reached the ambulance, and he helped me climb inside and sit on the narrow bed so the EMT could do his thing. Neither Zed nor I spoke any more while my medic—Gareth—checked me over and treated my myriad of minor lacera
tions and burns.
Around the time he was finishing up, telling me that I needed to get checked out for internal bleeding, the fire chief came striding over to us with his helmet in his hand. He'd worked on the Shadow Grove Fire Department for years, and we'd dealt with him plenty of times over fire safety regulations for the clubs.
"Hades, sir," he greeted me with a nod. "Zed. It's not looking good for the structure. Any ideas what caused this?"
I grimaced. "Yeah. Gas leak."
Zed's head snapped around, his expression startled.
The fire chief didn't notice, though, just nodded and rubbed his hand over his beard. "Yeah, that fits the pattern of destruction. Accidental or..."
My gaze flattened and my jaw tightened. "Or."
He winced, then gave a nod. "Understood. We'll keep working to put out the fire, but I reckon you'll need to do a total rebuild. There's just not much left of the framework."
"Thanks Mitch," Zed said in a rough voice. "Appreciate your work."
The fire chief gave us another nod, then hesitated a moment, his gaze taking in the many patches of dressing dotted all over me.
"If you don't mind me saying, sir, you're goddamn immortal. That blast should have killed you, and you've only got a couple of scrapes to show for it." He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn blessed, you are."
I snorted a laugh, seeing real humor in that statement. Blessed? Not even close. More like cursed and making the best of it.
Mitch headed back over to where his crew worked to try and extinguish the blaze, and I closed my eyes for a second, searching for more strength deep inside. He was wrong, though... I didn't believe I was meant to die in that blast. It was just a test. A game. Someone trying to get inside my head and make me scared.
"A gas leak?" Zed repeated after a couple of moments, and I flicked my lids open once more. "Are you sure?"
I gave a small nod. "Positive. I bet when they do their investigation, they'll find the gas line behind the oven severed."
Zed swallowed heavily, looking sick. "Fuck."
I refused to be taken to the hospital by ambulance but wasn't dumb enough to refuse treatment altogether. Instead, Zed drove me over in his Ferrari. The whole way there, he kept one hand on my grazed knee like he was scared I would disappear if he wasn't holding onto me at all times.
It was an intimate thing, but I didn't stop him and he didn't mention it.
The hospital staff ushered us through quickly when we entered the emergency room, and I was escorted to a private room where a doctor gave me a more thorough examination.
The whole thing took some time, with the doctor ordering a full CT scan to check for internal damage before he reluctantly cleared me to leave. He badly wanted me to stay overnight for further observation, especially when the bruising all down my back started darkening, but I overruled him.
No way in hell would I chill in a hospital room while someone waged war on my gang.
I wasn't even fully listening to the doctor's warnings about what I could and couldn't do while healing, my attention glued to Zed outside my little window. He paced the corridor, his phone to his ear and his expression rigid.
When the doctor left, Zed stepped back into my room, his arms folded over his chest.
"What?" I snapped, tugging my hospital gown tighter around me. My clothes had been pretty much destroyed, and I was naked under the thin material.
"You should stay for observation," he told me, "at least one night."
"Hell no." I shook my head, wincing when it tugged the tape on my neck over a small burn. Fucking shit, burns hurt to high hell. Even with the painkillers the doctor had provided, I could feel a dull ache in every single one of them.
Zed glared at me, exhaling heavily. "Fine. Then just rest for a few minutes until I can get you some clothes."
I gave a small shrug. "Just give me your jacket, then drive me home."
He glowered. "We're not walking you out of here barefoot in a hospital gown with your bare ass on display for the whole damn world. Just fucking chill; Cass will be here in five."
My jaw dropped. "Cass? Why the fuck is Cass coming here?"
Zed gave me a droll look. "Because I wasn't fucking leaving you here alone, and I didn't think you wanted Seph finding out about all of this just yet."
I grunted. "True."
"Right. So, Cass is bringing you some clean clothes and you can walk out of here as the badass you are and whoever tried to have you killed can go eat a dick." He dragged over a chair and sat down heavily beside my bed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I think you're prematurely aging me, boss."
With a grin, I reached out and traced my fingertip down the faint line between his brows. "Well, it suits you. I'll be sure to keep stressing you out."
He grabbed my hand, pulling it away from his forehead with a small growl of irritation. "Please don't."
His pale blue eyes met mine, and there was a layer of vulnerability and fear in his gaze that I'd never seen before. Or never taken notice of, at any rate. My hand was still captive in his, and he stroked his thumb up the inside of my wrist, making me shiver.
The door to my room opened with a crash, and Zed released his grip on my hand, sitting back smoothly. I tensed, eyeing the broad-shouldered, bad-tempered man standing in the doorway.
"What the fuck happened?" Cass snarled.
Zed scoffed a laugh, hooking his ankle over his knee all casual as shit. "I told you. There was an attack on 7th Circle. Did I leave anything out?"
Cass's glower intensified as he stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. "You said an attack, but I just drove past and it's completely destroyed. And Hades is in the fucking hospital? Yeah, you left a couple of things out, De Rosa."
Zed parted his lips to reply, probably with something highly sarcastic, and I held up a hand to silence him.
"Quit it, both of you. You're giving me a headache."
Zed shot me a sly look. "I'd say that getting thrown halfway across the parking lot contributed to that headache, but hey, I'm no doctor."
Cass damn near vibrated with tension. "What?"
I stifled a groan. The testosterone was already way too thick for my liking. Madison Kate must be a fucking saint to willingly commit her life to three meathead men; I'd probably rather become a celibate nun than inflict self-torture like that.
"Zed, fuck off for a minute. Get me a coffee or something." I gave him a hard glare, and he just smirked back at me as if he liked pushing Cass's buttons.
"Nah, hospital coffee is awful," he replied with a shrug, making no move to get up. "You'd hate it."
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, then just fuck off in general. I need to get dressed, and I doubt you really wanna see my tits."
His brows shot straight up, but I pointed firmly at the door, not giving him any options to argue with me further.
Zed scowled, getting up reluctantly and eyeballing Cass. "What about—"
"Cass can stay if he wants." I slid off the hospital bed and reached for the clothing store bags in the big Reaper's hand. "He's already made it crystal clear he wants to see my tits, so I doubt it'll make him uncomfortable."
Both men stared at me in speechless shock at that comment, and I snorted a sharp laugh. "Jesus Christ, that was a joke. Both of you fuck off."
Cass released the bags into my care, and I waited for them both to leave my hospital room before making any move to open them. They didn't go far, though. As I closed the blind over the little window, I caught Cass's low rumble.
"When the fuck did she start joking?"
31
The clothes Cass had bought for me fit perfectly, which was impressive, considering he'd chosen skinny jeans. Even the bra he'd selected was the right size, which made me wonder if it was him or Zed who knew all my sizes.
The black leather boots in the shoebox were flat soled, but I was actually relieved he hadn't grabbed heels. Even if they were my usual look, my aching body couldn't have handled stile
tto heels.
Once dressed, I checked my face in the little mirror stuck to the wall and tugged my hair free of the loose ponytail I'd tied it up into. At least with it down, it hid some of the bandages on my neck. Otherwise, my wounds were pretty well disguised. The top Cass had bought was black and long sleeved, covering the worst of my bruises and scrapes, but tight enough to look sexy with the fashionably distressed jeans.
When I was satisfied that I looked nothing like a victim, I gathered up all the clothing tags and disposed of them and the boutique bags in the trash beside the bed.
Tugging my door open, I found Cass and Zed leaning against the wall opposite my room with their heads close as they spoke in low voices. Whatever they'd bonded over, apparently I wasn't to know because they immediately fell silent.
"Acceptable?" I asked when neither one of them said a word.
Cass scowled. "Maybe if you didn't have a black eye."
I wrinkled my nose, feeling the dull ache in my cheek. "That actually wasn't from the explosion." It reminded me that I hadn't told Zed about the staged attack on me in the street this morning. Or the fact that Special Agent Hanson was the only one who’d known I would be at 7th Circle at that time.
"What the fuck was it from then?" Cass demanded, folding those thick, inked arms over his chest and standing his ground like he was going to force the answers from me.
I quirked a brow at him, tempted to laugh. Then I shook my head and looked to Zed. "I think we're done here. Let's go."
"Whoa, what? No." Cass physically stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Instinctively I reached for my gun but silently cursed when my hand touched air. I'd taken my weapons off in Zed's car so the hospital staff wouldn't lose their minds when I was admitted.
"Here, boss," Zed said, holding out a silver 9mm Beretta to me. "Grabbed an extra for you." He shot me a wink as I took it from him, and Cass just glowered harder. Damn, he was basically part storm cloud for how thunderous he managed to get his expression.
"Hades," he growled.