Smith gave an impertinent bow then gestured for Hatchet to mount his Harley.
“Grinding your teeth will give you jaw ache,” he said as he straddled the bike, pressing close to Hatchet’s back. “Hmm. I do love the smell of leather in the morning.”
“Christ on a stick. Let’s hit the road before I burst a blood vessel.” Hatchet gunned his Harley, kicking up gravel.
Crow pulled out alongside him. He, Teddy and Hatchet formed up behind Rogue, the positioning reassuringly familiar. Crow took comfort from the rumble of his bike, the companionship of friends he knew had his back and the knowledge that every inch of asphalt covered took him closer to Shelton. He didn’t care how Smith got his information—he’d never let them down before. He was content to follow his leader and keep his eyes on the road.
Thirty minutes later, not far from the main highway, they reached the outskirts of a ramshackle village that could have been a film set for the latest iteration of The Magnificent Seven if it hadn’t been for the rundown gas station and tangle of overhead power lines. The few buildings were caked in dust and Crow half-expected to see a tumbleweed rolling across the street. Rogue switched off his engine then coasted down the side of the gas station. Crow and Hatchet followed suit with Teddy bringing up the rear. Once he had dismounted, Crow moved close to Hatchet and Rogue. Smith seemed to be glued to Hatch’s side, which brought a glimmer of a smile to Crow’s lips.
“If Smith has his facts straight,” Rogue whispered, “Shelton is being held in a building two streets over. We go in quick and quiet. Crow—you take the rear. Hatch and I will go in the front. If we’re lucky, they won’t be expecting us, but Teddy will hang a while in case anyone gets by us, then follow us in.”
“Do we know how many of them there are?” Hatchet said, also keeping his voice low.
“There were four men in the Jeep when they took Shelton,” Crow said. “There may be more of them here.”
“Is there a clean-up crew following us?” Rogue asked, directing his question to Smith.
“Not today. The locals can dispose of their own garbage.”
Rogue nodded. “Fine. Once you point out the building, you come back here and stay with the bikes.”
Crow expected Smith to argue but he just smiled. “Sure. Wet work really isn’t my thing. However, Mr. Trap would appreciate your best efforts in removing their leader, an evil brute known as Snake, from the face of the planet. He has a tattoo in the shape of a cobra on his right forearm.” He brushed a speck of dirt from his pants.
The mention of ‘wet work’ told Crow that Smith had a less than normal background, but then that applied to all of them. He left his gun tucked into the waistband of his pants but drew his favorite knife from his boot. “Let’s do this.”
“Silence from now on,” Rogue said. “When we get there, we’ll give you thirty seconds to get to the back of the building, then we all go in together. In and out as quickly as possible. I want us heading to the border before they know what’s hit them.”
Adrenaline surged through Crow’s veins as he followed Rogue, keeping tight to the shadows. He was focused on the job ahead, compartmentalizing his feelings for Shelton where they couldn’t interfere. Smith indicated that a building a few yards away was their target. A low concrete structure with barred windows, the single wooden door had peeling red paint and was covered with graffiti. With a flick of his fingers, Rogue indicated that Crow should move around to the rear. He moved quickly but quietly, keeping his eyes peeled for movement. A rat dashed across the road in front of him. Crow tightened his grip on his knife.
There was no back door, just a single cracked window, this time without the bars. In his head, Crow counted down the seconds. At zero he crossed his arms in front of his face and took a running dive at the window. The pane shattered around him, spraying razor-sharp shards in all directions. Crow tucked his head in and executed a neat forward roll, coming up on his feet, knees bent. The room he’d landed in was empty but the sounds of splintering wood and gunfire told him where to go. He shoulder-charged the door, forcing it down with a crash. He swept the room, taking in the action. There were two men down already, one clutching his thigh, the other unmoving. Teddy was grappling with a third, flashes of light betraying the presence of a knife.
“He has a blade, Teddy,” Crow yelled in warning.
On the other side of the room, another door crashed open. Several men poured through, guns blazing.
“So much for Smith’s fucking intel,” Crow snarled as he threw his knife with all the force he could muster, taking out one gunman.
Rogue dropped to one knee, firing continuously. Hatch, on the floor behind a rickety table, fired around it and took out another man who’d likely never walk again. A streak of fire seared Crow’s cheek and he threw himself to the ground.
“Anybody damaged?” Rogue yelled.
“Good here,” Crow responded. He didn’t have any big holes in him. That counted as good in his book.
“Busy,” Teddy grunted, still engaged in his own personal wrestling match.
“Dandy.” Hatchet charged the last man standing, bringing him down.
A hail of bullets sprayed the walls and ceiling. Crow took a breath and charged for the now-vacated doorway. On the other side he found a table and chairs. Playing cards and a half-empty bottle of whisky told him what had been going on in there. There was one more door on the opposite side of the room. There was a crude bolt at the top, which he yanked free before kicking the door in.
“You took your own sweet time.” Shelton, restrained by a collar and chain, grinned at him.
It was the sweetest sight Crow had ever seen.
Crow dropped to one knee next to him then touched his face just to make sure Shelton was real. “You’re not hurt?”
“No.”
Crow could see the bruises marring Shelton’s pale skin. He was shirtless, his bare feet badly cut.
“How can I get you out of this?” Crow touched the iron around Shelton’s neck.
“There’s a key somewhere…”
Crow didn’t want to leave Shelton alone for a second, even to hunt down his means of release.
“This what you need?” Rogue was there, holding out a small key. He tossed it to Crow.
Carefully, Crow removed the lock and pulled the two halves of the collar apart. The skin beneath was raw and inflamed, edged with dark bruising. He had to fight back his fury. Kicking the shit out of a corpse might make him feel better but it would upset Shelton.
“Can you stand?” At Shelton’s nod, Crow helped him to his feet. He stripped off his leather jacket. “Put this on.”
“It’s a tad on the large side.” Shelton giggled, flapping the arms of the jacket.
Crow enjoyed seeing Shelton in his clothes, even if he did look like a man wearing a leather tent. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He scooped Shelton into his arms, ignoring his protests. Cradling his precious cargo to his chest, Crow headed straight for the exit. Teddy was dragging the body of his opponent out of the way. Crow couldn’t tell if the man was dead or just unconscious. He didn’t care. There were two corpses and another man groaning on the ground until Rogue used the butt of his gun to knock him out.
“Fucking racket. He was giving me a headache.” Rogue gestured toward Shelton. “He in one piece?”
“Hey! I’m right here,” Shelton protested, wriggling in Crow’s arms. “Put me down, you big lug.”
“I guess that answers my question.” Rogue grinned.
“Stop squirming,” Crow reprimanded. “You’re not walking with your feet in that condition.”
“Hatch…could you deal with that?” Rogue pointed at a man attempting to crawl toward the door.
“My pleasure.” Hatch pressed his boot onto the man’s calf, eliciting a squeal. He leaned down, grabbed the man’s lank hair then yanked his head back. “Where do you think you’re going, scum?” He banged his head on the floor, rendering him unconscious. “Now, c
an we get out of this shithole?”
“Wipe the guns then dump them. Then we can hit the road,” Rogue said.
Outside, the sun was fully risen. Shelton screwed up his eyes then blinked a few times.
“Wow, it’s bright.”
“You’re alive.” Crow decided stating the obvious was permitted under the circumstances.
“Last time I checked,” Shelton muttered. “Are you going to put me down now?”
”No.” If Crow had his way, Shelton would never leave his arms again.
“Oh. Okay then.” Shelton tilted his head. “Gimme a kiss.”
Crow pressed his lips to Shelton’s, probing with his tongue until he was granted entry. He kissed him thoroughly until Shelton pulled away.
“My mouth probably tastes like the inside of a garbage can.”
“Don’t care.” Crow was about to kiss him again when he spotted movement. “Hatch, Teddy—over there.”
“It’s Smith,” Hatch said, heading for the corner.
“What’s he doing here?” Shelton asked.
“Helping out.” Crow followed the other Wyverns, Rogue at his shoulder, walking backward to cover their asses.
“You’re hurt,” Hatchet said, approaching Smith, whose shirt was stained with blood.
“It’s just a scratch,” Smith said.
“It doesn’t look like a scratch,” Hatchet growled. “You were supposed to stay out of trouble. Christ, your ass is so in need of a good spanking.”
“Something for us to discuss later.” Smith turned away. “We need to get out of here before local law enforcement shows up. Not that they’ll be particularly interested in chasing us down, but I’d rather we were out of range.”
“Agreed. Let’s roll.” Rogue strolled purposefully toward the bikes. “Oh, Smith, none of the casualties had a snake tattoo.”
“That was the boss man, Snake,” Shelton piped up. “I met him not long after I arrived. His social skills were somewhat lacking.”
“Well, he’d either left already or got away during the fight,” Rogue said.
“I didn’t see anyone leave,” Smith said. “I was watching the front. Fuck it. This isn’t good, but we need to move. There’s no time to deal with this crapfest now.”
“You gonna be okay to hold on to me?” Crow asked Shelton. He wanted to be on his way as quickly as possible.
“Always.” Shelton batted his lashes.
“You are taking all this remarkably well.”
“I was scared, Crow. I’m no hero, I admit it. But I knew you’d come for me. There wasn’t much point in worrying about the other possibilities. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Call it fate.”
Crow swelled with pride at how brave his man was.
“I wanna go home, Crow,” Shelton whispered.
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
Chapter Five
For Shelton, the ride back to The Wyverns’ base passed in a blur. He locked his arms around Crow’s waist and pressed his face against his cotton-clad back. Warmth and the familiar scent comforted him. He should have been having a full-on freak-out but didn’t have the energy. It was all he could do to hold tight. He was aware of the other bikers around them, Rogue in the lead, Hatchet with the mysterious Smith riding pillion, Teddy bringing up the rear. His family.
At the border, Smith flashed his credentials and they were waved through without comment. Considering the state they were all in, blood-spattered and bruised, Shelton decided Smith must have some serious connections. He was glad they were on the same side.
After several dusty hours in the saddle, Shelton had never been so glad to bump down the track leading to The Wyvern’s compound. When Crow finally turned off the ignition, Shelton found that he was too stiff to dismount. His arms were locked around Crow’s body and he couldn’t move.
“Sweetheart, you really need to let go.” Crow tried to coax him to relax.
“Can’t.” Shelton shivered, suddenly cold despite Crow’s leather jacket.
“I think you’re going into shock,” Crow muttered.
“I got this.” Teddy loosened Shelton’s fingers then lifted him bodily from the bike.
“Thanks, Teddy…” Any adrenaline left in Shelton’s system had drained away and tiny black spots danced in front of his eyes. “Oh. I think I’m gonna…”
* * * *
“What…what happened?” Shelton unglued his eyes and tried to focus.
“You fainted. Just like a damsel in distress. It was very cute.”
“Orlando?” Shelton was confused. Why was Orlando with him? Had he been captured too?
“Of course. Who else in this group of macho cave-dwellers would get to play nursemaid?”
“I don’t need… Oh! I’m home.” Shelton tried to sit up. He was laid out on the sofa in the communal room, covered with a light blanket. His head was supported by a couple of pillows.
Orlando shoved him back down again. “Oh no. You don’t get to move. Crow will slice me up with one of those big carving knives of his if I let you. And yes, you are home. Everyone’s back. Well, except Artie and Bull. They’re still living it up in California. But the mysterious Mr. Smith is making up the numbers.”
“Where’s Crow?” Fragments were coming back to Shelton about his rescue, the journey, but after that everything was a blank. He couldn’t remember arriving home at all.
“Until about fifteen minutes ago he was sitting right here mooning over your ass. Then Rogue pulled rank and called a council of war in the kitchen. Personally I think it was just an excuse to eat my blueberry muffins.”
Shelton’s stomach chose that moment to growl.
“When did you last eat?”
“No idea. What time is it?”
“Around three in the afternoon. You swooned in Teddy’s arms when you got back about an hour ago. You haven’t been out that long. I cleaned up your feet some while you were snoring.”
“I really fainted?” Shelton’s cheeks burned.
“Uh-huh.” Orlando grinned. “And there’s you supposed to be a tough Wyvern. Still, as you managed to get your ass captured by a gang of slavers, I suppose I can give you a pass on the teasing.” He cocked his head to one side. “Nope. The material is just too good to give up.”
Shelton groaned.
“There’s some water here for you.” Orlando pressed a cool glass into his hand. “I’ll go fetch some food. Don’t move.”
Shelton shuffled into a more upright position but didn’t attempt to leave the couch. Orlando’s wrath was something to be avoided at all costs. He gave himself a check over. He was bruised and battered. His neck was sore and his feet hurt but apart from that, he wasn’t in too bad shape. Orlando had done a good job patching him up. Underneath the blanket he wore a clean pair of boxers. His jeans were gone, probably destined for the nearest incinerator. He wondered who had undressed him, hoping it had been Crow.
The kitchen door banged open.
“You’re awake!” Crow marched over to him, still dressed in his dusty jeans and leather jacket. There was a raw wound on his face and dark circles beneath his eyes.
“What happened to your face?” Shelton couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.
“Bullet scraped me. It’s nothing.” Crow dropped to one knee and took Shelton’s hand. “What’s important is that you’re home and safe.”
“I’m sorry I was such a bother.”
“You weren’t a bother. None of it was your fault. However, you are grounded for the rest of your life. You want to set foot outside the door, you go with an armed escort. Understand?”
“Isn’t that a tad extreme?” Shelton teased, smiling.
Crow raised a dark eyebrow, apparently expecting a different answer.
“Yes, Crow.” Shelton gave him what he wanted.
“Better.” Crow sighed. “I thought I’d lost you, Shelton. You shaved a few years off my life.”
“And we only just found each other.” Shelton stroked Cro
w’s hair.
“I won’t let you put yourself in danger again.”
“Wow, you’re sexy when you get all commanding.” Shelton giggled. “Can I come and sit with you all?”
“Sure.” Crow scooped him up then carried him into the kitchen, taking care to keep the blanket wrapped around him. He sat, settling Shelton in his lap.
“Aw, so cute.” Orlando put plates of sandwiches and a fresh tray of muffins onto the table. “You two make the sweetest couple.”
Cute and sweet were the last words Shelton would have used to describe Crow. Fierce, devastatingly attractive, strong—the list of more appropriate adjectives was long. Shelton cuddled against him. He was tired. He wanted to nap, but he was also horny and very aware of his semi-naked state beneath the blanket. “Did everyone make it out intact?” He scanned the people around the table.
Teddy sat at one end, Adrian next to him. Teddy’s hand rested on the sheriff’s thigh. Rogue was opposite, his eyes following Orlando as he bustled around making more sandwiches and coffee. Hatchet sat next to someone unfamiliar.
“You must be Mr. Smith,” Shelton said. “Thank you for helping to rescue me.” He eyed the man warily.
Rogue had never been complimentary but Shelton knew Hatchet had a thing for him. He could understand why. Smith managed to come across as cool and collected even covered in dirt and blood. His short, sandy hair was caked in dust but still held its style. His pale blue eyes reflected shrewd intelligence and a sparkle of humor. There was a flush on his cheeks that didn’t look entirely healthy.
“Um, are you feeling okay? You’re very pink, and it doesn’t look like sunburn,” Shelton said.
“I am a little hot.” Smith swayed in his seat.
Hatchet pressed the back of his hand to Smith’s forehead. “Fuck, you’re burning up. Show me that wound.”
“No need…I’ll be fine.” Smith leaned away from Hatchet’s touch. “I’ll make a call and get out of your hair. Oh, you don’t have any, sorry.”
“Like fuck.” Hatchet pulled Smith’s shirt apart with a sharp tug, sending buttons skittering across the kitchen. Smith shrugged the ruined garment off. “Crap on a stick. You have a bullet wound, Smith. You said it was just a scratch.”
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