Bound To Protect (Crescent City Kings)

by Anya Summers

  “A lot can happen in two minutes,” Michael said, feeling the cold weight of the firearm in his hand.

  “Yes, it can. Stay alive. We’ll get your sub out, my friend.” Quinten clapped him on the back.

  Michael climbed into his Lamborghini. He figured tossing his wealth in Carla’s face would be a nice dig. And if he and Sabrina needed to leave the site fast—assuming he made it out alive—this baby would smoke any car Carla might have.

  He shot a last look at his best friend, and a world of understanding passed between them. Should Michael die, Dante would see that Sabrina was okay.

  Michael nodded, revved the engine, and drove out of the garage without looking back. There was no point in looking back when all roads led to this one destination: the confrontation with Carla, and saving their girl.

  Chapter 25

  Michael parked the Lamborghini as close to the entrance as possible. He double checked that the safety was off on the Glock, then made a call to Quinten. “I’m in position and getting ready to move in.”

  “We’re all set on this end. Hold her off for two minutes. Be making the call to do the fake transfer, and we’ll be there,” Quinten said.

  “Got it. See you on the flip side.”

  “And Michael? Don’t get dead,” Quinten stated.

  “I’ll try not to disappoint you,” Michael replied, ending the call. He emerged from the car, and slid the gun into the holster hidden beneath his sport coat. To a casual observer, he looked like a well-dressed businessman attending a midnight meeting. But underneath, he wore the firearm, and a bulletproof vest.

  The air was ripe with the stench of rotted fish and the damp muddy waters of the Mississippi dock. The building had seen better days. It was one of the holdovers from Katrina that likely didn’t make it beyond that horrific storm. The windows were blacked out. Ivy grew in patches along the wall, making the building seem even more unkempt and dilapidated.

  With a prayer, Michael pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Sabrina’s jaw ached from the gag, and the repeated blows to the head she had sustained. She could still feel the dried blood that had splattered over her when Carla had shot Brett just feet away from her. It had been a sight that kept on replaying in her mind throughout the long night. It didn’t help that Carla had left the man to bleed out not five feet from where Sabrina was tied to a metal chair.

  And to think, Carla had just finished banging him—the full on porno, animalistic version. Sabrina had to hand it to the dearly departed Brett, he had been quite the stallion.

  Whereas her captor was a cold-hearted bitch who hadn’t flinched when she’d shot her lover. Tying up loose ends was how she’d put it. Sabrina tried not to hate other people and tried to be kind to everyone, mainly because one never really knew what a person was going through. But she loathed Carla with every fiber of her being.

  Carla was sitting on a stack of wooden beams—the same stack she’d had Brett screw her up against, while commanding that Sabrina watch. If there were any moisture left in her dry throat, Sabrina would retch. But her parched throat was scratchy from her screams, her eyes gritty and swollen from tears.

  And she prayed for an end to the torture. No matter which way it went, she just wanted it done. Deep down, she knew Dante would look after her brother, see that he stayed in the Houmas Assisted Living Facility and received the care he needed.

  She just wished they’d had more time. More time to love each other. She knew that Dante would mourn her. Michael would, too, but he didn’t love her. Eventually, they would both recover and move on.

  Time had become her greatest enemy as the clock ticked down to midnight. With every moment that passed, Sabrina was one step closer to her doom. She didn’t have many regrets. She would have liked to have been a mom, though, and regretted that it likely wasn’t in the cards. She hated the fear clawing at her insides that turned her into a trembling, quaking ball of nerves. She fought back the moisture that threatened to leak from her eyes. The last thing Sabrina wanted was for this monster to see any more of her tears.

  “Right on time. It’s showtime,” Carla said, rising from her seat with a wicked smile.

  In the shadowed light, looking like an avenging angel in his suit, his beautiful hair unkempt, like he’d run frustrated fingers through it, Michael entered the warehouse. As he stepped into the light, his gaze flicked Sabrina’s way, and her heart trembled.

  Through the gag, she mumbled, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

  And the tears she’d thought were done, that she could hold back, streamed down her cheeks.

  “It’s okay, love. Keep your eyes on me. Carla, untie her. The money is being transferred as we speak,” Michael said, unwavering in his bravery.

  “Not so fast. I need to verify that it’s there first,” Carla said, pointing her gun at Michael.

  “Fine. But hurry up,” Michael stated impatiently.

  “Have somewhere you need to be?”

  Michael shook his head. “No, I just want Sabrina out of here. She’s been through enough, and doesn’t need to endure more. She’s not part of this any longer, she’s just an innocent bystander.”

  “No one’s innocent,” Carla snapped. “But I see you’re a man of your word. Thanks for this; I will put your money to good use. And as for you and your little slut, our time, sadly, has come to a close.”

  Michael reached inside his jacket and withdrew a gun. But before he could get a shot off, gunfire erupted from Carla’s firearm. The sound echoed in the warehouse. Sabrina screamed behind her gag, horrified as Michael was knocked backward off his feet, and sprawled on his back. His gun flew out of his hands and skidded across the stone floor.

  Sobs erupted in Sabrina’s throat as she stared at his unmoving form. He was dead. How could Michael be dead? How could she live knowing he was gone because he’d tried to save her?

  Her tears blinded her as she wept. But then her pain turned into fury. She swiveled her head, and glared at the bitch who had taken her love. Sabrina wanted to kill her. Her hands clenched against her bonds. She wanted to scratch Carla’s eyes out and make her bleed, make her beg.

  “Just like any man, will race to defend the cunts you’re banging. Now, my dear—”

  “Freeze! Hands where we can see them. Drop your weapon.” Shouts sounded. Police in swat garb flooded into the warehouse.

  Carla turned, gun in hand, and a snarl on her lips, as if the police were petulant street urchins interrupting her spa day. She pointed her gun at one of the swat team. But before she could get off a shot, gunfire boomed.

  Hands grabbed Sabrina, chair and all, and dragged her out of the line of fire. She screamed and sobbed.

  Blood bloomed over Carla’s chest, soaking her ivory blouse. She glanced down at her chest as if she couldn’t believe that they had shot her. She lifted her arm and tried to return fire. The next shot hit her square between the eyes.

  “Look away, love.” Dante’s voice penetrated through Sabrina’s terrified haze.

  Dante.

  Fresh tears streamed down her face as he got them outside. He cut through her bonds, then knelt in front of her and removed the gag.

  “Dante,” she croaked.

  “Sabrina, it will be all right, love.” He ran his hands over her, checking for injures before pulling her into his arms.

  She went willingly, sobbing. “I’m so sorry. I never should… have left. Michael, he’s… oh god.”

  “What did you see?” Dante asked, his emotions raw on his face.

  “Michael’s gone. Carla shot him. He’s—”

  “I’m right here, love,” Michael said from behind her.

  His voice filled all the broken pieces inside. Sabrina turned and cried, moving from Dante’s arms into Michael’s open ones. “You’re alive!”

  She threw her arms around him, still sobbing. Michael was alive. He wasn’t dead. They had another chance.

  Dante clasped Michael’s shoulder. “We thought we’d lost you
, brother.”

  Michael smiled down at Sabrina, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, and said, “Nah, you guys aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

  “But you were shot! How?” she asked, running her hands over his chest to ensure he was all right, that he was real, and not a figment of her overstressed imagination.

  “Bulletproof vest. Knocked me out for a moment. And fuck, but getting shot hurts like hell. Remind me never to do it again. I have a feeling I don’t want to see my chest at the moment. But it will heal,” Michael said, holding her close.

  Quinten joined their group. “Fuck, it’s a mess in there. She killed Brett, and that guy Dan Vandersmoot.”

  “I was pissed at Brett for what he did, but he didn’t deserve to die,” Michael said, with a pained expression.

  “You need to check the Houmas Assisted Living Facility. She paid an aide by the name of Timothy to record my brother’s voice. It was why I left. I thought she had Alex,” Sabrina explained.

  Dante swore. “Fuck. Yeah, we need to check that.”

  “I’m so sorry, love, I never thought she had it in her to go after you and your brother like that,” Michael said with regret marring his features.

  Quinten said, “We’ll check into it. She didn’t give you a last name?”

  “No, just the first name: Timothy. I doubt she remembered or even knew the guy’s last name. But she was all about tying up loose ends. It’s why she killed Brett after banging him,” Sabrina replied. It was an image that would live with her long after the night’s events passed.

  Michael pressed his lips against her brow. Dante stood at her back. She held on to Michael, with one arm wrapped around his back, and gripped Dante’s hand with the other, letting their strength buffer her while her men surrounded her. After tonight, she never wanted to be separated from them ever again.

  “I’ll get your statement in a bit, Sabrina. I need you to hang out just a little longer, and then I will let these two take you home,” Quinten said.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  As long as Michael and Dante were with her, it didn’t matter. She would make it through, because they would make it so, would hold her up and protect her. With them, she was home. It didn’t matter where they were.

  Quinten walked off, calling out instructions as he did so, and left them standing there. Someone handed Sabrina a bottle of water. It felt wonderful to wash the parched dust and metallic taste of blood from her mouth.

  EMTs checked her over, cleaned up the small cut on her cheek, and put a butterfly bandage on it. At least it wouldn’t need stitches, but it might scar. When the EMTs had Michael remove his shirt and Sabrina spied the bruising and broken blood vessels, she knew how close she had come to losing him forever.

  The EMTs gave her a blanket. Sometime later—she wasn’t sure how much time had passed, as the night had taken on this hazy quality—she sat between Michael and Dante, recounting every detail of what had happened. Everything Carla had said. Everything Brett had said before Carla killed him. It was Quinten asking the questions.

  One of his officers came over and whispered in his ear. He nodded.

  “I have some news. The aide, Timothy Roland, who recorded your brother was found shot to death in his duplex in Houmas. I have officers in the Houmas department questioning the facility. I have a feeling it’s going to take a few days,” Quinten explained.

  “But my brother is all right?” Sabrina asked.

  Quinten nodded. “Yeah, he is.”

  “We’ll go talk to them. If we need to, we can find a better place for him. I won’t allow anyone to use him to get to you or me ever again',” Michael swore.

  He would protect her brother. Sabrina couldn’t even be angry at the facility; it wasn’t the living facility’s fault that Timothy Roland had acted as he had, and in the end had paid for it with his life. She leaned her head on Michael’s shoulder. “I know you won’t, Sir.”

  She couldn’t help but think that this had been the longest night of her life.

  Chapter 26

  The first fingers of dawn were streaking the sky when they all piled into Michael’s Lamborghini. Sabrina sat curled on Michael’s lap, unwilling to let him go for even a second. Her stomach growled.

  “When was the last time you ate, love?” Michael asked.

  “Um… breakfast yesterday,” she said.

  “Why don’t we stop at Frankie’s on the way to the penthouse? He’s open by now, we could grab some breakfast burritos. I think she could use the protein,” Michael said.

  “Sounds like a plan. Not to worry, we will take care of everything,” Dante said, and drove off.

  The ride to Frankie’s was rather short, and before her tired brain could really register it, Sabrina was being handed a soft drink and burrito. They ate while Dante drove. When her belly was full, she snuggled against Michael, mindful of his chest and what surely was very painful for him, and drifted. She could relax now, in the safety of his arms.

  The next thing she knew, they were at the penthouse, and she was being lifted into Dante’s arms. “I’ve got you.”

  “I could get her,” Michael stated gruffly, as if he didn’t want to let her go.

  “Michael, you’re injured too. I’d rather you not take a spill and hurt both of you. I will get her cleaned up and put to bed. You should take a shower in one of the adjoining rooms. We’re not doing anything but putting this one to bed,” Dante said, taking command of the situation.

  Michael grumbled behind Sabrina. But it was enough to make her smile—their bickering over how best to take care of her. With Dante winning this round because, in truth, Michael was hurt.

  She clung to Dante as they went inside. He didn’t stop until they were in the large bathroom with the huge shower. He put her on the settee, stripped off his clothes, and then removed all of hers. Dante started the water first, got it set at the right temperature, and then pulled her into the shower.

  Dante didn’t linger as he washed her body and then her hair, and even her face. Once he was satisfied, he shut the water off, grabbed a towel, and helped her out.

  “Stand there, love, let me get you dry, and then I’m putting you to bed,” he said, and then used the towel to dry first her body, then her hair. When he was done, it was still a teeny bit damp, but she didn’t have the energy to care.

  When she was dry to his specifications, he towed her back into the bedroom, and told her, “Come on. Into bed with you.”

  She yawned, and then held out a hand. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Never,” he swore, and slid in beside her.

  Before she tumbled into sleep, Michael padded in with a towel around his hips. His poor chest was mottled black and blue. It had to be hurting. She held out a hand. “Michael.”

  Michael climbed in on the other side of the bed, putting her solidly between them. Because he was hurt, she curled against his side, with Dante at her back. And she was asleep before they pulled the covers up around her, safe in the knowledge that they were here and alive, and she had a second chance with them—one she wasn’t going to squander; one she was going to fight for, because she loved them both more than life itself.

  It could have been hours or days later when Sabrina finally cracked her eyes open. All that had happened rushed back, and she found herself in the big lake of a bed alone. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted her men. She loved them. And those minutes where she’d thought Michael was dead had been some of the longest minutes of her life.

  But Dante and Michael were hers to keep. She loved them. She wanted them.

  Sabrina rose and dressed in a simple pair of shorts and tank top. She didn’t plan to be in them for long. Leaving the bedroom behind, she headed out and searched for her two men. They were seated in the living room, each dressed casually in jeans and a tee shirt. They took her breath away, they were so handsome. She must have made a sound because both male heads turned her way.

  “Sleeping beauty awakens.” Dante rose fr
om his seat on the sofa and reached her first. His big hands framed her face, and the look in his eyes made her heart turn over and expose its soft underbelly. She met him halfway, lifting onto her tiptoes as he kissed her, stirring her up inside because she knew she could never leave them. She loved them far too much. And if all she received from Michael was care and not love, she would live with it.

  “My turn,” Michael said gruffly behind her.

  Dante released her mouth. Michael gripped her hair, pulled her head back, and ravaged her mouth. This right here, was everything. She couldn’t imagine not being with both of them.

  When Michael lifted his mouth, she was panting.

  “We need to talk,” Michael stated.

  “All right.” Fear slashed through her. Were they going to let her go?

  “Why do you have bags packed in the closet at the mansion?” Dante demanded.

  “You weren’t thinking about leaving us, were you, love?” Michael asked.

  She closed her eyes. “Yes. I was, but not for reasons you might think,” she admitted, extricating herself from their arms. She needed to look at them both while she explained.

  “Leaving is leaving. You said you love me. I don’t know why you would leave unless that was a lie,” Dante said, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive position.

  “Dante, Michael, I love you both so much, it was killing me that I was causing any sort of rift between you. That you might end your friendship with Michael, Dante… And that because of me, you would no longer be friends and get what you need by topping a woman together. It would have been selfish of me to allow that to happen.”

  “We’re grown men, and you are not responsible for our choices,” Dante explained.

  “Nor would we have allowed it to get to that point,” Michael said.

  “I didn’t know that, and worried that I would be the cause of your friendship going bust. I couldn’t live with that. Or I couldn’t until Carla pointed a gun at me yesterday,” Sabrina said, and where once there had been a hitch of fear at loving them, now, confidence blossomed. She was meant to love them.