Unbreakable s8-2

by Stephanie Tyler

  “Keep moving forward,” Key shouted. Jem hooked a hand onto his brother’s shoulder, and Dare did the same for him.

  “I have her mouth and nose covered,” Dare told him after he let go of Jem for a second. As he followed Key, he realized that this was exactly what they meant by blind faith.

  * * *

  The sound of the explosion was magnified down in the catacombs. Avery grabbed Gunner’s arm and they both looked down the hall. The main doorway wasn’t blocked. Yet. But the way the rumble sounded, it wouldn’t be long.

  Gunner went to Landon, a hand on his chest.

  “Donal . . . never right,” Landon managed. “I tried. Always . . . got burned.”

  “I know he killed Josie.”

  Landon’s eyes fluttered. “Never . . . believed me.”

  “I didn’t. Not until now.”

  “Tried . . . to make you . . . feel like family.”

  Gunner couldn’t tell him he didn’t want to be a part of Landon’s fucking family, but would never do that to a dying man. A dying man who’d done his best to help Gunner in his own sick way.

  Drew gasped; then his eyes closed.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, he’s still alive.” Gunner felt the weak pulse and raised the man’s eyelids. “Barely.”

  He sat back on his heels as the walls started to crumple around him, stared at the man who would no doubt rather be dead than paralyzed. His entire business was ruined, an empire brought to its knees by careful, vicious planning.

  S8 had made a name for itself over the past months by taking down everything Drew Landon had worked so hard to build, and all because he couldn’t extricate himself from his family.

  Leaving him here might be the kindest thing Gunner could do for him.

  “Gunner, we have to go. Now.” Avery touched his shoulder. “Do you want to take him with us?”

  So much fucking understanding in her voice. He stood, took her hands. “I love you, Avery. Have from the first second I saw you.”

  “I love you too, Gunner. Always will,” she murmured, and they stared at each other, even as the walls began to crack around them.

  “We’ll leave him. He always said he wanted to be buried here. Should get his wish. And we leave him behind. We start new.”

  When he looked back at Landon again, the man had passed. Gunner didn’t know how he knew, but he just did. And the cycle was broken, just like that.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Jem made it out of the building with Drea, Dare and Key just in time to watch the tower where Drea had been for the last day and a half crumple. He glanced behind him and kept running until they were at a safer distance, knowing that Dare and Key had broken off to run back toward the collapsing mansion.

  “Drea, honey.” He put her on the ground, brushed the hair from her face. She was pale. Barely breathing. In shock for sure. He’d suspected as much in the tower, but didn’t want to risk breaking her out of it and having her possibly panic and flail and set the bombs off.

  But now . . . “Come on, you’re okay. You made it. So fucking brave.”

  He rubbed her arms, her face, rough touches meant to bring her back, but she sat like a stone. He took off his jacket that had all the ammo and weaponry in it, wrapped it around her, but she still shivered, even under the warm sun. Not a good sign.

  He looked back and saw no one coming toward them. Grace was texting him, asking for an update.

  He had nothing to tell her. Dare must’ve texted her as they’d gotten free from the building so she wouldn’t worry. At least not any more than what they’d already put her through.

  All he could do was hold Drea, tell her it was okay, over and over, and pray he was right. And finally—fucking finally—the rest of his team appeared. They were running from the building that was leaving a thick cloud of dust in its wake and Jem picked Drea up and began to run toward where they’d left the boat.

  “He wired the ground!” Key was yelling as they all ran, got into the water as Gunner dragged the boat. They were floating maybe ten feet from shore as they watched the grass they’d just run on go up in flames.

  “Jem, lay her down—raise her feet above her heart,” Gunner was saying. Jem grabbed some of the cushions from the seats, threw them on the floor as he lowered her. Avery came over and held up Drea’s legs, as Gunner instructed.

  “Check her, Gun—make sure,” he said as Avery held on to him. “Did you get them?”

  “They’re both dead,” she confirmed. “Drew wasn’t in on it.”

  “Still deserved what he got,” Jem said, and Gunner nodded. “You’re free, Gun. Finally free.”

  Gunner put a hand on Drea’s forehead. “At what cost?”

  “She’ll be okay. She has to be,” Jem said fiercely, because he couldn’t believe anything else. And when they pulled up to the boat, Grace was waiting for them.

  “Coast Guard’s been called. We’re going to have to get ahead of them,” she said.

  “I’ll do it,” Key said, and Dare followed him. The boat started moving as soon as Jem boarded, as he was the last one on. Gunner already had taken Drea downstairs, and he joined them and Avery and Grace as Gunner ran IVs and tried to get her stabilized.

  “She’s been in shock for a while . . . maybe since he wired her,” Gunner said.

  “It’s a wait-and-see, Jem. There’s nothing more a hospital could really do for her, but we can get her to one. I’ll flag down the Coast Guard,” Gunner said.

  “And get caught?”

  “I don’t care,” Gunner said.

  “Gunner, there were safety measures Landon put in place if he died. Pictures of you, proof of your jobs were going to be sent to the CIA,” Jem reminded him.

  “We don’t know if that’s true,” Gunner said. “And even if it is, I’ve disappeared before.”

  Avery nodded her approval, even as she held on to Drea’s hand, brushed her hand over the doctor’s forehead, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

  “It’s a waiting game, Gun. You and I both know that. The hospital won’t do anything more than you can. But thank you,” Jem told him. They all knew he was right.

  Her heart rate was still tachy. Her eyes were unblinking. She wasn’t in pain.

  “Shock’s the body’s way of protecting itself—the mind shuts down when it knows you can’t handle it. This saved her, Jem,” Gunner told him. “She’s going to come out of it.”

  But no one could know that for sure.

  * * *

  Avery found Gunner on the deck, facing the bow. The boat cut through the water at a fast speed, Key behind the wheel and Dare directing him in the dark that had descended.

  They’d made the decision to stay on the water close to shore; that way they could get Drea to a hospital if things worsened.

  They hadn’t. But they hadn’t improved either.

  Jem wouldn’t leave her side. Insisted Avery go check on Gunner.

  Grace grabbed her on the way up, handed her some sandwiches to bring to Gunner and then went to bring some down to Jem.

  “She’s got to be okay, Grace,” Avery said.

  “I know. God, this is so unfair.” Grace looked angry. In the time Avery had known her, she hadn’t really seen that emotion come through. But Avery agreed with the sentiment one hundred percent. “I still want to do Section 8. Just know that—now more than ever.”

  “Me too.” She smiled for a second as she thought about Adele. “Adele would’ve been proud of us, I think.”

  “I know she is proud of us. She’s like our fairy godmother, except she’d kill me for calling her that. Probably literally.” Grace gave her a quick hug. “Go to Gunner. Feed him.”

  Avery did as she was told, looked forward to some quiet time with him, even if it would only be for a few minutes. “Hey, Grace made some food.”

  “Thanks, chère.” He took one of the sandwiches, ate it quickly, then devoured another one. She nibbled on one too as she stared up at the stars.

 
When he’d finished the sandwiches, he drank down the soda too, and then she put all of that aside. She ran her hands over his shoulders, massaged them for a few minutes. He dropped his head forward and she heard the groan of appreciation.

  “If you sit, I can do a better job, Tall Boy,” she told him.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Tall Boy?”

  “It’s a nickname I’m trying out. I could call you G if you like that better.”

  “Don’t you dare,” he warned, and then he sat on one of the deck chairs and leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. She moved behind him again and proceeded to work the kinks out of his shoulders and neck, kneading and caressing until his body was relaxed. As relaxed as it could be under the circumstances.

  It had been forty-eight hours with no changes in Drea’s situation. Forty-eight hours on the boat, with one stop to refuel. From Drea’s side, Jem had been monitoring the situation, checking for blowback on S8 and Gunner especially. So far, it was all quiet. But that didn’t help them in their decision-making process.

  The most important thing was that they were together. Safe. Grace and Dare had put Powell’s money in a separate account, kept it offshore. Even though it was blood money, they planned on doing some good with it. So money wasn’t the issue. They could all disappear if need be.

  But none of them really wanted to. Not now. New Orleans held a special spot in their hearts.

  “She’s awake!” Grace called to them, and she and Gunner went down to the bunk where Drea had been recovering.

  They crowded into the room and Drea blinked at all of them, like someone waking up from a long nap. She looked disoriented. A little pale still, but she appeared to have all her faculties.

  * * *

  Jem had been talking to Drea nonstop, murmuring softly, telling her she was fine, safe, that he would make sure nothing bad happened to her. That it was okay to wake up.

  He told her jokes and stories. He played her music. He slept next to her, when he did allow himself to sleep. Most of the time, he was too busy watching her and monitoring comms to do so.

  When she’d blinked normally the first few times, he’d pretty much held his breath. The monitor showed her heart rate returning to normal, and he took the nasal cannula of oxygen from her and watched her levels.

  Fine. She was fine. She swallowed. Coughed. He handed her water, and her arm went up. She uncapped the bottle and brought it to her mouth and drank. She was a little shaky but overall, coordinated. There was no apparent damage, apart from what she’d been through.

  He called for Grace softly, and she poked her head in. Must’ve called for Gunner and Avery, because they were there in a few moments.

  “Drea, honey, welcome back.”

  She tried to get up but couldn’t. When he moved closer, she put her hands out. “Who the hell are you?”

  His heart squeezed. “My name’s Jem. You were hurt. I’m helping you.”

  She nodded, still looking suspicious. She glanced around at everyone. “Who are they?”

  “These are my friends. They helped you too,” Jem told her.

  She stared at him, her head tilted. “You’ve been here talking to me.”

  “Yeah, the whole time. I never left you.”

  “I don’t . . . Where are we?” She looked around the small cabin.

  “We’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean,” he told her. Everyone else was quietly watching her, the expectation level high. “The mission’s over.”

  “The mission?” she asked.

  “Maybe too soon,” Gunner said, and Jem nodded.

  “Doesn’t matter, Drea. You’re safe, okay?”

  “Okay. But I don’t . . .” She shook her head a little, stared around the room. “I’m okay.”

  She seemed to be saying that to reassure herself more than them. She took more water, smiled a little.

  And then she ripped the rug out from under him by asking, “Did Danny send you? Is he here? He must be worried if something happened to me.”

  Danny. Her Outlaw Angel ex.

  He recalled his psych days, watching the doctors dealing with amnesia patients, had known it could happen to Drea. Had prayed it wouldn’t.

  “Sometimes the mind takes us back to a place in time when we last felt safe,” one of the doctors told him when he’d asked about the causes of amnesia.

  Had Drea never felt safe with him at all? Or had it just not been a long enough time yet to compete with the memory of Danny taking her out of her house and away from all the abuse she suffered at the hands of her parents?

  “Just go with the Danny thing for now,” Gunner murmured. “Don’t freak her out any more.”

  Grace moved over to Drea, said, “Honey, let’s get you to the bathroom, okay? And then we can talk about Danny.”

  “Yes, that’ll be good,” Drea agreed, and Jem let her go. Turned to Gunner and Avery, not knowing what the fuck to say.

  “She wants to go back to Danny. To the OA,” Avery said, her voice low but urgent. “We can’t let that happen.”

  “What do we do—kidnap her again?” Jem asked.

  “It’s for her own good,” Gunner said, and Jem sagged against the wall.

  “Returning her to Danny would get the feds off her case,” Jem said. “Danny would rescind his testimony.”

  “You can’t be serious about letting her go back to him,” Avery said.

  “Keeping her away from him might fuck her up more,” Jem said. “Trust me, Avery—I know about this shit. Seen it firsthand.”

  He stared at the closed bathroom door and wished to hell he knew how to fix this.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Two months later

  Avery lay down on the table in Gunner’s shop. It had been damaged from the bomb, with the shop taking the brunt of the damage. But Jem had hired men to renovate—and fast—and the shop had been redone to look the way he’d left it for the most part, save for some other updates. She’d researched the latest in equipment, gotten him leather tables and chairs, all of which added to the look he’d already created.

  He’d loved it. She’d watched him just walk around the shop for a while, touching the guns and the chairs and the pictures, as though he was making sure it was all real.

  And then he’d finally done the same to her. It was only the two of them in here tonight—he’d booked a private session, he’d told her. But instead of drawing and getting stencils ready, he was sliding a hand under her tank top, kissing her neck, picking her up and placing her on the table so he was standing between her legs.

  “I thought you were tattooing me?” she asked, but she was far from complaining.

  “Got to prepare. Relax. Make sure every inch of your skin’s ready for me,” Gunner murmured. He licked at her collarbone, nipped at her skin and she carded her hands through his dark hair.

  They’d both gone through what seemed like complete transformation the past months. Somehow she’d never felt more like herself. She was complete, and she was done running.

  Gunner was on the same page. If he hadn’t told her—which he had—she’d know it by his kisses, each one a promise. He was tugging down her sweats, pulling off her tank top.

  “Because you have to take it off for the session anyway,” he said seriously.

  “And my pants?”

  “All for your comfort,” he assured her as he dropped them to the floor and dragged a finger gently along her wet sex. She gasped at the jolt of pleasure. “See? Better already?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, because stopping now might kill her. Between the danger and her wounds, just being with him like this hadn’t happened frequently enough. Since the first time she’d let him see her scars, before Landon was caught, the sex had been during stolen, frantic moments.

  His finger slid inside her as his thumb played along her clit. She pulled his head to her, kissed him, tongue sliding along his.

  A second finger slid into her, and her hips rose to meet the touch. He always made her feel li
ke this—aching with need and so completely wanted.

  She moaned into his mouth as they kissed for a while. Then he kissed his way down to her breasts, laved her nipples until they were swollen and tender with arousal, until she was so wet and needful, she clawed at him for more.

  She helped yank his pants down impatiently. Stroked his cock as he groaned. Guided him inside her, then pushed against him so he was forced to enter her quickly. She was on her back and he was standing over her, holding her thighs up, watching her face as he thrust.

  “Fuck yeah, Avery. So tight and wet.”

  “Yes.”

  “For me.”

  “Only. All for you.” Pleasure strummed every inch of her body as her climax built, started with the intense tightening in her belly and spread until her orgasm took away any coherent thoughts. Gunner rocked into her as she contracted around him until he came too, with a shout that sounded like her name. And then he half collapsed onto her as they recovered. And then he began to draw. While he was still on top of her.

  “Should I be offended?” she asked.

  “Did you come?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.” She felt boneless. He smiled, slid off her, covered most of her with a towel. When she looked down, she noted that he’d kept one of her scars exposed. He ran his finger across it, the way she did sometimes. It was only slightly raised and pretty thin, considering how ragged the cut had been.

  “Drea did a good job,” she said, tried to keep the sadness out of her voice, and he nodded. “I promised her I’d fix it further.”

  “I wish we could fix her,” she whispered.

  “Me too.” He pressed his lips to one of the scars. “But this is your night. She’d want this.”

  Although Avery couldn’t claim to know Drea well, she did know her well enough to recognize the truth in Gunner’s words. She knew he would cover the scars so well that the first thing she saw when she looked in the mirror would be his work, not Donal’s.