by Lili Valente
She wasn’t Harley and that was the only thing that gave him the strength to shout, “Stand up, Cutter, with your hands up. Reach for a weapon and you’re dead.”
Cutter’s attention snapped to where Clay stood, the woman forgotten as he surged to his feet with an incoherent sound of rage. The other man glanced Clay and Foster’s way, but he was apparently too far gone to stop. He kept pistoning into the poor girl, who was now coughing and gasping for air, for a few more desperate thrusts before he came with a high pitched groan that made Clay’s trigger finger itch.
If Cutter hadn’t chosen that moment to rush him, Clay would have been tempted to put a bullet through the other man’s limp dick, just to make sure he never raped another woman with it.
Instead, he shifted his aim and shot Cutter in the chest.
It was a bullet straight to the heart—intended to kill, not wound—and it was entirely fucking satisfying. Clay had killed before, but never with such utter lack of remorse, let alone satisfaction. But as he watched Cutter fall to his knees, eyes narrowing in a shocked glare as he clutched at his chest, where blood was already beginning to pulse through his fingers, Clay wanted to lean down and laugh in the man’s face.
Or shoot him twice more and then ask him how it felt to take three bullets at the same time as the light faded from his eyes.
Instead, he shifted his aim to where Cutter’s friend was hitching his pants around his waist and lifting his hands into the air. “I give up, man. I surrender. Don’t shoot.”
“Back away from the girl,” Foster said, moving across the gravel to where the woman Cutter and his friend had attacked was crawling, sobbing, toward the fountain on her hands and knees.
“Turn around,” Clay said. “Face the hedge with your arms over your head.”
As the man obeyed, Foster tucked his weapon into his holster, stripped off his jacket, and bent to help the woman to her feet. He had just settled the coat around her shoulders and was softly assuring her that she was safe when a shadow separated itself from the other side of the fountain.
The man must have been standing in the water, hidden behind the large ornamental lily pads that made up the center of the bronze structure.
He came out with his hands up, but he was moving too fast. The speed made Clay’s gut scream “danger” even as the part of him that refused to shoot a defenseless person demanded he hold his fire. Before one side could win out, the man screamed—
“Behind you!”
Clay spun, but it was too late. There was already a thick arm around his throat, jerking to one side as the man behind him tried to break his neck with his bare hands.
He fell, going down hard, his shoulder hitting the earth with enough force to send a flash of agony through his ribcage and knock his gun from his hand. Meanwhile, the man on top of him adjusted his grip, locking Clay’s throat in the crook of his arm and squeezing.
Almost immediately the world began to go black. He bucked hard, trying to throw the man off, but he was in no position to gain any leverage and he knew Foster wouldn’t be able to get a clean shot. Clay flexed his neck muscles, fighting for another sip of air, but he was seconds from losing consciousness when the man on top of him suddenly grunted in surprise and his hold on Clay’s neck loosened enough for him to wrench free.
He rolled away across the ground, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, waiting until he’d put distance between him and the man who’d tried to choke him to death before he vaulted to his feet. Jerking one of his stolen guns from his waistband, he turned to see a slight man in dark clothes and a dog mask with his arm locked around his attacker’s throat.
“This is my move, jackass! Now lay down and pass out.”
The mask muffled her voice, but it didn’t matter. Clay would know that voice, and that feral growl as she rode a man twice her size to the ground, anywhere.
It was Harley, alive, in one piece. Thank God.
Chapter Twenty
Harley
Gritting her teeth, she squeezed harder, desperate to neutralize the latest threat and get the hell out of the maze with Clay.
Clay was alive! Alive!
He was alive and here and reaching around her to lock his hands around Cutter’s goon’s throat.
“I’ve got him,” he said, the relief in his voice making her chest hitch. “I’ve got him, you can let go. Are you okay?”
Harley slid off of the man, wrenching her mask off and tossing it to the ground before swiping the sweat from her upper lip. “I’m fine. Where’s Jasper?”
“Safe with the extraction team.”
“Thank God,” she said, her entire body beginning to tremble with relief. “Oh thank God.”
“What about you?” Clay grunted as he leaned forward, applying enough pressure to make the man squirming beneath him go limp. “Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. Marlowe offered half a million dollars to whoever could kill me with their bare hands, but I stole a man’s clothes and mask and got away.”
“Good,” Clay said, shoulders sagging as his hands left the man’s throat and he reached for her. “God, I was so scared.”
“Me too.” She went into his arms, letting him pull her into his lap. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you I love you again and I hated myself for it.”
“Don’t hate yourself,” he said, squeezing her tight. “I love you, too. I love you so much and I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and pressed her forehead to his chest. “I know you can’t do that, but knowing you want to is enough.”
“I do.” Clay pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You smell like piss.”
A sound—half sob, half laugh—burst from her throat. “I know. I think the man I stole the pants from pissed himself.”
“You’re amazing,” he said, standing with her still in his arms.
She glanced up at him. “I’m not amazing. I was desperate.”
“You’re smart is what you are. And resourceful. And amazing.”
“You can put me down,” she said, smiling when Clay shook his head.
“Not a chance.” He carried her toward the fountain, where Lewis was standing with his hands up beside another CIA agent-looking-type and a girl wearing nothing but a jacket and a shell-shocked expression. “Foster, this is Harley. Harley, Foster, my backup.”
“Nice to meet you, Harley. This is Amanda. She was brought in to entertain at the party, but she would like to leave with us.” Foster nodded toward Lewis. “This one is Marlowe’s, but he says he wants to turn himself in.”
“I’ll testify against Marlowe, serve time, whatever I need to do to get out,” Lewis said, gaze shifting to Harley. “I just need a promise that my kids will be taken care of. My wife died last year. They don’t have anyone else to take care of them.”
“He helped me,” Harley said, pushing on Clay’s chest until he put her down. “I might not have survived without Lewis. He helped me hide and drew Cutter and the rest of them away.”
“Then I’ll do whatever has to be done to get you immunity,” Clay said, holding out a hand that, after a moment, Lewis tentatively clasped. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Lewis said raising his voice as the air filled with the urgent thrum thrum thrum of a copter coming in fast. “It was the right thing to do. It felt good to do the right thing again.”
“We should get out to the lawn,” Foster said, glancing toward the sky. “Let them see we’re here and ready for extraction.”
“I know the way out,” Lewis offered. “We can be there in five minutes.”
Clay nodded as he pulled a second gun from the back of his jeans. “Lewis, you go in front of me, lead the way, and don’t give me a reason to shoot you.” He pressed the spare gun into Harley’s hand. “Take this and stay close. Foster will watch our backs. This is for your protection and
Amanda’s if you can keep an eye on her as we go.”
“Of course.” Harley put a gentle hand on Amanda’s back, guiding the obviously traumatized girl forward as the men started to move. “Keep an eye out. Marlowe is in the maze, Clay. At least he was. And he was unarmed. One of the rules of the game was that no one could bring weapons. If we run into him on the way out, he’ll be defenseless. We could take him out without breaking a sweat.”
“We’re not here to play vigilante,” Foster said from behind her. “If we run into Marlowe, we’ll give him the chance to turn himself in. With your son alive to testify against him, we can get him on kidnapping if nothing else. That’s enough to hold him.”
“Your son will never live to take the stand,” Lewis said softly, his voice barely audible beneath the crunch of the men’s shoes moving across the gravel. “If you get a shot you should take it.”
The words sent a chill down Harley’s spine. Lewis was right and as their guide, he was in the best position to put a bullet in Marlowe.
Silently, Harley vowed to toss her gun to Lewis the moment he had a clear shot. He’d saved her life and he had two little boys of his own who might not live to see adulthood if Marlowe was allowed to keep breathing.
She was on edge the entire way out, poised to call Lewis’s name and toss him the gun, but they emerged from the maze without seeing another soul. Outside, aside from the helicopter touching down next to the rose garden, the lawn was equally deserted.
Clay stood back, motioning her and Amanda ahead of him as he shouted, “Go on and get on board, I’ll squeeze in if there’s room. I don’t know how many seats they have. We weren’t expecting the extra passengers.”
Harley nodded, hating the thought of leaving him behind though logically it seemed like the danger had passed. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when the pilot motioned Clay and Foster on board, tucking them both onto a drop down seat next to the helicopter door.
Less than five minutes after running from the maze, they were airborne.
Harley turned to gaze out the window, finally beginning to believe that everyone she loved was going to escape Marlowe’s estate in one piece when she saw a figure in a pair of black track shorts run out of the greenhouse and turn to aim a gun the size of a small canon at the chopper.
“It’s Marlowe!” she screamed, praying someone would hear her over the churning of the propellers. “He’s got an anti-aircraft missile! He’s going to shoot us down!”
Clay’s eyes widened and he lunged toward the pilot’s seat. Harley saw him reach for the controls and dared to hope the chopper was equipped with some kind of firepower that could mow Marlowe down where he stood.
The thought was barely through her head when the copter jerked hard and suddenly began to fall.
Acting on instinct, she tucked her knees to her chest, curling into a ball in her seat as the helicopter began to spin in circles, careening wildly as it pin-wheeled toward the ground. The last thing she saw before impact was a flash of Clay’s face as he turned and reached for her.
And then there was heat and pain and blackness, swooping in to smother the world away.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clay
Clay was the first one awake, coming to only twenty-four hours after the crash. Lewis was second, regaining consciousness long enough to learn that his children had been taken into protective custody before sinking back into a semi-comatose state that worried the doctors.
But not as much as they were worried about their other patients.
Foster was hanging on by a thread, Amanda’s EEG suggested extensive brain damage, and Harley and Marlowe had lost so much blood that they’d both required multiple transfusions.
Marlowe had been hit by the helicopter he’d shot down. It was poetic justice, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Once he was allowed on his feet, Clay spent his time walking between Harley’s guarded room and Marlowe’s, vowing to kill the bastard with his own hands if Harley didn’t wake up. On day four, Marlowe suffered a stroke and died—the result of extensive damage to the brain and a resulting aneurysm—but the sight of the man’s slack face and empty eyes brought Clay no relief.
There was only one thing, one person, who could bring him relief, and so far her eyes remained closed.
On day six, he took Jasper into Harley’s room, hoping that hearing her son’s voice would succeed where hearing his had failed. He hadn’t wanted to scare Jasper, but he was getting desperate. Every day that passed reduced the likelihood that Harley would ever wake up again.
Seeing Jasper hold Harley’s hand gently—just the way he’d been told—and tell her all of the things he’d been doing with his new grandma, who had flown to Stockholm as soon as she learned of the crash, broke Clay’s heart. But if Harley could hear her son, she gave no visible sign.
On day eight, Clay’s mother convinced him to leave the hospital long enough to grab a proper shower at her hotel and change into clothes she’d bought him. But as soon as he tossed the scrubs he’d borrowed into the dirty clothes and promised Jasper he wouldn’t leave his mama’s side until she woke up, he was back out the door.
Days nine and ten passed in a blur of phone calls from his mother begging him to let her buy him a ticket back to the States. She wanted to take Jasper home and get him settled, but Clay knew neither he nor Jasper would be able to return to day-to-day life until they knew if Harley was coming with them.
She had to come with them.
He hadn’t come this far to lose her now.
On day eleven, he pulled his chair up to her bedside and took her hand the way he always did, but this time he couldn’t bring himself to keep his conversation light and easy the way the doctors had instructed.
There was nothing light or easy about watching the woman you love waste away in front of your eyes. Nothing easy about holding your son while he cried and begged you to bring his mama back.
So this time he didn’t tell her about his day or stories from his past or memories from their time together in Virginia.
This time, he told her the scary, beautiful truth.
“I want to talk to you about this kid we have,” he said, pressing her hand between his, willing his heat into her cold skin. “He is the bravest, best, sweetest person I’ve ever met. In fact, he’s so amazing, I’ve decided I need at least three more just like him.”
He laughed softly. “And that’s all your fault. You did a hell of a job with him. A hell of a job. There’s nothing dark in that kid, not a single shadowy corner. You should be so proud. I know I am.”
Clay paused, pressing his lips together as he traced a gentle pattern on the back of her hand and fought for control. He knew it was crazy, but it felt like this was his last chance, that if he left her bedside tonight without seeing her wake up, her eyes would never open again.
He swallowed, waiting until his throat unclenched before going on. “And I never got to tell you that. I mean, I’m telling you now, but I want to tell you while I’m looking into those big blue eyes. I want to tell you while I’m kissing you and telling you I love you and we’re making more beautiful babies together. Because I— I don’t know—”
His features tensed, the skin around his face drawing in as he fought to keep from breaking down. “I don’t know how to go on without you. A month ago, all I wanted was to raise Jasper alone, but now the thought scares the shit out of me. I’m so afraid I’ll fuck it up, that I’ll ruin all the good things you started and turn him into an asshole. Like me.”
He brought Harley’s hand to his forehead as his eyes slid closed. “I’m so sorry I hurt you again. I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust. If you’ll come back to me, I swear I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I deserve a second chance.”
The tears he’d been fighting slipped through his closed eyes to swim down his cheeks. “You can lock me in a sensory deprivation cell or make me hike naked through the jungle, whatever you want. I just need you to come back. I need that n
ight you promised me.”
“Just…one night?”
At the sound of her sleep-rough voice, Clay’s eyes flew open and his head snapped up, his throat working as he saw her gaze fixed on his face. “You’re awake.”
“Had to…wake up,” she said, lips curving gently. “You said one night, but I want them all.”
Clay’s breath rushed out even as his chest clenched tight. “You can have them. Every last one. Let me go get the doctors. They’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
“No,” Harley said, tightening her grip on his hand. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me again.”
“I won’t. I promise.” He squeezed her fingers before reaching out to press the nurse call button though he knew from experience that it would take them at least three minutes to respond. “I won’t leave ever again.”
“You promise?” she said. “Even if I decide to fight with you once I’m feeling better?”
His lips curved even as fresh tears filled his eyes. “Even if you decide to fight with me. Hell, I’d rather fight with you than make love to anyone else.”
“Sicko,” she said, but she was smiling. And she was awake and she refused to let go of his hand, even when the nurses bustled in and then the doctors, all of them asking him to step away from the bed.
But even fresh from a coma Harley was more stubborn than the entire hospital staff put together. It was one of the things he loved about her.
She was prickly and stubborn and an expert at getting herself into trouble, but she was also fierce and protective and pretty damned good at getting back out of trouble again. She was also passionate, loving, and on those rare occasions when she let her guard down, heartbreakingly sweet.
“I kept thinking about what you said that night in Prague,” Clay said when they were alone again, waiting for his mother to bring Jasper to the hospital. “About the way love works.”
“Oh yeah?” Harley blinked, clearly sleepy but unwilling to rest until she’d seen their son.