Cautious: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Candice Wright

  “Mr. Baylor told us to stay here and say nothing, do nothing, and our debts would be forgiven. All we had to do was wander around the property,” he says in a rush, making me look up at my guys.

  “Heat signatures,” Kellen concludes. “He knew there was at least a chance SWAT would get called in. If the place was empty, we would have dismissed it and kept looking. Instead, we wasted a bunch of fucking time here instead,” he spits out angrily.

  “Where is Baylor?” I grit out at Finkle, who is openly crying now.

  “I don’t know, none of us do. He packed his things and left out the back, we… we don’t know anything else. We are just here because we owe him money,” he babbles.

  I look at his friends as they glare at me with a mix of hostility, fear, and pain, knowing the cry baby is right, none of them know jack shit.

  “Fuck!” I yell, kicking over the chair closest to me as I lose what's left of my frayed control. The chair smashes against the wall, bouncing against it so hard, one of the picture frames above it falls and smashes to the floor.

  I pick it up to throw it too, the broken glass slicing into my palm, the pain a welcome relief, when the photo inside it stops me.

  It's of Christian and an older guy shaking hands, standing inside an airport hangar in front of a sleek black private jet with CBE Airways embossed on the side in gold scroll writing. It looked like the kind of plane a rapper would have, but I know how pretentious Christian is.

  “Find out where this plane is,” I bark, handing the picture to Felix before stomping outside, needing to get the fuck out of this place before I really lose my shit in front of everyone.

  I brace my hands on my thighs and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help one fucking bit.

  “You get anything?”

  I look up at the sound of Tate’s voice, finding him staring at me from a few feet away, where he is standing with the big guy from his team.

  “They were decoys. We think they were being used for their heat signatures. Callie, Christian, and his goons are long gone. They don’t know anything useful, but you might want to call a medic or two over.”

  Tate rolls his eyes but indicates for the big guy beside him to do just that.

  “There’s a photo on his wall of a plane with a CBE logo on the side of it. If you had a plane on hand, where would you keep it around here? Because it sure as fuck isn’t on this property.”

  “Let me make a call. Give me a second.” He spins around with his phone in his hand before I can reply.

  I turn to face the house as my guys swap places with the SWAT team once more, swarming out of the house and stomping over to stand beside me.

  “Shit.” I turn back to face Tate at his hissed curse and suck in a breath at the look on his face.

  He stares at me for a beat before dropping the bomb.

  “There is a private airfield about ten miles from here. A plane took off from there three hours ago. A black jet with a gold CBE logo on the side.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Callie

  I wake up feeling sick to my stomach. That’s nothing new, I guess, but the fact that my bed is moving is slightly disconcerting.

  I open my eyes and try to get my bearings, realizing immediately I’m in a different room than before. My head is fuzzy, making the room spin, so I snap my eyes shut again.

  Fuck. I guess it was too much to ask that this was all a fucked-up dream.

  “We will be there in an hour. In and out, then we’ll be off somewhere nobody can find us.”

  I hear Christian's voice from nearby, close but not in the same room. I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. When I don’t hear the door open, I squint my eyes again and do a quick sweep of the room to double-check it's empty. Once I determine I’m alone, I sit up gingerly, hoping to get a better idea of where I am now.

  Once my brain manages to free itself from its sluggish state, two things quickly become apparent. The first being the fact I’ve been drugged again. There is no way they could have moved me without me waking up.

  The second thing is that I’m well and truly screwed. I know this because I see clouds. Big, white, fluffy clouds telling me that not only am I not in the same room as before, I’m not even in the same house. How did he get me on a plane without anyone asking any questions?

  I try to rein in my panic but that’s beyond impossible at this point. I have no idea where I am or how the hell I’m supposed to get free from Christian now. The room begins to spin again as I struggle to suck in enough air.

  The last thing I remember is being given a bottle of water and a sandwich by the woman who had been sent to clean the room. I’d left the sandwich, but the bottle was sealed so I thought I was safe to drink it.

  I can hear Christian talking again in clipped tones that seem to be drawing closer. My chest pulls tight as black spots appear in front of me, my breathing coming in short sharp pants until I feel myself topple over sideways, and then I feel nothing.

  “I don’t want her taking any more of this shit. It won’t do for her to develop a habit.” I hear Christian's voice break through my thoughts, but I don't answer or open my eyes. Fuck him.

  “That is unlikely to happen, although no drugs are one hundred percent safe, Christian. She must just be more susceptible to them than most.”

  I recognize John's tired voice.

  “Well, I need her awake and cognizant so give her something to wake her up and get her fucking ready,” Christian snaps a moment before a door slams shut.

  I hear the doctor sigh and then the rustling of someone looking through a bag. I don’t know what he’s planning on giving me but, whatever it is, I don't want it, so I moan softly and blink my eyes open.

  He turns to look at me, appearing far more disheveled than before and offers me a wry smile. “You’re awake,” he tells me unnecessarily.

  “What happened?” I ask, curious to see what lie he will go with now.

  He looks at me, staring into my eyes without speaking for so long, I start to squirm. “You should get dressed,” he finally answers before turning away.

  Well, thanks for nothing, asshole. I sit up slowly and swing my legs around, sliding them off the edge of the bed just as the door opens again, revealing an angry-looking Christian with a clothing bag slung over his arm. He all but throws it at me before stepping forward and grabbing my jaw in a painful grip.

  “You have twenty minutes to get cleaned up and put on everything inside that bag. If you’re not done by then, I will dress you my fucking self. Don't test me,” he snaps before releasing me.

  His mood swing gives me emotional whiplash but it's nothing compared to the thought of his hands on me. Before I can control my reaction, I gag, and it's only by sheer will that I keep down the vomit I feel crawling up my throat.

  Clearly picking up on my discomfort, he bends down until his face is so close to mine I can feel and smell his whiskey-laced breath upon my skin.

  “You’ll regret that tonight. I could have made it good for both of us, not that I care if you like it or not. It was merely going to be a goodwill gesture, but that little display, along with your blatant lies, just serves as a reminder that you need training. And when better to start than our wedding night?”

  I stare at him in confusion, his words not making sense until they slam into me like a sledgehammer. “Wedding night? Training? Are you out of your mind—” I’m cut off abruptly when the back of his hand flies down in an arc and smashes into my cheekbone. The pain is instant, a burst of blinding white behind my eye before a bone-deep ache takes over the left side of my face.

  I try to scramble away from him, but he reaches out and grabs my hair, yanking me back as a blaze of fire rips through my scalp.

  “Get dressed. You now have fifteen minutes. Don't keep me waiting, Callie. I am not a patient man.” He lets me go with a shove before turning on his heel and leaving once more.

  I don’t try to stem my tears. I don’t think I could if I
tried, but I do turn to look at the man behind me who stood idly by and did nothing.

  "He had cameras in all the rooms. He might have bought your amnesia act if you hadn't tried to escape or arm yourself the second we left the room,” John’s voice informs me, which I guess explains Christian's hostility. “You didn’t speed up the timeline though, this was always his plan. We were only going to stay long enough for Christian to collect his belongings, empty his safe, and set the next part of his plan in motion. You just pissed him off with your lies.”

  I bristle at his words as I gingerly climb off the bed, snagging up the garment bag before moving over to the bathroom. I pause in the doorway, turning to look over my shoulder at John, who is looking at me remorsefully.

  “I don’t know you. I don’t know if you have a wife, a sister, or a daughter at home.”

  He flinches, letting me know he has at least one of them.

  “I can only hope that if they ever find themselves at the hands of a monster, they have someone in their corner that will stand up for them. Someone who would protect them, not stand by while they are abused. I hope that man is a better fucking man than you,” I spit out before walking into the tiny bathroom and closing the door behind me.

  I lean back against it and give in to the tears, promising that if I just let myself have this moment to cry, I’ll be strong again when I need to be. The problem is, I don't want to be strong. I want to curl into a ball and hide under the bed like I used to when I was a little girl.

  Mindful of the time, I lift the bag and lower its zipper. A startled cry escapes when I see what's inside.

  There have been many moments in my life where I was so desperately unhappy or scared. I had often had moments where I thought things couldn’t get any worse. But staring down at the off-white fabric of the wedding dress in my hands reminds me that no matter how bad things are, they can always get worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blake

  “Sir?”

  I turn automatically at the title, realizing belatedly that it's one of the SWAT members calling to Tate.

  I don’t even know why they’re still here. There is nothing they can do in any official capacity, but Tate and his guys decided to stay even after the detectives all too happily left with the black and whites, following behind the prisoners that were en route to the hospital. I’m sure I’ll hear back from the dickhead detective duo when the guys I shot have the bullets pulled from them, but I trust Tate when he says he has it covered.

  “What is it, Gunner?” Tate asks, looking up from the map he’s studying.

  “Soon as we found out a false flight plan had been filed, I put out word to a few friends,” Gunner answers.

  “And?” Tate says distractedly.

  “And one of those friends just called, telling me that a plane matching the description has landed at a private airstrip outside of Vegas.” We all freeze and look at him for a moment before jumping to attention.

  “Vegas? Fuck, I know what he’s planning.” Even though I’m relieved as fuck he hasn’t taken her out of the country, I’m pissed off as hell that I know exactly why he’s landed there.

  “We need a chopper now,” I bark at Arlo who picks up his phone. I know he’ll be calling—Jackson. The guy owes us a favor. If he lets me use one of his choppers, we’ll be even.

  “Shit. By the time we get there, it will be too late.” I grip my hair before kicking the side of the truck.

  “What’s his play here? Why risk Vegas when he could be out of the country by now?” Tate questions.

  “He wants her for a wife. He doesn’t give a shit that she doesn’t want him. He’ll be heading to one of the chapels, although fuck knows how he’s planning on getting her to agree. My woman is as stubborn as the day is long. If she’s smart, she'll create a scene as soon as she’s in a crowded place.”

  But even as I say it, I know she won't put others at risk, not even for her own safety.

  “He could have something over her, something he’s using as a way of forcing her compliance,” Marcus adds.

  “Her mother! Where the fuck is Callie’s actual mother? If Christian has her, he could easily make Callie bend to his orders. It won't matter what kind of state their relationship is in. She won’t just stand by and let him hurt her if she can do something to stop it,” Kellen shouts, drawing all our attention.

  I close my eyes in frustration, I should have fucking thought of that myself.

  “O’Neil, Mathews, go see what you can find out about the mother. Take Kellen with you and call when you have something,” Tate tells two of his men.

  Kellen looks at me for the okay, and when I nod, he leaves with the others.

  “Fuck,” Tate grumbles, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  “What?” I ask, worried he’s just thought of something else I’ve missed.

  “You’re right about us not getting there in time, but I know someone who can be. It means owing them a favor though.” He curses, punching the buttons and holding the phone to his ear.

  “Hey, Raindrop, I need a favor.” I can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying but whatever it is has Tate rolling his eyes.

  “Well, if you take a breath and give me a chance to speak, I’ll be able to tell you.” He pulls the phone away from his ear, and I catch the tail end of a woman calling him a dickless asshat before he shuts her up.

  “A woman is in trouble, Reign, and we can’t get to her in time. Do you remember a guy named Baylor?” He waits a beat before continuing. “Yeah, well, we have reason to believe he’s kidnapped a woman and taken her to Vegas. I’m sure you can imagine how helpful the local PD has been.” He rolls his eyes as he listens to her.

  “We don't know much other than he’ll be heading to one of the thousands of chapels Vegas has to offer. I’ll text you the coordinates of where the plane landed. Maybe you can figure out from there the most likely place he would go.” Tate stops talking abruptly, his face losing the softness from before.

  “One favor and it better be legal,” he snaps, listening to whoever has the phone now. “Fuck you, Bates, put my sister back on.”

  It's quiet again for a moment as he waits. Finally, he relaxes and offers me a nod.

  “Thanks, Rain-drop, we’ll get there as soon as we can. Make sure when they find her that everyone knows to keep their hands to themselves. She’s been through enough and her man here is looking for a reason to kill.” He listens for a moment more before mumbling, “I love you too,” and hanging up. Tate sighs. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “What—” I’m cut off when Arlo interrupts from behind me.

  “Jackson says to tell you, you’re lucky his wife likes you and that they had a situation nearby that needed some attention. He has someone bringing two birds over, should be here in ten. We need to move to the pasture out back where there is enough space for them to land.

  “He okay?” Jackson is one of five guys who own London's premier nightclub, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg of what they do. Jackson and the guys have their fingers in so many pies, I’m surprised they manage to keep their shit straight or their wife happy. Maybe that’s why it takes five of them. I brush that thought away. Gracie is a sweetheart and if they make her happy, who the fuck am I to judge?

  “Yeah, they’re all good,” Arlo answers without hesitation.

  “Thank fuck for that at least.” They had already had their share of bad luck.

  I turn back to Tate and watch him pack up his shit as he talks quietly to his guys. They listen to whatever he has to say before nodding and walking away, leaving just Tate and Gunner behind.

  “All those contacts at your disposal and you have to call your sister?” I comment as we all make our way through the house to the pasture out back. “It's not that I’m not grateful, but Christian won't be alone, and I don’t want your sister getting caught up in the crossfire.”

  Tate laughs at that, but I don't find anything funny ab
out it. Underestimating Christian is what got us to this point in the first place.

  “Reign is safe, don’t you worry about that. She has the protection of a whole MC behind her,” he tells me, making me blink.

  “What?” How does that work when I know Tate comes from a family of cops?

  “You heard of the Kings of Carnage?”

  I nod. Everyone's heard of the Kings of Carnage. They have chapters all over the country. The mother chapter, in particular, has a brutal reputation of dealing with their own in the harshest ways possible.

  “Tell me Callie will be safe and I’m not throwing her from the frying pan into the fire,” I bark at him.

  “If there is one thing those guys won't tolerate, it’s harm coming to women or children. I might not like their methods, but Callie won't find herself anywhere safer until you get there.”

  “And you trust these guys?” I question as I spot two choppers approaching.

  “To keep her safe, yes,” he hedges. “Look, they love my sister and would kill anyone who so much as breathed on her. They might live by a set of rules I don't agree with, but with this, yes, I trust them completely.”

  We don’t talk after that, the propeller blades whirling through the air making it too difficult to hear anything else.

  I climb into the backseat of the chopper closest to me, letting Marcus take the front as Arlo and Felix climb in beside me. Once we are all strapped in, we take off, watching as Conner and Gunner climb into the second chopper. I’m going to owe this man and his whole team a beer when this is over. I look down at the monstrosity of a house as it gets smaller the farther we climb and say a quick prayer.

  Part of me is terrified, imagining what Callie is going through at the hands of a madman. The other part of me refuses to think about the what-ifs and focus on what matters. Callie won’t give up, and I’ll be damned if I do either. I won’t stop until she’s home, back in my bed and my heart, where she belongs.