Flash Point

by Brooke Blaine

  And then she felt like she was going to be sick.

  Because even through the fog of her sleep-addled brain, the image of the tattoo had gotten through. The tattoo she’d seen wasn’t just some random image.

  It was the symbol of the missing ring.

  JASON PULLED HIS car onto a darkened side street and shut it off. Even without the tracker he’d set on Steven’s phone, he would’ve guessed he was being held here. A large, rusted warehouse sat empty at the end of the road in downtown Atlanta, with two cars sitting in the back parking lot.

  Only two…he must think I’d never come after them.

  And why would he? Steven meant nothing to him. In fact, Jason disliked the guy. But then he’d gotten the call, the one that said her father had been captured too. He’d taken one look at Katherine’s sleeping face next to him, so innocent and pure in her slumber, and he couldn’t let it go on anymore. Things had gone too far, and it was time to put a stop to it all.

  Keeping to the shadows, he swiftly made his way down the street to the warehouse without detection. Cameras were set up around the perimeter, but he didn’t bother disabling them. He didn’t give a shit if they knew he was coming or not.

  After punching in the code to the back door, it unlocked and he slipped inside. Though he didn’t give a fuck about detection, the element of surprise would be a nice thing to have in his favor. Again, he stayed in the shadows, wanting to scope out the number of men he’d have to take out. And yeah, he would have to take them out to get to what he wanted.

  Two of them were at a table sharing a pizza and a smoke, when a third walked over and hit one upside the head.

  “What the fuck?” he yelled, leaping to his feet, the chair flying back behind him.

  “Wanna tell me why the dad has a shiner and one of his shoulders is twisted out of the socket?”

  Oh fuck. Jason’s eyes narrowed in on the man still sitting at the table, who piped up, “Man, you said he wouldn’t fight back, but that bastard was a harder take than he shoulda been. And what’s it matter anyway, he’s a dead man walking.”

  Number three said, “He’s got a few decades on you, and the matter is, boss said bring him in unharmed. That should be enough of an incentive.”

  “Unharmed for now.” Number two snorted.

  “Tell me you didn’t completely fuck up and you took care of the guards?” three asked.

  Two looked offended. “Of course we fucking took care of it. What the hell is your problem, Torres?”

  Torres moved closer, his hand lifted to backhand number two, and Jason took the gun from his waistband. He didn’t need to hear any more, and these three were about to make his job easy. They probably weren’t the only ones on deck, but there weren’t likely more than one or two others.

  He clicked the safety off, aimed, and fired three shots, each hitting the men in their foreheads before they could reach for their weapons. The two standing dropped like sandbags to the floor, and the third slumped over in the chair. He waited for the inevitable retaliation and saw movement out of his periphery. Ducking just as a bullet grazed overhead, he fired a shot in the direction of the shadow and heard a cry of pain before the shooter fired off another round in his direction. It missed him by a foot, and he ran across the open space, shots ringing out around him, but failing to connect with his body. Fitting his shoulder against a pillar, he waited, daring the man to come out and play.

  A savage smile crossed his lips when he heard a gun cock behind him, a new player coming into the mix. Judging by the sound, he wasn’t far behind.

  Without warning, Jason bent down and kicked backward at the same time the gun was fired, knocking the guy in the groin. Taking advantage of his opponent’s falter, he whipped him across the face with his weapon. The man stumbled as more shots rang out around them, and Jason bolted back behind the pillar before firing off his own weapon at the pistol-whipped man.

  Silence.

  Four down. At least one to go.

  His eyes searched the dark warehouse, waiting for movement.

  Come on…maybe I’ll give you a good fight before I kill you.

  There—on his right. Movement by the wall.

  A figure taller than he was crept closer to where he stood, his eyes scanning for Jason.

  There you go…here, pussy, pussy.

  Jason had a clear aim to his head now, but he was spoiling for a fight. Leaping out, he kicked the man in the chest, the gun flying out of his hands and sending him tumbling backward. Jason put his gun in the back of his waistband and smiled, waiting for the guy to recover his balance and come at him. The man quickly got back to his feet and then stopped when he got a good look at Jason. “What the fuck. What are you do—”

  He didn’t even get the words out before Jason’s fist connected with his jaw, effectively stopping the words he didn’t want to hear from coming out of his mouth.

  Clearly angered, the man puffed up his chest and charged at Jason, aiming for his stomach. The guy grabbed him around the waist, trying to knock him down, but Jason wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing off his air supply. The guy let go and Jason followed suit, wanting more. A punch was thrown his way, then another, but he ducked both before placing an uppercut square on the other man’s jaw. The man retaliated and sent a kick to his chest. Jason staggered back once and then straightened, cracking his neck from side to side and giving the guy an evil smile.

  “If you’re lucky, I might even let you land a punch,” he told the guy.

  “Fuck you, you trai—”

  He punched the guy again, this time with his left hand, which he clearly hadn’t been anticipating. Blood streamed from his mouth, but he spat it on the ground and shook it off. They circled each other, making jabs and kicks consistently, landing solid blows every now and again.

  It was like a high, beating a man. Somewhere deep down, he knew that was a fucked-up thing to think, and it should’ve bothered him that the thought of being his father’s son popped into his head in that moment. Disgust filled his gut, and he went at the guy, landing blow after blow, not stopping even after he lifted his hands in surrender.

  Jason finally pulled back when the man began to waver on his feet, and it was clear the other guy had had enough. He then pulled out his gun and shot him once. That was all it took, and then he was off in search of the two men he’d come for.

  KATHERINE SAT THERE, stunned.

  There was no way. No way it could be real.

  But the more the haze of sleep left her, the more the dread set in.

  Jason couldn’t be connected to that family. He couldn’t. He’d always protected her, watched over her. She’d fallen for him, confiding in him things she’d never told another soul.

  No, maybe it was a coincidence. She thought back over the night, trying to find any hole that didn’t make sense. The lights had been off and the curtain closed, and they’d only undressed once they’d gotten to her bedroom. He’d kept her pinned to the mattress, or straddled on top of him, so she’d never gotten a good look at him below his hips.

  That wasn’t enough to convince her, but what had he said about his family? He’d joined the military to escape his family. Surely he didn’t mean a family as notorious and dangerous as the Grahams.

  No, she thought. No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

  But it was right there staring her in the face. Her heart was beating so loud, she was surprised Kirkpatrick couldn’t hear it from where he sat on the couch.

  Wait—was he in on this? And what about Thompson and Rhodes?

  Panic set in, the instinct to fight or flee causing her to jump up out of her chair.

  She had to get out of there. She had to tell her father what was going on, but what if their phones were being tapped?

  Shit.

  She could just drive to her father’s house, but if Jason was gone, that meant he’d taken the car. But hers was still over by her old apartment a few blocks away…

  My keys…I need my keys.

/>   They were probably in one of the bedrooms. Jason’s, if she had to wager.

  She opened her door and peered out to the empty hallway before crossing over into Jason’s room, twisting the handle as she pushed it shut so the jamb wouldn’t click. Then she turned around to face the bare room.

  It was immaculate. The bed was crisply made, and if she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought no one stayed here. The chest of drawers was her first stop, and she opened every single one, but her keys weren’t in any of them. Under the bed, under the mattress. Nothing. Opening the closet, she saw a small row of pristine suits lined up, and a suitcase sat in the corner. Pulling it out, she unzipped it and checked each pouch inside. A jingling came from one of them, and she reached inside and pulled the item out. Her keys. Oh thank God. Her phone was still nowhere to be found, but she’d just have to take Kirkpatrick’s.

  Fuck. What do I do about him?

  After stuffing the suitcase in the closet where she’d found it, she went back to her room and changed into jeans, a hoodie, and her sneakers, making sure to grab her sketch of the tattoo before heading to the kitchen.

  “You still up?” she heard Kirkpatrick call out.

  “I was just gonna grab a glass of water,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral as to not give away what was about to go down. She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do, but then she remembered that he could be playing a part in the whole thing, and her resolve bit back any feelings of remorse.

  “Another Coke would be great, if you wouldn’t mind,” he said.

  “Not at all.” She opened one of the cabinets and took out a frying pan as quietly as she could. Then she made a show of opening and shutting the fridge. The handle of the pan was sliding in her sweaty grip, but she clenched it tighter, holding it behind her back. Kirkpatrick was still perched on the end of the couch, his back to her. Saying a silent prayer, she moved close enough to take aim, and when he turned around, she said, “This might hurt,” before swinging the pan around and knocking him in the head.

  A STRING OF curses left his mouth when he found them.

  Steven and Katherine’s father sat bound and gagged in chairs in the middle of a small room, sitting side by side. Rushing over, he took the gag out of the older man’s mouth first, followed by Steven’s, and asked, “How many men were there?”

  “Five,” the Justice said weakly, wincing through obvious pain. “I saw five.”

  “Good.” Jason pulled out his cell, dialed 911, and gave them a quick rundown and the address of the warehouse. He made swift work of loosening the Justice’s bound wrists before cutting through the rope on the chair by his ankles. “They said your shoulder is out of joint, so try not to move it before the ambulance gets here.”

  As he began to work on Steven’s knots, Justice Shaw said, “Katherine. Where is she?”

  “Katherine’s fine and safe with Kirkpatrick,” Jason said briskly.

  “You killed them all.”

  There was something akin to awe in the man’s voice, and Jason refused to meet his gaze.

  “Yes. I did. Hopefully you won’t have to try me for that.” When he began unraveling the knot around Steven’s ankle, his phone rang. The screen showed Katherine’s cell phone number. What the hell was she doing snooping for her damn phone?

  “How did you get this number?” he asked, pulling the rope free from Steven and standing up.

  “Is she with you?” Kirkpatrick’s frantic voice came over the line.

  Jason stilled. “You are not referring to who I think you are.”

  “Garrett, she knocked me out with a damn frying pan, and when I came to, she was gone.”

  His hands gripped the phone so hard, it was a surprise it didn’t shatter. Walking away so he was out of earshot of the men he’d rescued, he bit out, “What the fuck do you mean she’s gone? Where did she go?”

  “I don’t think it was a midnight jog.”

  “Christ,” he said, hitting his fist against the wall. “Shit is going down, and you’re telling me Katherine is fucking missing?” He hit the wall again.

  “I’m calling Thompson now, and…”

  Fucking lot of good that’ll do, he thought, tuning the incompetent man out. A text beeped through his phone then, and he glanced down at it. Then he did a double take of the picture that had just come through.

  Shock wasn’t something he experienced often, if ever, but as he held the phone up to look at the image on the screen for a third time, he realized it for what it was—pure and utter fucking shock. And in this case, it was not a good thing.

  Opening up the tracker on Kirkpatrick’s phone, he watched the blip on the screen making its way across the map to a very inconvenient location.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he said, and shut his phone off before striding back into the room. “Cops are on their way. Give them everything you can remember.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” Steven asked, his voice panicked.

  “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “Garrett,” the Justice called when he walked away. “Garrett—thank you.”

  Jason shook his head to himself, his jaw clenched, as he made his way back to his car. The man wouldn’t be fucking thanking him for long.

  AN HOUR LATER, Katherine squealed into the circular drive of her father’s house, jumped out, and ran up the stairs. Then she barreled through the front door before stopping abruptly.

  The door had been unlocked. Not such a strange thing if he was home, but she figured his bodyguards would’ve been as anal as hers. The house was dark and silent, eerily so. Why are all the lights off? Okay, maybe that was weird.

  “Dad,” she called out, but got no response.

  She listened for any sound of movement, but it was still. A tingle of fear shot down her spine, and she crept along the hallway, keeping her mouth shut this time. The smart thing to do would be to leave. To listen to her gut instinct and get the hell out. But where was her father?

  When she reached the bookshelves that hid the panic room, she stopped and opened one of the drawers. Sure enough, there it was—the gun her father had kept there since that night five years ago, loaded and at the ready. Her hand shook as she brushed her fingers over it, debating about whether to pick it up. The silence scared her, though, and she wrapped her hand around the pistol grip and took it out of the drawer.

  Carrying it by her side, she crept down the hall, nerves fluttering through her stomach. They were probably in the backyard, she thought, trying to make her racing heart calm down. Nothing here to worry about…nothing at all—

  But then she rounded the corner of the living room, and her heart stopped.

  Her breath caught as she ran over to where Thompson and Rhodes were both lying facedown on the ground, blood seeping out from what looked like bullet wounds.

  “Oh my God,” she said, one of her hands covering her mouth as she forced back the scream that wanted to come up. Frantically, she looked around, praying that she wouldn’t see her father, that he wouldn’t be anywhere in the house. A quick scan showed he wasn’t in the room.

  She bent down with shaking hands to check for a pulse from the men on the floor, but she couldn’t feel one from either of them. As her breath hitched, she bit back a cry, struggling to her feet to check her father’s office. The door was cracked.

  I can’t open this door. I can’t do it.

  If her whole world was about to come to an end, she didn’t want to know.

  Oh God.

  But what if he was in there and still alive? Taking a shaking breath, she pushed the door open. He wasn’t there.

  A brief sense of relief, as out of place as it was, came over her, and she sagged against the door. She switched the gun to her other hand to wipe the sweat off before straightening and heading for the kitchen. A walk-through showed he wasn’t there either.

  She pulled Kirkpatrick’s phone out of her pocket and dialed 911, but the phone went black.

  What?

&nbs
p; She hit the power button and the screen lit up briefly before a flashing battery popped up on the screen and it turned black again.

  Shit shit shit. Of course it picked that very moment to die. Of course it did.

  She glanced over to the corner of the kitchen where her mom used to keep an old-fashioned rotary phone, but her father had deemed it useless in the age of mobile phones and had gotten rid of it. Maybe one of the bodyguards had their phones on them, but the thought of going back in the living room and seeing them lying there made nausea fill her gut.

  Oh God, what now?

  A flash of heat swept over her body, burning her from the inside out, and she had to wipe the sweat off her upper lip and then her brow. Her vision turned white around the edges, and she grasped at the kitchen island as her knees began to buckle.

  No…no, please not now. Please.

  Her heart hammered and skipped in her chest, the attack coming fierce and fast. Laying her body across the countertop, she closed her eyes, letting the cold granite against her skin shock her from the panic.

  You’re stronger than this. Get Thompson’s phone. Call for help. Get up, Katherine.

  Silent tears fell as she fought to steady her breathing, forcing gulps of air into her lungs. The tightness in her chest began to ease, and—

  Wait—the panic button. Yes…oh thank God. That would bring the police sooner than trying to find the bodyguard’s phones.

  Lifting herself off the bar, she wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. It took her two tries to push the cell back into her jeans pocket, and then she reached for the wall, her hand keeping contact as she headed back to the hall. When she stood in front of the bookcase, she reached for the large nondescript green hardback, and a chill came over her.