Bracken thought about Huntley, waiting for him back at his cabin. “I hear you, man.”
“What gave it away?”
“What? You being the law?”
“Yeah.”
Bracken zipped up his leather jacket. “A hunch.”
“No fucking way. Damn, you’re one perceptive motherfucker. Glad you beat me to it and figured things out. Fuck all glad we’re on the same side.”
“See ya around.”
“Tener una buena vida, Juan,” Truman responded in perfect Spanish.
* * *
The Warehouse was eerily quiet, despite it being just past closing time. Huntley couldn’t recall it ever being like this, not with the masses of testosterone that always seemed to be harnessed within.
Like the panic she was trying desperately to hold in. The front door had been open...but where was Aiden? She’d called him multiple times while on the bus, to no avail. She’d also left a long-winded message for Bracken, explaining where she’d gone and why. She’d even texted him that she’d arrived. He was going to totally lose it, which was the only thing she was certain about.
As for Stefan and the Russians, she hoped to hell they weren’t around at this late hour. And if they were, she’d act like nothing monumental had occurred. Act like she didn’t know what a lying, cheating weasel Stefan was, and that the Russians were dealing drugs. They seemed to like her enough, right? With luck, she’d locate Aiden and drag him back to Reno to wait on Bracken.
Shame luck was starting to feel like an unachievable endeavor for the Wittaker family.
Well, I’ll always have my wits to carry me, she reminded herself.
She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. Chances were good that Bracken had already apprehended Stefan, right?
Silently, she worked her way around the dark Warehouse. No luck in here, but there was still the Hall to contend with. The double doors were opened slightly, enough space for her to squeeze through without the fear of creating any unnecessary noises. Like the Warehouse, the Hall was pitch black. The cage empty. The darkened bar loomed off by the wall. The open space was empty and silent.
Which left the hallway leading into the storage area.
On her first step into the narrow space, goosebumps pricked up on the skin of her arms. Although there was no outward signs of trouble, something wasn’t right. Something instinctual rather than rational. She inhaled sharply, and took a step backward. Then, she gagged, catching a whiff of it. Stale 1980s drugstore cologne. The same kind that had lingered in the air outside her apartment the night of the break-in.
Mental alarm bells sounded, You’re not alone, before her gaze confirmed it, falling on a shadowy shape lying against the wall farther down the darkened hallway.
Blond hair. Aiden’s blond hair. She hurried toward the figure hunched over with his head down. As she drew nearer, she stumbled. Not from clumsiness but from absolute fear. Was he breathing?
“Aiden?” she whispered, brushing the golden locks from his face.
His head snapped up and their eyes met.
She snatched her hand back like it had been burned.
Not Aiden.
Robert.
Figured he’d show up like a bad penny.
He rolled his eyes up toward her. “You fucking bitch. Did you set this up?”
She ignored his accusation and demanded, “Have you seen Aiden?”
The double doors reverberated off of the steel walls like they’d been carelessly flung wide open. Placing her finger in front of her mouth, she hushed Robert. Then with a burst of speed, she sprinted for the only place to hide—the storage closet.
Once inside, she ducked behind a cluster of Heineken kegs.
“You still alive?” a familiar voice demanded. Stefan. She frowned in confusion.
“I can take a beating.”
Huntley crinkled her noise in disgust, knowing just what a bald-faced lie that was. But the sound of fists on flesh caused her to sit up straighter.
“How’s that for a beating?”
A gurgling noise followed.
Time passed. Seconds. Minutes. Hours, it seemed. Was Aiden out there, somewhere? And where was Bracken?
“Asshole. Even Huntley’s got a better technique,” Robert foolishly spat out.
“Keep talking about that cunt and you’ll be spitting out more teeth. Look at the trouble she’s caused you. This will teach you about having a hard-on for some chick. Snooping around in here like a thief. I’d arrest you but you seem like the type of guy who’ll go yap yap yap, saying things...”
“I won’t.” Huntley heard the other guy exclaim, his voice hoarse and full of panic, before Stefan cut him off.
“That bitch has been calling her brother nonstop. She’ll be here soon. Then, there’ll be three meth overdoses going down in one night. That’s what the police will think when they find your bodies. But I’ll tell you what. Since I’m feeling sympathetic because that cunt screwed you over, I’ll let you choose where you wanna die. I’ve got her brother tied up behind the bar in the Warehouse? Or do you prefer the cage—like you fought a warrior’s death instead of fighting like some lame ass pussy?”
The blood drained from Huntley’s face. She felt cold, a chill gripping her by the throat and cutting off her breath. Shit. Oh shit. Was Aiden okay? No. No. No. She couldn’t think about him right now, it’d only feed her fear.
“You meet her fucking boyfriend yet? Mean bastard. Nothing like you except for the fact that he’s going to die, too. He thinks he’s outsmarted me, handing my fighter Sergei his nuts in the cage, then disappearing, leaving me without a fall guy to take the blame. Sergei’s a little pissed off. Can’t wait to have another go at Bracken. He’ll be here shortly. Maybe I’ll let him warm up on you, eh? Keep him busy until Bracken arrives.”
Huntley instinctively covered her ears, sinking into a tiny ball of nothingness as if the events playing out in the hallway could be blocked out. Holy mother of god. What had she done? This was a trap. Aiden had been the bait. And if that wasn’t screwed up enough, she’d left Bracken a message, making herself his bait as well. And his partner had orchestrated the whole thing.
Shit. Oh. Shit. What was she going to do?
Huntley swallowed hard, brushing aside her panic and removing her hands from her ears. Pay attention. Be smart. Have her infamous wits about her so she could figure out a way out of this. She forced her body to relax, secure in her hiding space. It wasn’t like Stefan would have the sudden urge to roll a fresh keg for the tap. The lying, no-good dickhead preferred vodka over beer, anyway.
“Yeah, I hope she shows up soon. That bitch is gonna wish she never nailed me in the balls. I haven’t forgotten. I’ve waited a long time to deal with her. That fucking woman ruined everything. Ah, you agree with me?”
Huntley imagined Robert nodding. A jerk and a traitor.
“What did she do, break your heart? Or nail you in the balls too?”
There was a pause, then Stefan continued, “Poor bastard. Too smart, that cunt. Shit, she was supposed to be a diversion. A way for my partner to get off, then think about nothing more than going back for seconds. And thirds. A sweet piece of ass that’d mess with his already fucked up head. A distraction. I had him exactly where I wanted him, right on the verge of a mental breakdown, too. It was fucking beautiful to watch.”
“I want her silenced. She’ll ruin me.” Robert interrupted, his words followed by a fit of coughing.
What the hell? Huntley shuddered.
“I don’t know what she told Bracken,” Stefan continued, “but that bitch has put a huge knot in my plans. And that hardheaded bastard goes and falls in love with her? Man, I didn’t see that coming. Overprotective, too. No way will he let her come here alone. I want her pretty face beaten and bloody. Right befor
e his goddamned eyes. I wanna make him suffer before Sergei hauls his broken body back to Vegas.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Robert said.
Oh. No. Shit. “He wouldn’t?” she whispered, knowing full well the answer. Yeah, he would.
Slowly Huntley unwound from a crouch and stood. Rolling her shoulders, she jogged in place, quickly and quietly warming up her muscles.
“Huntley’s back there, hiding in the closet,” the rat Robert calmly told Stefan.
She was tired of a life filled with fear, regret and worry, forever waiting for the boogeyman to pop up at any moment and take her out.
She was sick of running away, hiding.
She was a fighter. Training her whole life for a moment like this
She threw a few short jabs.
Bring it on. She punched the air, hard, with a few extended moves. Her body weight behind them, just like Bracken had shown her.
Beaten? Bloody? Think again, asshat.
Stefan was going to wish he’d never screwed Bracken over, never set eyes on her.
Yeah, bring it on. I’m ready for you, you little fucker.
Chapter Twenty-One
She’s at the goddamned Warehouse.
Bracken had gotten her text just outside Reno’s city limits. Her earlier voice message had already had him caning it, clocking the Harley at one hundred forty miles an hour. His pulse, however, had reached unprecedented speeds. Yet he hammered down. God knew how fast this beast was now flying. All Bracken could think about was Huntley, and how a-fucking-lot could go down in ten minutes.
Thoughts of Stefan hurting Huntley not only had Bracken’s hands shaking but his entire body trembling. Or was is his quaking heart sending vibrations from deep within him, like an earthquake of fear, passion and love bottled up for so damn long and now desperately struggling to break free?
The realization that he loved her had hit him hard.
But not as hard as the fear of losing her.
Jesus. This was exactly where Stefan wanted him. Desperate. Worked up. Weak. The bastard had planned to hang Huntley over his head from the get go. That was crystal clear. What Stefan hadn’t banked on was for Bracken to fall so hard for her. Yeah, Numbnuts was probably doing victory laps around the Warehouse over that unexpected surprise.
Thousands of different scenarios about what Stefan might possibly be doing kept his heartbeat accelerated right up to the moment he killed the throttle, parked the bike and calmed himself enough to cautiously make his way inside the Warehouse.
The scenario that greeted him freakin’ blew his mind.
The sound of a Russian violently cursing reached his ears as his eyes adjusted to the dimmed light.
Fuck, he silently screamed. Not wanting to distract her. Not wanting her to get hurt by the beast who’d just landed a cross bar to her side. Not wanting to stand by and watch the woman he loved get butchered by the dirty fighter. Sergei.
“You just going to stand there and let that animal beat her?” a familiar voice yelled anxiously off to Bracken’s left. Aiden.
So much for a quiet entry. Huntley stopped jogging, her head turning his way.
Fortunately, Sergei did the same.
“Where’s Stefan?” he demanded, sweeping his gaze around the Warehouse. Numbnuts was awfully good at skulking in the shadows. Bracken wouldn’t put it past him to have a gun trained on him right now. The perfect setup, with an innocent like Huntley as bait.
He heard Aiden snort, and his attention swung toward her brother who was lying on his side, handcuffed. An unraveled rope sat a few feet away. He seemed lucid enough. Other than a bleeding nose, he appeared uninjured.
“Tell me.”
“Huntley knocked the dickhead out cold back in the storage unit. Broke his arm, too, before he saw stars. Then she locked him inside.” It was hard to miss the pride in Aiden’s tone. Hell, Bracken felt a similar kind swelling up inside him. Huntley was no joke. And that women-hating little fucker had underestimated her.
“Huntley was filling me in as we headed out the door. But we were interrupted by that Russian animal. Good thing Huntley’s fast, got in a kick to his side before moving away toward the bar. She did it so he wouldn’t...hurt me.” Aiden choked on his words, the emotion of having his little sister place herself in danger to protect him eating him up.
Bracken could relate, which is why he took a step forward, ready to end this.
“No,” Huntley hollered, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. Cautiously, his gaze scanned the room for any signs of hidden danger, another unaccounted for Russian hiding in the shadows. Nope. They were likely all headed to Vegas, and to Truman’s DEA agents awaiting their arrival.
Sergei charged forward and swung.
Huntley ducked, light on her feet, and neatly dodged him.
Jesus.
“No,” she repeated, and this time Bracken was pretty damned sure she wasn’t talking to Sergei, but to him.
Reading his expression, she held up her hand and presented her palm, a motherfucking stop-gesture. “I’ve got this.”
Shit.
For a moment, he was dumbstruck, his instinct to protect her battling it out with the swell of pride, admiration and love. No contest there—there’d never be any further questions about the depths to which he fucking loved her.
He nodded and repositioned himself next to her brother.
“Un-fucking-believable. You’re just going to stand here and watch her get killed? You’re just as bad as that sack of shit still tied up in the back hallway.”
“You underestimate her—you always have. Shut up and watch.”
“No way, man. Do something. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to her.”
“Me neither. Now quiet.”
Aiden cursed, then continued, “Uncuff me. I’ll stop him. I’ll kill that monster if he—”
“—Jesus, you’re distracting her. Trust me, nothing bad is going to happen to her.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you? A fucking biker?”
“Yep.”
“Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”
“I love her.”
That shut him up.
“Relax. If he starts winning or hurts her in any way, I’ll pop a few caps into him.”
“Holy hell,” her brother muttered, then fell silent.
Final-fucking-ly.
Huntley landed a second kick to Sergei’s kidney, infuriating her opponent. Both a good and bad reaction. Good because he was pissed enough to end this quickly. Bad because he’d likely pull a few dirty maneuvers to do so.
Bracken reached into his pocket and tossed his keychain and cell phone at Aiden. “It’s the small silver key on the end,” he told him. “When you’re free, dial nine from my phone. It’ll connect you directly to the precinct. Tell them to get here, fast.”
“Oh my god. You’re a cop,” Aiden responded, but Bracken was already moving, hugging the wall. Moving closer to the fight. Just in case.
Sergei kicked high, barely missing Huntley’s kidney as she jogged back a few steps, just out of reach. He growled like some vicious animal, his anger growing with every missed opportunity.
And Huntley fucking grinned.
Bracken didn’t know whether to laugh or jump in and finish Sergei off.
“You bitch. I vill make you pay.” Sergei clenched his teeth and stepped forward, elbows bent, a sure sign punches were about to rain down on her.
“He underestimates your ability. But keep in mind, he’s out for blood,” Bracken spoke in low, even tones. Not wanting to distract her but needing to warn her. It took every ounce of control not to voice his worries. Sergei had too many advantages over her. Size. Muscle. Killer instincts.
But not her brain
s. Not her raw determination. Not her one-of-a-kind ability to survive whatever life’s thrown her way and still be a sweet fucking downright beautiful person, inside and out.
“I grew up in a houseful of brothers, remember. Then you come barreling into my life full throttle...”
“He’s as dirty as they come.”
“Good. Then he won’t mind it when his face hits the floor,” she replied, her eyes never leaving her opponent.
Huntley kicked low, aiming at the side of his knee. In a move reminiscent of the one Bracken had pulled on her the first time he’d been inside her apartment, Sergei grabbed her leg and yanked backward, sending what had to be a painful punch to her outer thigh.
The next one was sure to be to her head.
Bending her knee, Huntley sprang up from the floor and rammed her other foot full force into Sergei’s groin. He dropped her leg to cup himself, roaring in pain as Huntley fell back onto her ass.
At that, Bracken smiled. An honest, broad, shit-eating grin.
She climbed back onto her feet, waiting for him to recover. Which Sergei did, several minutes later. “You are a dead voman.”
He charged forward, elbows bent, fists clenched and rage rolling off of him like bloodied bath water.
Huntley placed her weight on her left leg, like she was going to shoot off another kick. Too transparent, too freakin’ predictable in her movements.
Sergei lowered his elbows, getting ready to repeat his actions by grabbing her by the leg. Judging by the way he fisted his right hand, this time he’d follow up with a hard punch, and if Bracken’s instincts were correct, it’d be a hard cross punch to her head.
His eyes narrowed on her beautiful face. Beauty wouldn’t get her anywhere in a fight. Courage, which she wasn’t lacking in the slightest—just one more thing he fucking loved about her—that’d carry her only so far. Skill was what counted, along with natural instincts. The smarts to read your opponent’s body language, anticipate their next move and be ready for it.
Out for the Count Page 29