by Kay Maree
Scarlet manages to snort, before letting out a pained groan when I apply pressure to her gunshot wound. It’s then that Josh appears beside me and wordlessly gets to work cleaning the wound.
Hmm, he can be mad at me all he likes, my friends are safe, and that’s what matters most. I’ll deal with his moody ass later. Likely after I answer to my dad and husband, neither of whom are going to be particularly impressed with what’s gone down here today, and both of which will most definitely threaten to lock me up and throw away the key.
Chapter Twelve
Lucifer
Jesus fucking Christ, not again. I swear to fuck, the second I get my hands on Tatum I’m going to spank first and ask questions later.
I’m done with sitting back and watching as she runs headlong into dangerous situations that could more than likely get her hurt, if not worse. After today, my wife is going to have a change of heart about her impulsive decision-making tendencies, or I’m chaining her to our bed until I can convince her that risking her life will never be an acceptable option.
I didn’t even notice that she had disappeared until it was too late. I should have known my wife wouldn’t sit idly by and wait for backup, seeing as it’s her friends in danger.
“If you don’t see your daughter for a few weeks it’s because I’ve locked her in our fucking room and am refusing to let her go until I get her to promise she’s done with playing superhero,” I mutter darkly to Trace.
His eyes widen slightly before going stone cold at the realization, Tatum isn’t standing beside the bus anymore. Come to think of it, neither is the little weasel, Josh. He better pray no harm comes to my woman, or he’s going to rue the day he ever fucking met me.
“Tell me you’re fucking joking?” Trace demands, fisting his hands on his hips.
Indicating the empty sidewalk Tatum and Josh were occupying earlier, I state, “Not even a little.”
“For her sake, my little girl better hope you get to her first, or I’m tanning her hide for pulling this shit.”
Little does he know, I plan on doing the exact same thing, just in a way that will have a happy ending for me, and maybe my wife if she earns it.
“Where is she?” An irate Locke barks, coming to a stop in our huddle.
Dray showed up fifteen minutes ago, after hearing the news in his car while he was on his way to work. I had no idea what the hell he was doing here, yelling about his woman being inside until he calmed down and I caught him say Darcy’s name.
It kind of pisses me off that he hasn’t mentioned Tatum or Scarlet, seeing as those three have been thick as thieves since they could walk, but whatever. I don’t have time to psychoanalyze their friendship right now. Now, all I’m worried about is getting my woman out of that building in one piece; everything else I’ll deal with later. Much later.
“Which she?” A clueless, Trace asks when Locke repeats himself.
“Scarlet,” he shouts, drawing the attention of ever cop in a hundred-yard radius. “You know, the woman with the power to drive every man to drink, and the current bane of my existence.”
Trace plants a hand on Locke’s shoulder, silently communicating he needs to calm his ass down. “No idea if she’s in there or not, Son. We’ve only got confirmation that Lula, Darcy, and the gunman are inside. That is until about five seconds before you showed up, and Lucifer realized my wayward daughter and her fuckwit partner somehow managed to get inside.”
Part of me wants to kiss my wife for having the balls to go in after her friend’s. But the other part doesn’t know if it wants to strangle her or tie her ass up for being stupid enough to do something so dangerous. At this point, only time will tell which side is going to win.
“She’s in there; I know she is,” Locke shares, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his admission. “Scarlet told me she’d be around to take Violet to school after she dropped by to check on how Darcy was settling in at work. When she didn’t show at my place, I dropped Vi off and was headed to Knight’s when I heard the news on the radio. It took me for-fucking-ever to get through the roadblock the cops set up. Not to mention, I’ve probably got a warrant out by now for clocking the uniform in the face when he told me to turn around and go back where I came from.”
Yeah, that sounds about right.
Locke’s best friend, Knight is an ex-champion boxer. The two of them have been training and sparring with each other since before they hit high school. Aside from his ability to KO a man with one punch, Locke’s legendary temper and the two-hundred and twenty odd pounds he carries around on his six-foot-four frame, mean I’d hate to see the uniform he laid out in his quest to get to Scarlet.
“Please fucking tell me I heard you wrong?” Austin groans, sidling up next to him. “There’s only so many excuses I can come up with to keep you and your brother’s asses out of lockup.”
“How about we worry about all that shit later? Especially, since my daughter and her fuck up of a partner have decided to play commando, and infiltrate the enemy’s camp,” Trace suggests, directing his statement to Austin.
“Great. Just fucking great. Now, not only do I have to worry about your woman,” Austin says, jerking his chin at Trace. “But I’ve got to worry about, his and now, Lucifer’s too.”
“Stop fucking whining like a little bitch and tell me what you’re doing to get Scarlet and the rest of them out of there,” Locke grates out through a jaw clenched so hard I doubt he’ll have use of his molars by the time this is over.
Austin doesn’t react to his insult, but it’s plain to see the only reason is because he feels sorry for the man. “We’re in a holding pattern, Locke. Until SWAT gets here, there’s fuck all we can do. Waterfield and Lower Falls PD aren’t equipped for hostage situations, and you know it.”
“'Spect that’s why my Goddaughter saw her way clear to circumvent the red tape.” Chase chuckles, appearing out of nowhere.
Fuck me! If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this bastard has the power of invisibility or some shit. The guy is six-five and weighs about the same as Locke, yet moves with the silence of a fucking ninja.
“Not fucking funny, man,” Trace gripes, pinning Chase with a hard glare.
“I’d say you’re wrong about that, brother. Tatum pulling one over on all of you while you weren’t watching is fucking hilarious. Trust her to take matters into her own hands; that girl has never been one for sitting on the sidelines patiently.”
Cutting to the chase, Austin asks, “Who called you?”
“No one, which I’ve got to admit hurt my feelings. I’ve known two of these girls since the day they were born, and I have to get a call from a frantic, Lilly to clue me in on what the fuck is happening down here,” Chase shares with the group.
“Sorry if informing you of the situation wasn’t at the top of my list of shit to do, Chase, but obviously, I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your goddamn feelings,” Austin replies tersely.
“I accept your apology, but...”
A gunshot has the six of us stopping cold. But it’s the two consecutive bullets afterward that have us on the move.
Locke moves first, his feet taking off at a dead run, but I manage to catch him just before he gets to the door of Lula’s studio. “Take this,” I say, thrusting my backup weapon, a Ruger LC9 I carry in my ankle holster at him. “Extremities first. Dead men don’t talk,” I warn him, before shoving him out of the way to pull open the door.
The sight that greets me when my eyes finally adjust to the change in light inside the building would make me laugh on any other day. But as it is, I only have eyes for one woman, and she’s about to learn what it means to have to deal with a pissed off husband that just spent the last half an hour terrified out of his goddamn mind she could have been hurt, or worse.
“For the last time,” Tatum huffs, crossing her arms over her chest angrily. “Either arrest me or let me go. I’m done answering the same questions over and over ag
ain. My answers aren’t going to miraculously change, just because you ask them a different way.”
“If we could just go over how you happened to be in...” Detective Andrews tries to ask before Tatum cuts him off.
“No, we can’t. I told you already. I got in through the interconnecting door from Sandra’s hair salon. When I was inside, I assessed the situation, got the reassurance I needed that no one was hurt, and went for Scarlet’s purse. Before I could get my hands on her .38 – which for the one hundred and eighteenth time, yes, she has a permit for – the jackass with the gun shot Scarlet in the thigh. It was a through-and-through, so I had time, just not much of it before she lost too much blood and then consciousness. I shot the guy in the back of the knee, and the opposite thigh to incapacitate him, he fell, and I may or may not have tripped and accidentally kicked him in the head. End of story.”
Turning to me, my wife groans, “Can you please just make him disappear so I can go and check on Scar?”
Scarlet was taken to Lower Memorial Hospital to be checked out by doctors and stitched up after Locke carried her out of Lula’s, bitching her ass out the whole way. The man was incensed when he saw her sitting on the floor bleeding profusely with a concerned Tatum hovering over her.
With a simple head nod in thanks to my wife, Locke didn’t think twice about scooping Scarlet who was pale and shivering into his arms and delivering her into the care of the other paramedics that had just arrived on scene. Locke wasn’t particularly impressed with Scarlet’s insistence that she was fine and he didn’t need to ride with her in the ambulance, so he opted to ignore her ass and go with her anyway.
Darcy met a similar fate. But instead of being carted off to the hospital, she left with an equally pissed off Dray after being dumped into the passenger seat of his Lexus SUV, and told if she moved, he’d spank her ass. A man after my own heart, I see.
Lula, however, outright refused to go anywhere with Trace, going as far as to hide behind Chase, which did her absolutely zero fucking favors. Lula was blaming herself for the whole thing, saying over and over again that if it weren't for her, McDougal would never have been there in the first place, and Scarlet would never have been hurt. While that is indeed true, blaming herself wasn’t going to change anything. What was done, was done. Everyone would move on soon enough, and she needed to too; something Austin none too gently shared with her.
Seeing Trace’s anger escalating from manageable to holy-fuck-he’s-going-to-blow, Chase gently extricated the woman from behind him and thrust her into Trace’s arms. Lula froze for all of half a second before melting into Trace’s embrace and bursting into tears. When Tatum and I left for the station, following behind an exhausted and livid, Austin, Trace, and Lula were making their way to Trace’s truck.
That just leaves my stubborn, irritating as hell wife who refuses to let me take her home and reassure us both that she’s okay. Apparently, my promise of retribution to be taken out on her gorgeous ass will just have to wait until she’s seen Scarlet with her own eyes and knows she’s okay. God forbid, Tatum, leave her best friend in the care of medical professionals because according to her, no one else, except her, is qualified to make that judgment call.
“Look, Miss O’Neil,” Andrews, the piss-ant detective that is hell-bent on getting himself killed mutters.
Before I have a chance to correct him, Tatum snaps, “Givens. In case you didn’t hear me the first eighty-two times, my last name is, Givens.”
That’s my girl, and damn if it doesn’t make my cock hard to hear her call herself by my last name.
“Sorry, Ms. Givens, then.”
“Argh,” Tatum screeches. “Were you dropped on your head as an infant? See the big guy sitting next to me? Yeah, well he’s my husband, which would make me Mrs., not Ms. Now, I’m going to give you two choices...”
Knowing where she’s going with this, I cover Tatum’s mouth with my hand and pull her into my side. “Shh, baby. You want to get out here to see Scarlet, then you’ll think twice about finishing that sentence.”
Tatum wilts in her chair a little before she leans into me further, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh. “Fine. But I’m warning you; if we’re not out of here in the next two minutes, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
“Is that a threat, Mrs. Givens?” The fuckwit detective snarls, his tone getting perilously close to one that will earn him an ass kicking from me if he doesn’t watch his mouth.
“No,” Austin booms, swinging the interrogation room door open. “It’s a fucking promise. I told you to let, Tatum go an hour ago, Andrews. What the fuck is she still doing here?” Not bothering to wait for a response, Austin turns to my wife and says, “Scarlet’s fine. The bullet went straight
through like you thought. And thanks to your quick thinking with the QuikClot, they only had to give her one unit of blood. Locke said they’re keeping her overnight for observation, but she’ll be discharged in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Tatum murmurs gratefully.
“You’re welcome, Wonder Woman,” Austin says, using the nickname the FD christened her with tonight. “Now both of you get the hell out of here. It’s been a long fucking day, and I’ve still got hours of paperwork to do before I can get home to my wife and my man.”
Tatum smiles widely at the mention of Austin’s partners and asks, “How are Mia and Jump? I haven’t seen Mia around for a while, and I know Jump’s been busy, so I haven’t been over to the house.”
Austin’s face softens; the sign of a man head over heels in love. “They’re good, darlin’. Fucking amazing, in fact. We just found out Mia’s carrying our baby the other day, and we couldn’t be happier.”
“Oh, my God,” Tatum jumps up, throwing herself into his arms. Lucky thing Austin caught her, or I’d have to add him to my shit list, which at this rate is going to be as long as my arm by the end of the week.
As it is, I plan on paying Josh and Andrews personal visits to educate them on what not to do, and how to speak to a woman when this shit dies down. But before that, I have a meet set with one specific motherfucker, who if I have my way, won’t be breathing by the end of the day.
“Baby,” I rumble, letting Tatum know I’m done with her having her hands on another man.
“Oh, shut it,” she scoffs. “I’m only saying congratulations you freaking caveman. It’s not every day Austin finds out he’s going to be a daddy.”
Smiling down at my wife, Austin kisses the top of her head and guides her into my outstretched arms. “Got to say, I love you’re so excited for us, babe, but I wouldn’t like it if my wife were in anyone else’s arms than mine or Jump’s either.”
“You guys are such, Neanderthals sometimes. Jeez, it’s just a hug for God’s sake; I’m not offering to suck your dick.”
“Tatum,” I growl, dropping my mouth to her ear. “Quit while you’re ahead, baby, or you won’t be able to sit for a week when I’m done with your ass.”
Her answering shivers tell me all I need to know. It’s time to get the fuck out of here so I can get Tatum to Scarlet and see to business in order to take my wife home and fuck her senseless.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucifer
“Fuck you,” McDougal roars as Trace’s fist plows into his gut again.
“When do we call it?” Locke asks, with his arms crossed over his chest. “This asshole’s not going to give us anything, so as far as I can see, we’re just drawing out the inevitable.
Locke’s relaxed stance and uninterested drawl are somewhat concerning given the circumstances. With one boot propped behind him bent at the knee, his back resting against the wall, and his arms folded in front of him, the guy’s bored expression makes him look like he’s watching paint dry, not a man getting the living shit kicked out of him.
“Can’t say I’m too cut up about seeing the motherfucker hanging from a meat hook slowly bleeding out, but I’ve got better shit to be doing than standing ar
ound here with you assholes,” Dray mutters, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing it with his boot.
“I’ll second that, Chase grunts,” pushing off the wall. “He might be happy to play all night if we don’t rein his shit in.”
I take it it’s now my turn to weigh in on the conversation since all eyes have landed on me. “If everyone’s happy with the piece of him they got, I’m good with calling it.”
With head nods from Chase, Dray, and Locke, it’s unanimous. It’s time for this fucker to meet his maker. There was no conversation. Hence no agreement about this was going to go down, so it comes as a surprise to everyone when I pull my piece out of the back of my jeans and stalk toward McDougal.
His face is a bloody mess, barely recognizable as human after the boys got done with him. Meat hooks anchor him in place, skewered through each shoulder blade, causing rivers of blood to run down the back of each thigh. The bullets Tatum drilled into his legs are still in there, but the wounds are wider, flayed open, at least, five inches after Dray took his turn and went to town on him with my K-bar.
McDougal stopped screaming not long after Chase pulled out his front four teeth, and unceremoniously dropped them onto the floor below him. They joined the three fingers, Locke severed with the very same knife, Dray used only minutes later.
Whereas they were out for blood, I’m not a man who like to use instruments to play with my victims. I believe in the old fashioned fist and feet approach. Beating the fuck out of a man who endangers dares to endanger any woman, let alone my own, is cathartic. Or it sure as hell was in this assholes case.
But this shit is done.
Trace has been working him over for nearly half an hour now. Pain is a distant memory for this fucker. With the amount of damage, at this point, I’d be surprised if he can feel a goddamn thing. His body would just be a mass of aches and agony; no new level of torture will change that. It’s not even sport anymore. Especially, since the motherfucker can barely hold his head up to spew his bullshit.