A couple of the ROC men fell as Liam grabbed my collar and dragged me to an open storage unit where two men in military gear covered us.
Who are they?
“Shooting from the left. Not friendlies,” one of the guys muttered.
I yanked the gag from my face. “Two of the SUVs broke off. It must be them.”
“You okay?” Liam asked, grim eyes searching mine.
“Fine.” I said. “You have a plan getting us out of here?” I grimaced as my earlier escape effort was causing my already-battered body a world of pain.
The shooting ruckus stopped.
“Marco, you son of a bitch! You think you’re getting out of here?”
“Take cover!” One of Liam’s men yelled.
The rattle of a carbine sprayed into our storage unit.
“Fuck!” Liam hit my crouched body and flattened me.
It lasted a few seconds when that too stopped.
“Shooters on the right!” Stefan yelled from outside as the gunfire resumed.
My friend felt heavy on top of me. “Liam, I can’t breathe,” I mumbled.
“Goddammit!” Someone yelled.
Noises rang through a vacuum and all I could hear was my breathing.
Liam’s groan sounded so far away and a sinking feeling roiled my gut as he rolled off me to the ground and on his back.
Blood pooled under him.
“Oh my God,” I whispered as I got to my knees and searched for the source of the bleeding. Eyes closed, his chest heaved with each breath.
I unzipped Liam’s vest.
“Armor-piercing,” he said, choking on a gasp.
“Oh, please, no!” It must have nicked the brachial artery on his shoulder. I pressed hard. “Stay with me, Liam.”
“Sweetheart,” he mumbled. “It’s okay.”
“Don’t you dare give up.”
“It’s gonna be okay.”
“How, Liam?” I cried as the blood geysered out. How is it going to be okay? I glanced frantically around for something to staunch the bleeding, ignoring the gunfight and the bullets ricocheting crazily inside the storage unit that was rapidly becoming a death trap.
Somehow, Liam found the strength to sit up and we managed to get his vest and shirt off. I wrapped the bleeder with the shirt.
“Fight back.” He grabbed my gun and threw it at me. “Leave me be,” he growled.
I took one last look at him as he found purchase against the wall before I rejoined the fray.
“Dammit, where are they?” One of Liam’s men yelled.
I didn’t know what they meant, but I prayed it meant help was coming.
The end came in a split second.
One of Liam’s guys was reloading and he got shot in the head. Liam’s second man glanced at his comrade and got hit right in the neck.
In the split second I had taken my eyes off Orlov’s remaining men who were using the SUV for cover, Stefan materialized in our storage unit. He grabbed my wrist holding the gun and squeezed. The pain was excruciating as I gave a soundless cry. He grabbed my weapon and handed it to Orlov, who was holding his gun at our two men down on the floor.
Stefan glared over my head at Liam. I scampered back to shield him—he was pale and slumped over.
Sporadic gunfire echoed in the distance.
Stefan’s smile was cruel. “I told you I have no problem killing you, Paulina.” He pointed the gun at me. “Boss?”
“Make sure Marco is dead. We need Paulina alive,” Orlov ordered in Russian.
I heard a whistling sound and Mikhail Orlov fell to the ground like a puppet whose string was cut.
Stefan spun around and the blast of a bullet slammed into him, the impact throwing him on the concrete flooring.
Grant walked in, arm outstretched with a gun fixed on Stefan’s head and shot him again.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. Even as I saw Tyler follow his boss with a frustrated look on his face, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.
Then I remembered Liam. I got down on my knees in front of him, my aching wrist cradled against my stomach as I touched him lightly with my left hand.
“Liam?” I whispered brokenly. There was no rise and fall in his chest. My lips trembled and my eyes blurred as I touched my fingers to his pulse.
No pulse.
“No!” I screamed. The sinking feeling in my stomach expanded until I couldn’t breathe. “No! No!” I fought the arms that wrapped around me.
Tyler crouched in front of Liam and felt for his pulse. I stared at him hopefully. His sad eyes met mine before looking to the person holding me. He shook his head.
“No!” I shouted as I struggled again. “He’s not gone. He’s not dead!”
“Blaire,” Grant’s voice whispered. “Let him go, baby.”
Arms tried to pull me away from my friend but I clung to his arm. I cried for Liam to wake up. I cried for him to get up. I cried until my voice was hoarse and there was no strength left inside me.
“You can’t do this to me, Liam,” I sobbed brokenly. “I can’t start a new life without you.”
My hand fell away from his lifeless body and I felt someone lift me.
I’d given up the fight for good.
27
Grant
“She’s asleep.”
Grant nodded at the paramedic who’d treated Blaire at the scene. He flinched as he remembered the sobs that ripped from her chest. She had fought him, screamed at him, and called him names, but he held onto her until she collapsed in his arms, exhausted.
His own body shook with anger. The sight of Blaire, beaten and broken, was like a knife through his heart. Her anguished cries twisted that knife and he bled with her, but he had to hold on to his control even as the desire to empty his gun into an already-dead Orlov was overwhelming.
Liam was dead, and it was up to Grant to face the authorities. The storage facility had cameras, but Blaire’s friend had a plan and Grant himself had already set things in motion, knowing that things could go FUBAR in a heartbeat. And they had. Liam’s backup team got ambushed by Orlov’s men. Jake was tasked as the sniper, but after taking out the guy with the carbine, his position had been exposed and he had to find another vantage point. At that time, hearing that Liam had been shot and they were pinned down in the storage unit, Grant decided to move in with Tyler. They were in communication with Jake, who managed to shoot the last of the Russian goons before taking out Orlov himself. Grant now knew he had shot Stefan. At that time, all he saw was a man pointing a gun at Blaire and Grant fired his gun at him twice. Unlike in the alley where he aimed to disarm, this time he unleashed kill shots with no hesitation.
“Mr. Thorne?”
Grant turned to face the fed in charge of the case. It was fortunate that with pre-planning, the Miami PD had been tasked with only assisting the FBI, because, from what Jake had told him, several of the cops were on the take from the ROC. Since Blaire’s abduction had crossed state lines, it had become a federal case.
“I’m Agent Wilkes,” the man flashed his badge. “I believe you mentioned this was a case of kidnap and extortion?”
“Yes,” Grant replied. “They kidnapped Ms. Callahan and asked for a two-million dollar ransom.”
“I see,” the fed said. “And you decided to pay it instead of contacting the authorities?”
“I hired K and R professionals hoping to get her back without paying the ransom,” Grant replied scratching his jaw. “I didn’t trust the local police.”
“Your actions resulted in the deaths of thirteen people, Mr. Thorne.”
“And three of them are mine,” he gritted through his teeth. “Have you seen Ms. Callahan? What they did to her?” If it weren’t a felony to assault a federal officer, Grant would love nothing more than to wipe the floor with this asshole. Maybe he was in the ROC’s pocket as well. Tyler called his attention that the ambulance was ready to leave. “Look, I need to get to the hospital.”
“We may have more questio
ns. Don’t leave town.”
Grant gave a mirthless laugh. He rarely used his connections to intimidate people. “Look, Agent Wilkes. You know who I am.” He didn’t need to say that he was the son of the senator who controlled the Intelligence budget. “You know I’m not from Miami. I’m taking Ms. Callahan to Boston as soon as she’s cleared to travel. So it may be this evening. Or it may be tomorrow morning. I will be unavailable at that time. My girlfriend needs me. You want to talk to me, set an appointment with my PA.”
“Now, look here, Mr. Thorne—”
“No, you look here,” Grant snapped, losing all patience. He didn’t have time for this shit. “These are criminals. Thugs. They kidnapped my woman and may have planted the bomb that nearly killed my mother. This might not even be your case tomorrow. I get you need to do your job, but the way I see it,” he swept his arm at the carnage around them. “We just did it for you.”
“You can’t take the law into your own hands, Mr. Thorne.”
Grant was already walking away from the fed. “Then do your job.”
Grant pounded away on his laptop, catching up with work. In the time since the Gulfstream had left Miami, he’d had several panicked voicemails to return. His dad had called, having caught wind of what happened to the Orlov Bratva. With the death of their Vor, the organization was in disarray and its effect was felt all the way to Russia. There was enough of the inner circle left to run the ROC, but with the evidence Grant was bringing back with him, their days were numbered. His father made a comment that even if this Bratva collapsed, another would rise to take its place. Grant didn’t care, that was the problem for the FBI. All he cared about was the threat against Blaire.
A sound from the bed grabbed his attention. He put his laptop aside and crawled under the covers with his woman. He was glad he brought the Gulfstream because it had a sleeping cabin and Blaire would have a comfortable journey home. She had a sprained wrist and two broken ribs. She had cuts on her lips and brows but no facial fractures. It had been a miracle. The swelling and bruising on her face made her features unrecognizable, but her eyes remained quintessentially Blaire. He’d know them anywhere. A tightness in his chest and burn behind his eyes reminded him of how he’d lost it at the Miami-Dade hospital the previous night.
When they took the gurney carrying Blaire away, a noise that suspiciously sounded like a sob rose in his throat. Tyler was startled and didn’t know what to do. Grant took a deep breath, excused himself, and headed for the stairwell. He pushed the door open and went down a flight, and then leaned against the wall and simply lost it, letting emotions bleed down his face. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees. His poor Angel. That someone would hurt and brutalize the woman he loved gutted him. He didn’t know how long he stayed in that stairwell, but in the end, after he’d regained his composure, fury against the people who’d hurt her dominated every fiber of his being. He wished Orlov was alive, so he could kill the bastard himself. Grant had crossed that line and he could say, without a doubt, that he’d kill for Blaire. He’d annihilate anyone who’d try to harm her.
Liam, my man, wherever you are, I promise I’m going to take care of her.
He stared at her now, wanting to kiss away all her bruises. He wanted to put his ear against her heart and listen to it beat. He wanted to tuck her into his arms and never let her go.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Blaire,” Grant whispered.
At first he saw joy in her eyes, but, when she blinked, grief ripped it away and tears rolled down her cheeks. She turned her head and stared at the wall of the plane.
“Blaire, look at me,” Grant pleaded.
“Where am I?” Her voice was flat.
“You’re on the Gulfstream. I’m taking you home, Blaire.”
“To Colorado?”
Fear pierced his chest. “No. To Boston, then to Manhattan with me.”
Still not looking at him, she said, “I’m not going back to you, Grant.”
“Baby, let’s not talk about this right now.” He wasn’t giving her a choice. This might end up being a kidnapping, but he’d be damned before he let her out of his sight.
Her gaze shifted to the ceiling. “How’s Amelia?”
“She’s fine, Blaire,” Grant said. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off and then finally looked at him with glassy eyes. “Amelia got hurt because you chose to be with me.”
“Blaire—”
“And when I chose to be with you”—the tears flowed freely as she inhaled a ragged sob—“Liam got killed.”
“No, dammit! What kind of reasoning is that?”
“Your words, Grant,” she said softly. “You told me your family was falling apart. You didn’t have to say it was because of me.”
“I told you I say shit when I’m angry and that’s why I choose to keep my mouth shut when I am.”
“You were angry at me.”
“No. I was angry at the situation.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Liam is still dead.”
“Listen, Blaire—”
“I’m tired, Grant.” Her words, said in a gentle tone, made him more anxious. “I want to be alone.”
“Okay, you need your rest,” Grant forced himself to say, and then forced himself to move from the bed. He picked up his laptop, looked back at Blaire longingly, but she had already closed her eyes.
He could be patient, he told himself.
28
Grant
Once they arrived at the brownstone, Grant lost all patience.
Blaire refused his assistance when she got out of the vehicle. He balled his fists in frustration, but allowed her to walk without him, thinking she wanted to preserve her dignity. She refused help from Tyler and Jake as well, so it wasn’t personal. But what Grant realized as he walked into their bedroom and saw Blaire packing a suitcase was that she was preparing to live without him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded as he stalked into the room.
“I’m leaving. I thought that was obvious,” she said as she limped into the closet to come back with an armful of clothes.
“Don’t be a martyr,” he growled, grabbing the items from her left arm and throwing them on the bed. “Look at yourself. You’re black and blue. You can’t even walk without a limp. Your wrist is sprained. Now is not the time to leave.”
“And just exactly when is the time to leave, Grant?” Blaire’s eyes flashed at him, defiance mixed with pain. “When someone else gets hurt? Killed?”
“Blaire, it’s not your fault. Mom’s accident. Liam dying,” Grant said with a sigh. “Orlov is dead, baby. We’re getting the evidence to the Justice Department. Pretty soon, you’ll be free and clear of the Bratva.”
Her lips trembled as she grabbed the clothes he discarded and continued to fold them into the suitcase.
“Don’t waste your time packing, Angel.”
“I need to get away from this place.”
“From me, you mean?” Grant felt a spike of his temper.
“I can’t take it,” she said. “When you shut me out when you’re angry, it drives me crazy. Those three days you didn’t bother to call or text me made me insecure. I didn’t like the person I had become. I stalked you online, for God’s sake,” she laughed without humor. “I think …” She shoved more clothes into the suitcase. “I think if we’d been okay—if you’d given me any indication we were okay—I could have accepted your actions in the ER. I wouldn’t have left with Andy and would’ve waited for Tyler instead.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God, is Andy okay?”
“He’s fine,” he grated.
“Okay …” Blaire whispered. “Okay,” she repeated. It was as if she had suddenly lost focus on what she was saying. She walked into the bathroom and swept all her toiletries into an open train case.
Grant strode in after her and put his hands on her shoulders but she jumped, so he dropped his hands at his sides. “Baby …”
“I can’t,�
� she whispered. “I’m not strong enough to be with you, Grant. I’m too messed up here.” She tapped her head. “I went back there.”
His brows cinched together. “Back where?”
“In that dungeon.” Haunted eyes stared in the mirror. She reached out, tracing the lines of her reflection, but her eyes were unseeing. “He beat it out of me. Orlov.”
Grant’s body stiffened.
“When Andy was shot, I’d given up, but there was that spark …. some fight left in me. Orlov … he tried to beat it out of me, but it was Stefan who buried it. Seeing Liam brought back that fight, but it died with him, Grant. It’s gone.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t find it.”
How he wanted to take her into his arms but her whole body language right then screamed “hands off.”
“You’re grieving right now,” he told her. “The pain that monster inflicted on you, we’ll get through it. We’ll get that fight back in you, baby.”
She gave a shake of her head. “No, Grant. You can’t help me.” Her eyes met his in the mirror. “Because around you, I wish I never existed.”
Her words sent him reeling with physical pain as if a battering ram was driven into his chest. Her once enthralling hazel eyes stared back at him as lifeless as the dead. They weren’t even sad, there was just nothing in them. Blank.
She was back in that dungeon and he wondered with growing horror and panic if his presence was only making her retreat into those dark memories.
Still, he had to try and reach her. “Blaire,” he choked hoarsely. “Don’t do this. Please?”
She lowered her eyes and wiped a single tear from the side of her cheek.
“Come back to me, baby,” he tried again.
“It’s over, Grant,” she said. She smiled but it was full of pain. “It’s been over since you sent me away.”
Blaire wasn’t in the headspace to see reason, Grant realized then, but, if he let her leave, he wouldn’t have the chance to prove to her that what she was feeling was just a collective effect of what had happened to her. It was unfortunate Grant was the idiot who had started her into her downward spiral.
Captive Lies Page 18