Reckless (Benson's Boys Book 1)

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  A hand grabbed her ponytail and yanked until her neck felt like it was going to break. Tears leaked from her eyes at the pain. It felt like her hair was being ripped from her head. Why did guys always go for the hair?

  “No talking, bitch.” Durand’s face was just as ugly upside down.

  “Or what?” Megan asked. “You’re going to kill me? Not much of a threat if you plan to do it anyway.”

  Shark eyes gleamed. “Kill you? You’ll wish you were dead. But no, I don’t plan to kill. Not at first.”

  That wasn’t reassuring. “Seriously though, how’s your backside? Healing well?”

  A knife tip pressed against her throat. “You keep talking and I’ll slice out your tongue.” Blood ran down her throat as the point broke skin. “Or,” he whispered against her ear in a dark parody of intimacy. “Maybe, I’ll leave your tongue and slice off your nipples. That way I can hear you scream my name when they’re removed.”

  Megan swallowed back the bile that shot up her throat. There was no doubt he meant every word. His eyes were a flat pond. There was no emotion there, no sense of moral judgement, only a determination to get what he wanted.

  A shot rang out ahead of them. Durand swore and the men jerked left into a classroom. She fell to the floor behind the door.

  “Status?” Durand barked.

  The guy who’d been holding her, crouched in front of her as she struggled to sit. His head was shaved bald and tattooed with Nazi symbols. Very attractive—not. His smile was a leer that oozed toxic waste. One hand curled around her throat and held tight, keeping her in place. His other hand covered her breast and squeezed hard, laughing when she winced. Big fingers grabbed her nipple and pinched until tears ran down her cheeks.

  “I’ll make sure I get to play with these before the boss removes them.” He twisted his grip.

  Megan gasped in pain as he tightened his hold on her throat and her breast. She struggled to breathe. White lights flickered in front of her eyes and she prayed she wouldn’t pass out. Being unconscious around these guys was not a good idea.

  “You have…” She forced the words out. “A really…tiny…dick…don’t you?”

  The hold on her throat tightened before Durand pulled him off her. Megan gasped, each breath painful. Her breast throbbed and she wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t. Not here. Not for them.

  “Leave her.” Durand glanced down at her. “You can play later.”

  The bald guy gave her a grin that made her stomach turn.

  “Copy that,” Durand said into his comm unit, before speaking to the lanky guy who was covering the window. “Our exit is blocked. We’ve lost contact with Ray and Fritz. Stew is bringing the car around. We’re going out that window.” He pointed to the window, because his team were too damn dumb to figure it out for themselves. “Clear it.”

  Lanky guy did that by hitting the glass with the butt of his gun.

  “Why are you doing this?” Against her better judgement, Megan felt the need to engage the madman.

  Durand looked down at her. “You owe me.”

  “For what? Freeing myself from your kidnapping attempt? For blowing your career prospects with Rudi’s organisation? For shooting you in the bum? What exactly did I do that makes me so special?”

  He crouched down beside her and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You were lucky in Scotland. I can see that now. I’d thought it was skill, but it was luck. Still, you got the better of me and no one gets the better of me. You will act as a reminder to anyone who dares try in the future. After I’m finished with you, no one will make the same mistake.”

  All Megan saw when she looked in his eyes was a calculated and calm determination. No emotion. No reaction. For Durand this was about settling a score and sending a message. It was about protecting his reputation as a ruthless lunatic. He was the most terrifyingly dangerous kind of man, one who treated violence purely as business.

  “Done.” The lanky guy motioned to the window, again in case they didn’t know what he was talking about.

  Durand stood. “Take her out of here. I’ll follow,” he said to the bald guy and then pointed to the lanky one. “You bring up the rear. No one follows. You hear me.”

  The lanky guy nodded and pointed his gun at the door.

  The bald guy threw Megan over his shoulder, fireman style, and held her in place by wedging his hand into her crotch. He laughed when Megan yelped and struggled to get away from him.

  “Keep fighting me.” He climbed through the window. “I like it.”

  More laughter when Megan went still.

  “Stop screwing around,” Durand snapped.

  A shot rang out behind them. Shouting. Running. There weren’t many street lights behind the school and it was dark. Megan was upside down. She arched her back to see anything, something. Nothing. All she saw was the ground swinging beneath her. More screaming. A car screeched to a halt, tyres on gravel. There were sirens in the distance. The police were coming.

  “Get her in the car.” Another order from Durand.

  A car door slammed.

  “No!” They were not taking her in the car. Megan knew if they could get her away from the building her chance of survival was next to zero.

  She bucked and thrashed in the bald guy’s hold. He grasped her tighter, his nails digging in to sensitive flesh. She wished her hands were free. Wished they weren’t tied up behind her back. Tensing her muscles, she kicked out with all her might in an attempt to unbalance him, to force him to release her. The move made him stumble. His grip loosened. And then she was falling.

  “I dropped her,” the bald guy yelled.

  Megan hit the ground with a thud, catching most of the impact on her shoulder. She screamed as something snapped. Dislocated? She wasn’t sure. Blinking hard, she fought not to pass out. She was on her back, her head towards the car which was about six feet away. The driver was on the other side of the car, using it for cover as he fired at the school. Durand grabbed her hair and started pulling her towards the car. Dragging her along the dirt. Megan roared as she lifted her body onto her shoulders. The pain almost made her black out, but she managed to kick his arm. He lost his hold on her hair.

  “Bitch.” He pointed the gun at her.

  She rolled, but not before she felt the bullet hit her leg.

  “No!” A voice bellowed in the darkness.

  Dimitri.

  Bullets hit the car, making Durand take cover behind the open passenger door. The bald guy backed up towards her, aiming his gun at the school. Megan lifted her legs and used all of her strength to kick the back of his knees. He crumpled with a shout. She pulled her legs up until she was in a ball, then brought them through her bound hands so that they were now in front of her instead of behind her. Pain sliced through her, making her vision blur. Her breathing was choppy and she knew she didn’t have long before unconsciousness took her. She kept one eye on the bald guy. He didn’t move. He must have taken a bullet.

  It was a chance. If she could get to his gun, she could end this. She threw herself beside his body, scrambling for his gun. Cold metal under her fingertips. She grasped it. With no time to think, she rolled and pointed the gun at Durand. There was no hesitation. She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Bloody automatic weapon. Too many freaking bells and whistles.

  “This ends here.” Durand aimed his weapon at her. “I would have liked to have done so much more, but a bullet to the head is a message in itself.”

  Megan closed her eyes as pain washed over her. What little strength she had left seeped away. There was nothing else she could do. It was over. A shot rang out. Her body jerked. And then there was nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “No!” Dimitri was running as soon as he saw Durand point the gun at Megan’s leg. “Cover me,” he snapped into the comm unit.

  He didn’t even bother to duck and cover. He just ran. Straight for her. He saw her kick the big bald guy. Saw Grunt shoot, taking the guy out when he
went to his knees. He saw Megan get her bound hands in front of her. Saw her reach for the gun and aim at Durand. He saw it all. Each movement in terrifyingly painful slow motion.

  He roared when her gun didn’t fire.

  He roared as Durand stepped out from cover to shoot Megan.

  And he roared as he emptied his weapon into the man.

  Dimitri didn’t spare a glance for Durand’s body.

  Falling to his knees beside Megan, he dropped his empty gun, knowing the guys would cover them, and pulled her unconscious body into his arms. Frantic fingers felt her throat for a pulse. There. A beat. Another. Alive. She was alive. Relief made his hands shake. He fought to still them as he checked her body for wounds. Blood on his fingers. Her blood. Panic threatened and he swallowed it down. Wounds. He needed to deal with the wounds.

  Vaguely aware of sirens getting closer, he checked her face. Neck. Chest. No bullet wounds. Stomach clear. Thigh. He found the bullet wound in her thigh. Straight through muscle, when it could so easily have hit her femoral artery.

  Car doors slammed. He needed something to pad the wound and stem the blood flow. Someone knelt beside him. Words were said. Dimitri couldn’t understand them. He needed a tourniquet, that’s what he needed. Elevate the leg. Put pressure on the wound. His mind went over the steps for first aid, as though locked in a loop.

  A strong hand on his shoulder. He jerked, grabbed his empty gun and aimed it at the intruder.

  “It’s me. Lower your weapon.” He blinked until a face came into focus. Callum.

  Dimitri let the gun drop to the ground beside him. Callum bent and retrieved it.

  “Let them do their job,” he ordered, but his words were soft.

  Dimitri looked in the direction Callum nodded. Paramedics. An ambulance.

  “What have we got here?” said the female paramedic who crouched beside him. Her eyes were kind. Calm. Professional. “Will you let me examine her?”

  He looked down and realised he was clutching Megan to his chest. Shielding her from view with his body.

  “Gunshot wound to her right leg. Cuts, bruises. Her shoulder feels wrong. Broken, or dislocated.” His words came as if from far away.

  “Let me look at her.” The woman gently pried Megan from his grasp.

  Dimitri fought back a growl of warning. It took all of his self-control to surrender her to the woman.

  “They’ve got her,” Callum said. “Let them do their job. She’s going to be fine.”

  Dimitri curled his hands into fists as the paramedics placed Megan on a stretcher and examined her. There were more injuries on her body than he’d realised. Everywhere he looked there was another wound, another mark, another reason Reynard Durand should be killed all over again.

  Callum kept a firm hand on his shoulder as they watched Megan being loaded into the ambulance.

  “Katrina?” Dimitri asked as he kept his eyes glued to Megan.

  “Ryan took her to the hospital. Same one Megan will be taken to.”

  “He’s watching her?”

  “Hasn’t left her side.”

  He felt his heartbeat slow to almost normal. “Team injuries?”

  “Grunt has a flesh wound. Lake cut his hand. Nothing major.”

  “The other team?”

  “Two dead.” Durand and the bald guy. “The rest are incapacitated.”

  Dimitri never took his eyes off the ambulance. Megan’s frame was so small, so delicate. She should never have been in the midst of a situation like this.

  “This is going to be a helluva mess to sort out,” Callum said.

  Dimitri glanced around—there were police everywhere. “Yeah,” he said.

  The paramedic caught his eye and signalled it was time to go. Callum patted him on the back. “I’ll let Tessa know where you are. You’ll need to make a statement.”

  “Thanks.” Dimitri climbed into the back of the ambulance and intertwined his fingers with the unconscious woman’s in front of him.

  “She’s going to be fine,” the paramedic said.

  “There’s no other option,” Dimitri vowed in reply.

  When they reached the emergency department, Megan was whisked away and Dimitri was told to stay in the waiting room. Even though he knew the risk to her was over, it was hard to watch her go. It would be a very long time before he could believe she was fine, without actually having his hands on her to prove it. With strict instructions to call him at the slightest change in her condition, and especially when she woke, he left them to do their jobs. And he went in search of his sister.

  He found Katrina in a private room on the third floor. For a moment, he stood in the corridor and stared at her through the glass. The sight hit him square in the gut. She was really here. Alive. He’d found her.

  Then the Polaroid images from the house in Rabat assaulted him. He crumpled. Sliding down the wall to crouch at the bottom of it. He hung his head, rubbing his fists on his forehead.

  Shoes appeared in front of him. “You going in there?” Ryan said.

  Dimitri rubbed his eyes. “I just need a minute.”

  A minute to make sure his face didn’t betray him, and his sister never guessed that he’d seen the evidence of what had been done to her.

  “She’s strong.” Ryan crouched in front of him.

  “You didn’t see what we found in Rabat.” Dimitri shook his head. “What she suffered.”

  “Not suffered, survived.”

  He lifted his head and looked at the man. Something shifted inside him. “Yeah. Survived.”

  With a nod, Ryan stood and held out a hand to help Dimitri up. One he gratefully accepted. Together they strode to Katrina’s room. Ryan stopped outside the room, ready to stand sentry again. His arms folded and his jaw set as he stared at Katrina. Dimitri recognised the look in his eye. It was the one a man had when he wanted revenge for the damage that had been done. Dimitri nodded his thanks to Ryan, but then hesitated in the doorway.

  His sister was so small. She lay in the middle of the bed, wearing a generic white hospital gown. There was an IV line in her arm and a bag of fluids on the stand beside it. Dehydrated, they’d said. Her white skin, too pale by far, was bruised. The purple marks peeked out from the neckline of her gown, a brutal reminder of everything she’d survived. Dark circles under her lashes. Cheekbones that were far too pronounced. Fragile. She looked fragile.

  As if sensing he was there, her eyes fluttered open and she looked straight at him. A second of shock, followed by pure joy, and then her eyes welled up. By the time the first tear fell Dimitri had his sister wrapped in his arms. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her and rocked her while she sobbed, cooing nonsense to reassure her that he was really there. That she was really free. Telling her she would be okay and he would be there for her no matter how long it took. They were family. And she was home.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Every single inch of Megan’s body hurt. Her eyelashes hurt. Seriously. How was that even possible?

  “I know you’re awake,” said the deep voice that made her insides melt like sugar over a flame.

  She cracked open her eyes. “I told you I needed to learn how to use a machine gun.”

  “Those are your first words to me?”

  He sounded affronted so she shut her eyes again. “Go away. Come back when I feel better.”

  “Nuh, uh.” She felt him gently squeeze her fingers and realised he was holding her hand. “You and I have things to talk about.”

  “I need a drink.” She meant vodka. Instead the bed rose with a mechanical hum until she was sitting up and a glass of water hit her lips.

  “There’s no point keeping your eyes shut now, is there?”

  She opened them and found Dimitri’s chocolate gaze right in front of her. “I was kind of hoping that if I kept them shut, this would all be a dream.”

  “Which part? The part where you traded yourself for Katrina? The part where you were injured? Or the part where you told me you loved me for th
e first time via a message to my sister?”

  “Are you annoyed about that?” He looked annoyed, but then he had grumpy resting face so it was sometimes hard to tell. “Guy’s really don’t give a crap about that whole ‘I love you’ stuff. It’s like anniversaries. They only put up with them to humour the women in their lives.”

  A small smile tugged at his lips. “It’s a strange and mysterious place, your brain.”

  Megan took another sip of water when he held the glass back to her lips. The overly bright lights had told her she was in a hospital even before she’d opened her eyes. The smell confirmed it. That antiseptic smell, with undertones of rot, couldn’t be found anywhere else. Neither could that baby poop green colour they insisted on painting the walls.

  “I have two questions for you.” She rubbed her thumb over the back of Dimitri’s hand. Warm. He always felt so warm. “Is he dead? And, how bad do I look?”

  His eyes turned to stone. “He’s dead.”

  “Good.” There was nothing else to say. Reynard Durand had been a predator without a conscience. If he hadn’t decided to hunt and hurt her, it would have been someone else. Men like that didn’t stop and they didn’t change. It was a relief he was gone.

  Dimitri brought her out of her heavy thoughts with a kiss to the tip of her nose. “To answer your second question. You’re beautiful.”

  She rolled her eyes, then winced. Damn it, her eyeballs were sore too. “What’s the damage?”

  “Dislocated shoulder. Gunshot wound to your thigh. Knife wound to your neck. Bruises and scrapes. Including a black eye and severe bruising on your breast.” His voice turned dangerously low. “Finger marks.”

  Yeah, she doubted she would ever forget getting those finger marks. “The bald guy with the swastika on his head?”