by Donna Grant
He squeezed the wrist of her hand holding the gun, so she had no choice but to drop it or have her bone break. Her other hand reached around to her knife while he talked. She slipped the blade from its sheath and held it against her arm.
“You actually thought you could outrun us,” he said and turned her toward him.
She looked into his close-set, dark eyes. “You’re going to lose.”
“You’ve already lost,” he said with a smirk.
Callie held his gaze as he tightened his fist in her hair. The pain shot from her scalp all the way down her spine, but she didn’t move. Her eyes watered, and inside she was screaming. Outwardly, she allowed him to believe he was dominating her, showing her who the victor would be.
Then she smiled and smoothly slid her knife between his ribs and right into his heart. When his fingers loosened in her hair and his eyes widened as he fell to his knees, she leaned close to his face and said, “Who lost, bitch?”
It was the sound of approaching hoof beats that caused her to look up. She ducked as a horse jumped over her and the tree. When she looked up again, it was to see Wyatt dismounting from the horse and striding to her with long, purposeful steps.
She was so relieved to see him that she reached for him as he dropped to his knees beside her. As soon as his arms wrapped around her, she closed her eyes and held onto him tightly.
“You’re hurt,” he stated in a gruff voice.
“It’s just a graze on my neck.”
He pulled back to look at her, his eyes shifted to her neck. “I’m talking about the wound on your side.”
Side? What was he talking about? She would know if she had an injury on her side. To prove her point, she looked down to show him, only to stare silently at the blood that stained her right side.
“Let me see it,” Wyatt said.
She didn’t stop him when he gently pushed her onto her back. “The Saints?”
“All dead,” he stated.
Her gaze lifted to the sky and the clouds drifting swiftly past. With the threat now over, her eyes grew heavy, and she let them close, wanting to rest for just a moment.
Wyatt’s hands were tender as he lifted her sweatshirt. It made a sucking noise as he pulled it away from her wound. She could feel him wiping something against her, but she was too tired to open her eyes and see what it was.
She began to drift off. She was so fatigued from walking all night, then running from the Saints. If only she could sleep.
“Wake up, baby girl.”
Was it a dream? Or had he really spoken to her? She couldn’t tell, and it took too much energy to find out.
“Callie.”
This time, she knew it was Wyatt by the insistence in his tone. Gone was the affection in his voice. She grunted and tried to push his hands away.
“Open your eyes. Dammit, Callie, stop fighting me and open those beautiful eyes.”
It took her a few tries, but she managed to wake up enough to look up at him. His dark hair was disheveled and damp with sweat, and he had a day’s growth of whiskers that darkened his jawline, making him oh so sexy. His shirt was missing and showing off that mouthwatering body.
But it was his gold eyes searching her face that made her smile.
“Hi,” she said.
He gave her a crooked grin, the kind that always made her heart skip a beat. “I need to tend to your wounds, which means we need supplies. And that means we need to move.”
She closed her eyes against the scratchiness and groaned. “Now? I just laid down.”
“You’ve been asleep for twenty minutes.”
Her gaze snapped opened. “What?”
“I checked your wound, tied my shirt around it to reduce the bleeding, and I got rid of all the bodies.”
While she’d slept. She felt like an utter fool. “You should’ve woken me so I could help.”
“Not with your injuries. We’ve had a long night and morning, and I don’t know what the rest of the day holds. I might need you later.”
“Okay,” she agreed reluctantly.
Not like she had any choice. She rolled to her side and slowly sat up. Now that she knew of her injury, the pain lashed through her body as if it were struck by spikes.
She clenched her jaw and welcomed Wyatt’s help in getting to her feet. Her lids kept slipping closed, and she had to force them back open. Sleep called to her like a lover with promises of a pain-free slumber.
Somehow, she found herself standing next to a horse. She wanted to pet the palomino, but the effort was too much. The animal turned its head to her, its soulful brown eyes seeming to understand the agony she was in.
“Ready?” Wyatt asked.
Her eyelids shut again of their own accord. Ready? Did he want her to ride? Surely not.
She hissed in pain when he gently lifted her in his arms and set her atop the gelding’s back. On instinct, Callie grabbed a handful of the horse’s mane to steady herself. Then Wyatt mounted behind her.
He wrapped his right arm around her, holding her against his chest as their legs conformed to each other. The pressure of his arm actually helped against the pain. And now that she didn’t have to stand, sleep pulled her under quickly.
* * *
The moment Callie’s head rolled back to his shoulder, Wyatt knew she was asleep once more. Fear wrapped him in its iron grip, tightening around his chest so that he couldn’t breathe.
The amount of blood she had lost was staggering. Her entire right side was coated in it. He had no idea how she’d managed to run, fight or even stay on her feet against the Saints in her condition.
He clicked to the horse to start walking. Wyatt wrapped his hand around Callie’s that held the gelding’s flaxen mane. He had to get supplies to treat her, but that meant bringing her around people—people that could be a part of the Saints.
At least the bastards who had been chasing her were dead. She’d fought like an avenging angel, and it caused his blood to heat thinking about it. She truly was an amazing woman.
He steered the horse toward a barn he saw in the distance. The closer they came, the more buildings Wyatt saw. Then he saw movement. A tractor was being driven, moving hay into a barn while two other men loaded a stallion into a trailer.
Wyatt hated being so exposed, but there was nothing he could do about it. The few trees that dotted the pasture would do him little good in getting to any of the structures to find a first-aid kit.
At the last minute, he steered the horse toward one of the trees closest to the barn and dismounted before he could be seen. Wyatt gently lifted Callie down and set her up against the tree as he looked under the belly of the gelding to see where the three men were.
A fourth man, an older gentleman with a wide stomach and a big mustache, emerged from a barn after the horse had been loaded. There were words exchanged before one of the workers climbed into the truck and drove away with the animal.
The older man and the second one talked for a moment before both walked off in different directions. Wyatt’s gaze shifted to the tractor. There was still a lot of hay to unload, so at least that one would be occupied for a bit.
Wyatt stood and patted the palomino’s rump as he walked behind him. “Stay with her, boy. I’ll be right back.”
The horse snorted and continued munching on the grass. Wyatt glanced at Callie before making a quick run to the barn. When he reached it, he plastered himself against it and peeked around the corner of the entrance.
He could hear horses within, but it was too dark for him to see anyone. He took a deep breath and slipped inside, keeping close to the wall. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the inside of the building quickly.
Beside him, a horse walked to the gate of its enclosure and stretched out its neck to sniff him. Wyatt held out his hand, allowing the animal to smell him. He walked closer, petting the beast.
When he was at the gate, he looked inside the stall and spotted the wide belly. He smiled at the pregnant mare and patted her neck.
; Then his focus shifted back to the barn. It was made very similarly to the one at his ranch, so he had an idea where the tack room would be—which was where a first-aid kit would most likely be kept.
He moved slowly down the center aisle, always remaining near the stalls. When he came to the middle of the long barn with a wide aisle making a T, he glanced both directions to make sure no one was coming, then hurriedly crossed to the tack room.
The door to the space was ajar and the light on. Once inside, he looked at the rows of saddles, halters, brushes, and the like until he found the white box with the red cross on it set on some shelves. Wyatt grabbed the box and turned to retrace his steps when he came to a halt.
There was a faded denim shirt tossed over one of the saddles, and a brown paper bag with someone’s lunch sitting nearby. He tried on the shirt, happy to see that it fit, and grabbed the bag before hurriedly retracing his steps.
He wasn’t surprised to find the palomino where he’d left him. Wyatt opened the bag and saw an apple and a sandwich inside. He gave the apple to the horse and walked to Callie.
She didn’t appear to have moved. He took out his knife and slit her sweatshirt up the side to better see the wound. If the bullet had shifted a hair to the left, it would’ve hit her kidney. It had done enough damage, though.
He was thankful he wouldn’t have to dig the slug out of her as it had passed through. The location meant that it had most likely not hit any vital organs. She would need a hospital, but right now, his concern was to stop any more blood loss.
Wyatt opened the box and set about cleaning her injuries and stitching both the entrance and exit wounds. For the first time administering such work, his hands shook.
Because it was Callie.
He glanced up at her. Her breathing was even, but she appeared pale. He wanted her to open her eyes and berate him, call him choice names for all of his mistakes. She was too quiet, too still.
“Don’t leave me, baby girl,” he whispered.
He lifted his bloody hands to move her hair away from her neck to see to that wound when he paused. Blood had never bothered him, but this wasn’t just any blood. This was Callie’s blood.
It was all over him and her, even in her hair. He swallowed past the lump of emotion in his throat. The more he looked at the stains coating his hands, the more furious he got.
Ten men after them. If the Saints wanted a fight, he would give them one they wouldn’t soon forget. He would show them retaliation.
He would show them vengeance.
And when he was done, there wouldn’t be anyone left standing. No matter how long it took, no matter how many he had to kill, he vowed then and there to take down every last Saint.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Outskirts of DC
Cullen pulled the SUV over next to the curb in the affluent neighborhood outside of DC and turned off the engine.
“Jankovic is in there,” Mia said, nodding toward the large house through the drizzling rain.
Cullen leaned his elbow on the center console and nodded. “Maybe.”
Following Hewett out of DC had led them to a car shop. After an hour, Mitch returned to DC, but two other men drove in the opposite direction. Cullen and Mia had decided to take a chance and follow the others to see where it led them.
Mia turned her head and gave him a flat look. “Callie said Jankovic was in DC.”
“We’re not in DC anymore, sweetheart,” he pointed out.
“As near as. Callie knows her stuff.”
He ran a hand over his mouth and chin. “I think whoever is in that house has something to do with the Saints.”
“It’s the scientist,” she insisted.
“Why are you so sure?”
She turned her head to him, but her eyes focused on something else. When she didn’t answer, Cullen looked at her to find her mouth hanging open and her eyes widening by the second. He followed her gaze to another car across the street and up a ways.
But it wasn’t until he looked inside the vehicle that he saw what had taken her by surprise—his father.
“Is it really him?” Mia whispered hopefully.
Cullen nodded slowly at seeing his father in the passenger seat. The driver was none other than Yuri Markovic. None of them moved.
“I have to see him,” Mia said. “I have to talk to him.”
“Not here.” Cullen started the engine and pulled out onto the road, driving slowly past Orrin and Yuri. He met his father’s gaze and nodded.
Mia turned around in the seat to watch them, while Cullen looked into the rearview mirror. It wasn’t long before the black Range Rover pulled out and did a U-turn on the road to follow.
“Where do we take them and not be seen by the Saints?” Mia asked.
It was a damn good question, one he’d been asking himself. “Somewhere abandoned.”
“I saw a closed strip mall a few miles back.”
“I remember that,” Cullen said, shooting her a smile.
He made his way there, taking precautions to ensure that they weren’t being followed. When they reached the abandoned plaza, Cullen drove around to the back, away from prying eyes.
When Mia started to open the door and get out, he grabbed her arm and shook his head. A moment later, the Range Rover appeared and stopped before them about twenty yards away.
Cullen’s heart raced when the passenger door opened and Orrin stepped out, unconcerned with the sprinkle of rain. This time, there was no stopping Mia as she threw open her door and jumped out, racing toward Orrin.
Cullen watched as she launched herself at his father. Orrin’s smile filled his entire face as he caught Mia in his arms, hugging her. For several minutes, Cullen watched the easy way his father and Mia interacted. Their affection and respect for one another obvious.
Yuri then exited the SUV and spoke to Mia. Cullen knew he needed to get out, and he wanted to talk to his father. The problem was that he didn’t know what to say. Too many years had passed without any sort of communication for there not to be awkwardness.
Orrin’s gaze moved to him. Cullen opened the vehicle door and slowly stood. He didn’t take his eyes from his father as he shut the door. Then he took his first step. The closer he got to Orrin, the more he spotted the faint bruises and cuts from his captivity and torture.
Cullen cut his gaze to Yuri. The Russian was to blame for kidnapping his father and putting him through that hell, but Yuri was also responsible for Orrin’s escape.
When Cullen looked back at his father, the impact of the entire situation hit him. For a short time, he feared he had lost his only living parent. That was when he’d realized how much he loved Orrin—and how much he wanted his father in his life.
There were no words needed as Orrin opened his arms and Cullen walked into them. Cullen squeezed his eyes closed when tears threatened. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he feared this day might never come.
Orrin pulled back, gripping Cullen’s upper arms as he smiled, his gold eyes crinkling. “Damn, it’s good to see you, son.”
“Hi, Dad,” he replied, chuckling.
Mia sniffed loudly before she said, “Now this is a reunion.”
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Yuri demanded.
Orrin gave Cullen a pat before he dropped his arms, his gaze turning serious. “I’d like to know that answer myself.”
“Callie,” Mia said.
Orrin grinned at the mention of her. “Ah.”
“And we’ve been watching Hewett,” Cullen explained.
Yuri crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance as he frowned. “What did you find?”
“Mitch leaves the office frequently to meet up with people,” Mia said.
Cullen added, “They could be Saints, they could be personnel in his division. We don’t know.”
“You won’t until it’s too late,” Orrin said.
Yuri grunted. “Your father did not know that the team he brought to Russia was all Saints.”
>
“What?” Mia asked in shock.
Yuri shrugged indifferently. “It is why I killed them and took Orrin.”
Cullen digested that information as his gaze met his father’s. “Hewett met with a man in a black trench coat yesterday.”
“Plain-looking?” Orrin asked. “Someone you’d forget meeting?”
Mia nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve got pictures.” She ran to their vehicle and grabbed the camera. When she returned, she handed it to Yuri and Orrin.
“That is the same man that visits the house often,” Yuri said.
“Why are you watching the house?” Cullen asked.
Orrin returned the camera to Mia. “The scientist who developed the bioweapon I stole from Russia is there.”
“Konrad Jankovic,” Cullen said with a nod of his head.
Mia winked at him. “I told you.”
“How do you know of him?” Yuri asked.
Cullen told them about how Owen, Natalie, Wyatt, and Callie had attended a benefit in Dallas and got the Russian ambassador, Egor Dvorak, alone. Dvorak gave up Jankovic as well as Orrin being in Virginia.
“How is Natalie?” Orrin asked.
Cullen smiled, thinking of his middle brother. “Quite happy now that Owen has won her heart again.”
“Now that is good news.” Orrin looked down at the cracked pavement, smiling.
Yuri dropped his arms as he looked upward, blinking against the continuous trickle of rain. “We should not remain out in the open.”
“He’s right,” Mia said. “But now that we’ve found each other, we should work together.”
Orrin pivoted and made his way to the back door of one of the shops. He withdrew a long knife from his boot and pried open the door. Then he motioned everyone inside.
Cullen shook off the rain from his head as he closed the door behind everyone. “What’s our next move? I gather you two were going after Jankovic.”
“Da,” Yuri stated.
Orrin hesitated, he and Yuri exchanging looks.
It was Mia who said, “I know that look, Orrin. What aren’t you telling us?”
“Just spit it out,” Yuri told Orrin.
Cullen waited impatiently before his father blew out a breath and said, “When Callie first came to work for me, she set up a system for me to be able to contact her if I was ever in trouble.”