His Firecracker: Sassy Girls Series

by Reynolds, Rory

  Lawrence parks in front of my apartment building, my stomach gives a sick little twist, remembering my apartment being broken into, the heart-stopping fear and the knowledge that I had to leave. To run. It hits me that this no longer feels like home.

  I jump when Lawrence opens the car door. I didn’t even notice he had gotten out. “Are we going to do this or not?”

  “Um, yeah, sorry,” I stutter.

  A feeling of dread builds in my gut as we make our way upstairs to my apartment. I nearly tell Lawrence that we can just leave when he comes to tell me the apartment is empty. It’s just me feeling guilty about leaving when I told Drake I wouldn’t. There is no other reason, I try to convince myself. I’m already here, I might as well pack a bag real quick.

  Ten minutes, in and out. No biggie.

  The apartment looks just the same. I half expected it to be ransacked or something since Frankie knows about it and is vindictive enough, but no, everything is just as I left it. I grab my suitcase from the hall closet and start packing. I avoid the top drawer of my dresser, not wanting to see the mess Frankie made of my panties again.

  I’m on my way from the bathroom back to my bedroom with my arms full of all my toiletries when I hear Lawrence raise his voice to whoever he is talking to on the phone. I can only assume he’s talking to Drake because he’s saying something about stubborn women and the most maddening assignment being a fucking babysitter. I can’t help but snicker when I hear him apologize, because I know for a fact if he is taking to Drake, he’s getting his ass chewed for talking shit about me and being my bodyguard.

  I throw a few more things into my suitcase, then zip the over-filled bag. I look around the room, wondering if I’ve forgotten anything I need when it hits me that the apartment is completely silent. Even before Lawrence was on the phone, he wasn’t quiet. I don’t know he ever survived in the Army because he’s like a bull in a china shop for how subtle he is.

  “Lawrence?” I call, edging my way closer to my bedroom door. “Could you come grab my bag?” I don’t need his help, but I’m starting to freak out because he’s not responding. Perhaps he’s just being defiant because of my refusal to call him by his nickname. Or maybe something happened to him, my mind conjures up all kinds of scenarios that send spikes of fear through me. “Law?” Still no response.

  I slowly and silently make my way to the living room, gasping when I see Law sprawled on the floor, laying in a pool of blood. “Oh, God!” I run to his side, falling to my knees. I press my fingers to his neck, relieved when his pulse is strong and even. I reach for my phone, realizing I left it in my purse in the bedroom. I start to pat down Law’s pockets knowing he has his phone when there is a blinding pain in the back of my head. I only have a second to register that I’ve been hit and that I was a fucking idiot for not checking for whoever attacked Law before the world goes dark.

  20

  Drake

  “Tell me where we’re at,” I say as soon as everyone is in the conference room. I don’t even wait for everyone to find a seat before I’m demanding an update. Giving zero fucks to the fact that Hutch is the boss. This concerns my woman, and I want answers now.

  “Kieffer heard from his inside man early this morning. He confirmed the new group that recently moved into town is Rosetti. He hasn’t been able to confirm that Frankie is there. He’s waiting on more intel.”

  Hutch watches me carefully as he speaks. I try to force down my knee-jerk reaction to run in guns blazing—it’s a struggle, but I manage to keep my cool. This is the closest we’ve come to getting a lead on the man that tortured Joselynn for years. Who sent her running for her life. Who she’s had nightmares about. Been forced to change her identity multiple times because of. The desire to eliminate that threat is almost irresistible.

  Somehow, I manage to clear my mind and think rationally. We need a plan. I have no doubt if the Rosetti’s have a place set up here in Charlotte, Frankie is there. Either Kieffer is holding back information, or the guy isn’t in deep enough to warrant meeting the boss.

  “I’m assuming Kieffer has a plan?”

  Hutch nods. “You aren’t going to like it.”

  “Tell me, anyway.”

  “He’s been told to play wait-and-see. His superiors won’t green light him until they are sure Frankie is there.”

  “Son of a bitch. So we are just going to wait until some paper-pushing douche bag decides it’s the right time? What does Kieffer actually think?”

  Hutch laughs. “I knew you’d ask that. He’s got a team gathered, and they should be ready to move tomorrow. He’s not as willing to wait as his superiors are. He agrees with you, Frankie is there, he’s just hiding out. Waiting.”

  “How did Kieffer get a guy inside?”

  Mack answers, “Frankie has hired just about every professional thug in the greater Charlotte area. Which is both good and bad for us. Good because it gave Kieffer a chance to infiltrate their ranks. Bad because there’s a dozen or so assholes on top of whoever was left of the Rosetti’s after the takedown.”

  “Like they stand a chance,” Rush scoffs. He’s the youngest of us. Was medically discharged from the Marines about eight months ago when a roadside bomb took his leg below the knee. He’s a damn good shot, and despite the injury, he can hold his own against the best of us in a fight.

  He earned our respect, but he’s still young in a lot of ways. This is just a reminder that he’s got a ways to go before he can lead his own team.

  There is a murmur of agreement around the room, but no one else speaks out of turn. It takes me a minute to fully comprehend what Hutch actually said. Kieffer is gathering a team, and yet here we all sit, no Kieffer in sight.

  Motherfucker.

  “He’s cutting us out, isn’t he?”

  Hutch looks uncomfortable. He knows I’m not going to back down on this. “It’s the government, man. You know how they are. Even if Kieffer weren’t going against the upper brass, they still wouldn’t have wanted us involved. We’re the clean-up crew when things go FUBAR. Not the ones they send on what they are considering a standard operation.”

  I slam my fist on the table. “That’s fucking bullshit. They let Rosetti get away once already.”

  “Which is why we are going to strategize and do our own little raid of the premises,” Mack says. “Someone may or may not have hacked into the CIA’s database and gotten the blueprints for the compound they’re holed up in.”

  I was surprised when I came in and saw Mack sitting at the conference table. When I asked him why he was here, he said being behind the computer was great and all, but he can’t shoot anything from Washington.

  “So, we aren’t waiting for Kieffer’s team?” I look around the room taking in the faces of the men I’ve worked with, men with similar backgrounds to my own. Men who are willing to go under fire to protect something precious to me.

  “Fuck no,” Hutch laughs, clapping me on the back.

  We spend the next two hours going over the blueprints and getting our plan of attack in order. Frankie is going down. Joselynn will never have to look over her shoulder again if I have anything to say about it.

  We arrange to meet at eleven tonight to get into position. We attack at three when all little bad boys and girls are tucked in tight. I’m about to head out when Mack lets out a low curse.

  “Drake, where’s Joselynn?”

  “She’s at home. Law’s on her today. Why?” A sick pit opens up in my stomach. The only reason he’d ask that is if she isn’t where she said she’d be.

  “Her phone just pinged at her old apartment.”

  “That stubborn woman. I told her we’d go get her shit tomorrow. How the fuck did she get out of the house with Law watching? He’s a bulldog. There is no way she snuck away without him knowing.”

  Mack taps on his computer keys and lets out another low curse. “Either your girl stole his car, or he drove her there himself.”

  “That jackass is dead when I get my hands on him.
He was told to keep her home and safe.” I’m growling as I dial Law’s number, already going to voicemail when I tried Joselynn’s number.

  “Law.” He answers the phone with all the courtesy of a honey badger.

  “Why the fuck are you at Joselynn’s apartment?”

  “Because you picked a stubborn as fuck woman to stick your dick in?”

  “Watch yourself,” I warn. “You should have called me the minute she crossed the threshold of the house and you sure as shit shouldn’t have taken her to the apartment where we know for a fact Frankie has been inside!”

  Hutch’s hand comes down on my shoulder, and he murmurs for me to calm down. I don’t know if you’ve ever been told to calm down when you’re fucking pissed, but calm is not what happens. I jerk away from Hutch, storming out of the conference room, leaving everyone sitting at the table staring at each other.

  Hutch calls out for me, but I ignore him. He’s coming out the door as I peel out of the parking lot, ready to break every traffic law to get to Joselynn. I double park in front of the apartment building, not even turning my truck off before I’m running up the stairs to get to Joselynn’s apartment.

  The door is hanging open, and a sick pit of dread opens in my gut. I hear Hutch yelling my name as he chases after me. I don’t even slow down as I pull my gun, it takes me a heartbeat to take in the living room. Everything is in place, except Law is knocked out cold, blood pooling around him. I roll him making note of his injuries. He looks fine, save for the cut on his head that is bleeding profusely.

  Hutch must’ve come in at some point because he kneels down beside me with a dishtowel from the kitchen in his hand. He presses it to the wound, and I search the rest of the apartment. Joselynn is nowhere to be found. I hold out hope that she has her phone with her because then Mack could trace her, but I find it discarded on her bed.

  “Fuck!” I shout, throwing the phone against the wall.

  Law is coming to when I go back to the living room. “Who fucking did this?” I ask him, barely holding back from punching him.

  “Hitting him could cause brain damage, and then you’ll never find out what happened.” Once again, Hutch is talking me down from the ledge I’m teetering on.

  “It was that bitch she works with. Sara Hastings. She knocked on the door saying Joselynn called her to meet her here. I let her in, and the little shit clocked me one.”

  Hutch and I share a confused look. “How is Sara involved in any of this? She’s friends with Joselynn. They’ve worked together for years.”

  “Not sure, but we’re going to find out.” Hutch has Mack on the phone and is giving him a rundown of everything that’s happened.

  I’m not going to wait around while Mack plays hacker detective. I’m going to go get my woman. This time Hutch is better in reading my intentions because he’s right on my heels as I run to my truck. I’m mildly surprised it’s still sitting where I left it. Hutch barely gets his door closed before I’m speeding toward the Rosetti compound and my firecracker.

  Hutch doesn’t hang up the phone once as we drive across town. He’s apparently moving up our plan to right now. It’s a damn good thing because I’ll burn in hell before I let Joselynn stay with that psychotic ex of hers for one minute longer than necessary.

  21

  Joselynn

  I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Four trucks and a taxi. Maybe a train too. It takes what feels like hours before I can force my eyelids to listen to the demand for them to open. I almost curse them for listening when bright light causes a dagger-like pain to shoot through my head. I lay still, trying to remember what happened and why my head is killing me.

  It comes back to me in a rush. Law on the floor. Me trying to find his phone to call for help. Then hearing a slight rustling sound before everything went dark. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that whoever it was that hurt Law, also knocked me unconscious and brought me here.

  Wherever here is.

  The room I’m being held in looks like some kind of guest room. Other than the bed I’m lying on there is only a small dresser and two doors. One I assume is the closet and the other freedom. My hands are bound in front of me with a zip tie. My wrists ache, but I ignore that and force myself to stand, fighting back nausea as my head spins and spots flash in my vision.

  Take it slow, Jos, I tell myself. It would be unfortunate to pass out again. Unconscious is really bad idea right now. I’ve barely got my bearings when the door opens and in walks the last person I ever thought I’d see…

  “Sara?” Her usual friendly smile is gone, replaced with a sneer. I’m completely taken aback by the look of hatred on her face. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” she mocks in an overly exaggerated way. “I don’t know what he sees in you.” She looks me up and down. “You’re nothing special. Less than nothing.”

  It’s not until that moment that I notice what I’m wearing. I was wearing one of Drake’s button-down shirts, tied at the side, and a pair of yoga pants. Those have been replaced by a white gown. Not just any white gown. My wedding dress. The one that was picked out for me to wear when I married Frankie. Nausea takes my breath away. Sara takes advantage of my silence.

  “He should be with me! I’m the one that’s been there for him. Taken care of him. All you’ve ever done is cause him problems!” she rants.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sara.”

  “My name isn’t Sara, you idiot! It’s Stephanie. Don’t you recognize me?”

  Stephanie. The only Stephanie I know worked as a secretary for Frank Sr. and then Frankie when his dad died. I look at her more closely and can see the resemblance. Her hair is different. A mousy shade of brown. I remember her having bleach blonde hair. She always wore too much makeup and revealing clothes. I never liked her much when I first started dating Frankie. She flirted with him incessantly. Now I’m getting the picture that I had every right to not like her. Not that I care now. She can have him.

  “Why? Why pretend to be someone you’re not? Why trick me into being friends?”

  “Why, why, why… God you’re like a broken record. I did it all for him of course!” By now she’s directly in front of me, shouting in my face.

  “You did it for Frankie?” My tone is incredulous. “I left years ago; I don’t understand.”

  Questioning her was the wrong move on my part. She’s obviously a bit unhinged because she slaps me across the face. I cringe away from her when it looks like she’s going to hit me again. Before her hand can connect with my face for a second time, my living nightmare storms into the room and grabs Sara—Stephanie—by her hair and tosses her aside.

  “Don’t fucking hit her! You already gave her one bruise we had to cover. I don’t want my bride all bruised up on her wedding day. What will people say when they see the photos? Get out of here and make sure the priest is ready.”

  Frankie lifts his hand, and I flinch when his fingers lightly touch my forehead. Not from the pain of him touching the spot where I was knocked unconscious, but because I hate the thought of him touching me at all. His touch is gentle as he strokes my cheek. “So beautiful. Have you missed me, my Angel?”

  Hot tears stream down my face unchecked. Frankie presses his lips to mine, and I have to fight down the urge to vomit. I have a feeling that wouldn’t end well for me. I stand still as a statue. Trying to think through my options. If I can just get some time alone, I can break free of these restraints and find a way out of here.

  I don’t get that chance because a very sour-looking Stephanie comes back saying that the priest is ready for us. Frankie drags me out into the hallway. I try to take everything in, but it’s all the same. Hallway after hallway of doors. We get to what looks like a ballroom, and I nearly vomit everywhere. The whole space has been turned into my dream wedding. I’m not surprised when the wedding planner saunters up to us, a predatory grin on her face.

  Wonder if she’s another of Frankie
’s little side pieces.

  “We are ready for you, Mr. Rosetti. I hope we captured your vision for your wedding, Ms. Tate.”

  It takes everything I have to not correct her. I’m not Angel Tate anymore. Not for a long time. Frankie turns to me a broad smile on his face. It just looks wrong. Like a monster trying to smile at a child, so they aren’t afraid, but instead looks even more horrifying sending the child running. Except, I have nowhere to run.

  I frantically look around the room for some form of help. A tall man in a black suit looks oddly familiar, and I brush it off as him just being one of Frankie’s goons that survived the FBI takedown. When he gives me a pointed look, I quickly scan the rest of the room. There are two other men who look more like thugs than the typical bodyguard that Frankie hires. One of them leers at me like he’d eat me for a midnight snack and the other is stoically watching everything happening around him. The only other people are the wedding planner, Stephanie, and what I’m assuming is the priest.

  “What do you think, sweetheart?” Frankie asks as if he really cares what I think.

  “I think you’re insane if you think I’m going to go along with this farce. I would rather die than be married to you.” I don’t know where I find the balls to do it, but I spit in Frankie’s face and pull away from him. I only make it two steps when Stephanie trips me, causing me to fall. With my hands restrained, I can’t catch myself properly. I manage to turn just enough that I land on my hip and not my bound hands. It hurts but is a million times better than possibly breaking my wrists. If they’re broken, I don’t stand a chance of getting out of these restraints.

  There is a commotion followed by a gunshot, I scream in shock as Stephanie falls beside me, dead. “Now look what you made me do,” Frankie tsks. “She was such a good fuck.” He shrugs. “Oh, well. I won’t be needing her anymore now that I have my Angel back.”