Whatever It Takes (Code Of Honor Book 5)

by Reese Knightley

  Charles launched the bird into the sky and flew low over the trees. The ex-fighter pilot sure the hell knew his stuff.

  With Eric safely away, Dillon fired his last round and released the clip. He pulled the extra clip he kept in his pocket and slammed it home. Lunging up and sprinting through the darkness, he headed toward the barn.

  Pulling off the radio he kept on his hip, he pressed the button.

  “Paul, you copy?”

  A crackling static came over the line.

  Fuck.

  Dillon

  Slipping toward the black, gaping barn door, he couldn’t get the look on Luke’s face out of his mind nor the last thing he’d said to the man.

  It’s too late. No, it wasn’t fucking too late, because he was going to find Luke and then kill everyone else.

  Reaching the barn, he ducked inside and was met by Cricket and all three ranch dogs.

  “Luke?” he hissed, but was greeted with silence.

  “Come,” he whispered and locked the dogs in the barn’s office along with bowls of water. Once they were safely inside, he slid back through the interior of the building. Only a few low lights shone in the occupied stalls. Other than that, there were plenty of shadows to stay hidden in.

  Gunfire came from the house and he eased along the stalls, making his way toward a side door.

  A figure emerged ahead. The man was big and walked quietly, the gun he held aimed forward.

  Dillon sank back into the shadows. When the man reached him, Dillon punched the man in the temple with all of his force. The guy dropped like a stone.

  He’d forgotten about his fucking hand until pain pierced his knuckles. Gritting his teeth, he tucked it against his chest, fingers throbbing.

  Adrenaline pushed him on with the need to find Luke overtaking everything.

  Grabbing a thin piece of leather from a hook, he hogtied the guy before tossing the perp into a vacant stall and gagging him. It only took seconds, but seemed like fucking minutes before he snatched up another rope and left the barn via the side exit.

  The door spilled him out on the east side of the ranch house. He ran hunched over and halfway to the house, he found the body of Luke’s head of security, Paul Falcon. He checked the man’s pulse, he was gone.

  “Anyone copy?” he hissed into the radio. He should have had several responses from the extra security, but got no response.

  He kept moving quickly, covering the distance that separated him from the main house.

  The gunfire from the house had stopped and that could mean one of two things. Luke was dead or they couldn’t find him.

  He refused to think the vibrant, big hearted, stubborn man was dead. Not before he got a chance to tell him he loved him back.

  His gut was telling him Luke was hiding. He had to believe that Luke was alive until he saw a fucking body. Then and only then would he lose it. Right now, he had to stay focused. If they killed Luke? They’d all pay.

  Moving at a good clip through the walkway, he came upon one of Paul’s men crumpled on the ground. The man was dead, there was nothing he could do. The fuckers were in the house.

  Standing below his bedroom balcony, he tossed up the rope he’d snagged. Taking a deep breath, he climbed up and over the railing.

  His feet touched lightly and he used his security key to unlock the patio door. Thankfully, he held the only key when he’d had the lock installed.

  Finding the bedroom empty, he eased open the door and sent a searching glance into the hallway. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor and someone stepped on a piece of broken glass.

  Dillon waited and when the perp stepped past, Dillon burst out of the partially opened door. He aimed the butt of his weapon at the suspect’s head, but the perp was quick and ducked. He hit the guy’s arm instead and the man grunted.

  The perp’s weapon went flying and Dillon moved in and clenched one arm around the man’s throat. A well-placed kick grazed his knee and Dillon stumbled. He snarled under his breath and powerlifted the fucker back through the door and into his bedroom. The man curled forward and Dillon found himself tossed, landing hard on the floor. He flipped and lunged upward, and they grappled. The perp was determined to get the upper hand, but Dillon had one thing over on the guy. He was fighting for a loved one. He was fighting for Luke.

  Several times they shifted positions, but Dillon finally got an arm lock around the perp’s throat. He squeezed, putting every ounce of rage and power into play.

  He clenched his teeth and tightened his arm when the man fought. The fucker thrashed around and it took Dillon a moment to get into position. When he felt the guy’s neck snap, he stumbled back and the body fell to the floor.

  Holding his hand to his chest, he quickly shut his bedroom door. He shook out his fingers and hissed, double checking the broken skin.

  Stalking to the dead perp, he shoved the body beneath his bed and pulled down the bedskirt.

  Back out into the hallway, he broke out lights as he went. If they tried turning lights on up here, they would find only darkness. Dillon backtracked and reached Luke’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and he slipped inside.

  It was empty and tossed. Everything that Luke owned had been torn apart and tossed about. The picture that hid the safe had been torn off the wall, but the safe was intact.

  Okay, Luke, give me a sign.

  “Carson?”

  At the sound of voices, Dillon pressed his back to the wall near the open door. He had deliberately left the door ajar so the perps wouldn’t be suspicious if they came back this way.

  “I can’t believe they hired almost all of our guys for their security,” one guy laughed.

  “Yeah, Paul was a stupid fucker,” another guy answered the first.

  “Carson, you better fucking answer me,” someone else snarled. Carson wasn’t going to answer if he was the guy dead beneath the bed.

  “Carson must have broken out the lights up here,” someone said.

  “Where’s the rest of the men?”

  “They were checking the perimeter. They’re on their way.”

  “Where’s Tom?” another voice asked.

  “He was checking the barn.”

  “Fuck. Go find him. And find that fucking bodyguard,” the first man demanded.

  Their voices faded and the hallway grew quiet.

  His phone buzzed and he gazed in disbelief when Luke’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Where are you?” he hissed into the phone.

  “Turn around.”

  He spun and searched the darkened room. After two seconds, he saw Luke’s shoes sticking out from beneath the edge of the heavy window curtains, next to a pile of tossed cushions.

  Three strides had him across the room and yanking back the curtain to find Luke leaning against the wall and sipping on a whiskey, neat.

  “About time you showed up.” The whiskey-soaked words tumbled a bit loudly from Luke’s lips.

  Dillon lifted a hand and pressed it over Luke’s mouth.

  “Fine time to tie one on.”

  If he hadn’t been so worried, he would have laughed.

  “I had to do something for the pain,” Luke said slowly.

  “What pain?”

  Luke swiveled the light of his cellphone screen down at his own shirt.

  He glanced down. Oh fuck. He reached down and grabbed one of the shirts on the floor and lifted Luke’s blood-soaked shirt. The gut wound was seeping. He pressed the material against the bullet hole and pressed his hand against Luke’s mouth as voices drifted from the hallway again.

  Holding Luke’s gaze, he saw the pain in the pinched expression. When the voices faded, he eased his hand back.

  “I can’t find Eric or Marge, or JJ,” Luke said between his teeth.

  “Eric got away. I personally put him on a helicopter.”

  “Oh, thank god.” Luke fisted his shirt. “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” He cupped the side of Luke’s neck. “JJ is in town.
I’ll shoot him a text,” he whispered and shot the ranch manager a text message that essentially said, stay away, they were under attack, and send the sheriff.

  “Where’s Paul and the men?”

  Dillon closed his eyes for a second. “Paul’s dead. I found one of his men dead as well. The others won’t be much help.”

  He filled Luke in on what he’d overheard in the hallway.

  “Did you see Marge?” Luke gritted out, keeping his voice low.

  Dillon wasn’t sure where Marge was and that worried him.

  “No. We’ll find her, but first I need to get you someplace safe.”

  “I know of a place.”

  Luke

  Poor Paul and the men who’d died defending him. Eric and JJ were safe, he reminded himself.

  His hands were shaking. He’d gone from counting the minutes until he and everyone he loved died to having so much hope it left him reeling.

  Dillon gently took the drink from his hand, set it aside, and slipped an arm around his waist. Luke took a slow step forward, the pain stabbed at him, but he clenched his teeth and took another step.

  Dillon’s arm tightened carefully, but the man’s face in the faint light of the cell phone had been carved in granite.

  “Just think of it this way,” he joked. “I’ll have another scar for you to explore.” This wasn’t his first gunshot wound. In fact, this would make his third. “If there is any more exploration.”

  “Not funny,” Dillon growled, but the snarl was barely a sound.

  Luke grimaced and clutched at Dillon when he almost went to the ground with his next step. He dropped the subject of the two of them being anything more than what they were now. Perhaps, this was it. This could be the last time he had Dillon’s arm around him, and it wasn’t in passion. He turned his mind away from that hurtful image.

  “When I get out of this, I’m going to find out what the hell is going on with my son.”

  Dillon stopped, and even though it was dark, Luke could just make out an odd expression on the man’s face.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Dillon whispered back.

  What the ever-loving fuck?

  “You do?” he hissed.

  “Yup,” Dillon drawled, barely audible.

  They made it outside to his balcony, and he found himself eased up against the wall out of sight from the room and from anyone below.

  “I thought you wanted to punch his head in,” he groused, wishing he had just one more sip of whiskey.

  “Me too,” Dillon grunted. “Stay here and be quiet.”

  He stayed leaning against the wall, wondering what had changed for Dillon. Through his burning eyes, he watched Dillon leap cat-like and walk across the railing that connected their balconies before the soldier jumped with a lightness of foot that made him envious.

  Once there, Dillon fiddled with the railing and Luke realized he had a rope.

  Oh boy. He hadn’t climbed a rope since his active service days. And he was tipsy to boot. This was going to be fun.

  Dillon came back and tied the rope over the edge of the balcony and then turned to him.

  “I can’t climb down that.” He shook his head. Sure, he was in shape, but with his gut bleeding out, his strength was waning.

  Dillon eyed him and then pulled the rope up and devised a knot with a piece of the rope in a loop at the end.

  “Give me your foot,” Dillon said, and when he lifted his foot, he placed the rope around his shoe. He had only a moment to think about climbing over the railing when Dillon lifted him over and handed him the rope.

  “Hang on,” Dillon rasped, and he grabbed it with both hands, his foot in the circle.

  Gazing up, he watched as the muscles on Dillon’s arms bulged and corded with his weight. There was a tightness around Dillon’s mouth that spoke of pain, but rather than argue, he held as still as possible until he was lowered to the ground. He reached down, loosened the rope, and kicked the end away before glancing upward.

  Dillon vaulted over the railing, grabbed the rope, and was at his side in seconds.

  “We need to get to the west outbuilding where we store the feed,” Luke whispered.

  Dillon put an arm around his waist and he couldn’t have gone slow if he wanted.

  The soldier powerlifted him along the way, and when he grew too weak to walk, Dillon carried him.

  Dillon

  “How long do you think we need to stay here?” Luke’s tired voice drew his gaze from the small lookout hole.

  He ran his eyes over the man. Tiredness lined Luke’s face and deep grooves etched the downward slope of his mouth.

  “As long as it takes for help to arrive.”

  When Luke turned his face away, Dillon moved to his feet. He had to stoop over to get to the general in the small, cramped space.

  “Let me see.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “I didn’t ask if it was fine,” he growled and crouched.

  Easing closer, he lifted Luke’s stained shirt and pulled back the makeshift bandage. At least the bleeding had stopped. He tossed the bloodied rag and reached down to rip another piece of his own t-shirt. Folding it, he carefully placed it over the bullet hole and fastened it with the long strip he had tied around the man’s waist.

  Sweat beaded Luke’s face and Dillon touched the back of his fingers to the man’s forehead. It was hot to the touch.

  “I need to get help.” He turned away to hide his worry.

  “Dillon?” Fingers caught at his wrist, bringing him back around.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you,” Luke whispered.

  Rather than respond, Dillon squatted back down and pulled Luke into his arms, tucked his face in the man’s neck, and drew in a deep breath.

  “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad.” He let every regret he felt fill the heartfelt words.

  “It’s okay.” Luke’s fingers caressed the base of his neck.

  “It’s not. I fuck shit up every time I lose my temper.”

  “Dillon. We’re really going to need to talk. About everything. I need to know what you lived through as a child, and I believe you need to tell me.”

  “I know.” He drew back and grimaced.

  “Just like I needed to tell you about Vanessa and Eric.”

  He held Luke’s green eyes for a long moment and then lifted his hand to cup the side of the man’s face.

  They wouldn’t be sharing anything if they didn’t get help because Luke wasn’t going to make it and they both knew it.

  “Eric borrowed money from a loan shark. It’s that guy who’s after you. Eric told them you kept money here in the safe.”

  “I suspected.” Luke sighed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  “I need to tell you something too,” Luke said with a grimace.

  “Just save your energy, we can talk later.”

  “This is important.”

  Dillon cupped Luke’s cheek.

  “I hired an investigator to dig into your family. I… I needed to know what you went through,” Luke said raggedly.

  “Shhhh,” Dillon whispered, sorrier than he could say that Luke had to go to those lengths to find out something he should have shared with the man he loved.

  He combed his fingers through Luke’s hair, watching the way his lids fluttered slowly and then opened.

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’ll tell you everything when we get out of here.”

  “Okay.” Luke gave him a trembling smile.

  From their hiding spot, Dillon observed the perps searching for them as they combed the house and grounds.

  He’d sent a text to Liam and Oliver letting them know they were under attack. Liam, Infinity, and Fury had taken a jet and would be landing at the nearest airport. Oliver and Pia would stop and pick up everyone before flying to the ranch. If all went as planned, everyone should get there at the same time. That had been an hour or so
ago.

  Thankfully, Luke had been able to get a hold of Marge via text. She gently reminded him that she’d scheduled a half day leaving early, but offered to come back if needed.

  Luke had handed him the phone and Dillon had responded with a no thank you and enjoy your time off.

  “This is the Maricopa County Sheriff’s department. Throw down your weapons and come out!”

  In a flash of lights and blaring sirens, the county sheriff had arrived about thirty minutes ago.

  When the car drew close to the house, gunfire had cracked the silence. The cops exchanged fire, but quickly realized they were no match for the hired thugs and retreated in a hail of sprayed dirt, rocks, and bullets before taking cover near the front gate to the ranch.

  If he didn’t have Luke to protect, he would have provided cover for the cops, but they’d just need to wait a little while longer.

  Gazing out the peep hole, he wasn’t sure just how many perps the loan shark had sent to rob and kill Luke, but considering the firepower they’d used against the cops and the men Paul had inadvertently hired, Dillon figured it was more than ten but less than thirty. He hoped.

  Fuck. He sent another text to Liam.

  Dillon: How close?

  Liam: Hang in there, Dillon. We’re in the chopper about twenty minutes out.”

  Dillon: I’ll lay down cover fire when you get closer.

  Liam: Roger that.

  He lifted his Sig P320 pistol and gazed through the small opening. It was a part of the outbuilding that couldn’t be seen from the inside. Luke said his great-grandfather had it built when he had to hide the family from the roughnecks of the west.

  Dillon gazed through the darkness at the ranch house. The distance looked empty from here to the house, but it wasn’t. Even though it was night, he knew what stood between them. The barn to the left, a water tower about a few hundred yards out, and several large rolls of hay. It would give him cover when he made his move toward the landing pad.

  He so badly wanted to take care of every single suspect out there. He wanted to annihilate them all. The only problem was he couldn’t leave Luke. He’d suggested it once when they’d first reached the hideout, but Luke had used that general’s voice on him to stay put.