Laura Kaye - Hard As It Gets

“Let’s go,” Nick said.

Shane palmed the doorknob and counted to three on his fingers. He pulled it open, cleared the hall with a nod, and started up the steps.

They were halfway up when a shadow fell across the opening at the top.

Sonofabitch.

The easy way was always mined. Of course, in this case, the easy way was the only way. No fucking chance Nick was getting this close to bringing Charlie home only to have it all go to shit fifteen feet from the exit.

A willowy figure carrying a tray appeared at the top and took one step down. Crystal. Her eyes went wide. “They’re coming. There was a call.” She retreated as they kept going up the stairs. “I have to scream now, and you have to hit me.”

“What?” Shane asked, echoing Rixey’s own thoughts.

“If you don’t, they’ll know I helped you. And I can’t . . .” Agitation overtook all her delicate features. “You have to. Please.” Apology in her eyes, she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please.”

“Pretend to fall and cradle your stomach.” Shane swung like he was punching her.

She dove, her head and back hitting the wall and the tray of food flying.

They bolted through the door.

Aw, thank fuck for Easy. He had his rental SUV sitting right there, back door open. Shane dove in first. Nick flipped Charlie off his shoulder, and Shane hauled him in. Rixey’s ass was still flapping in the breeze when Easy peeled out and men exploded through the door they’d just come through.

Gunshots erupted in a barrage that sprayed the back of the SUV.

Shane and Nick went flat, covering Charlie, who was completely out now. Probably for the best.

More gunfire again. The back window shattered in a hail of glass.

“Do whatever you have to do to avoid a tail, man,” Nick called.

“On it.”

Shane groaned. “Motherfuck.”

“What?” Nick asked as Easy tore out of the lot, cutting off traffic and sending oncoming cars into tailspins that luckily blocked the road.

“I’m hit.” Shane pulled a handful of blood away from his right shoulder. “Flesh wound, I’m pretty sure. Sonsabitches.”

“You need a hand?” Nick asked.

“No, goddamnit,” Shane said, cussing up a blue streak under his breath. Yeah, he was good.

Nick scanned out the back window. Course that would’ve been too easy. Two SUVs had gone offroading onto the sidewalk around the cars blocking the road. “We have company.”

“Yup,” Easy said.

“A-Team, vehicles are in pursuit. Do you have everyone?” came Jeremy’s voice.

An occasional round was still hitting home on their rear end.

Grabbing his gun, Rixey lowered the passenger window and leaned his upper body out enough to line up a shot. He pulled the trigger, and the first tail swerved and lost control, crashing into a parked car.

“Get us gone, E,” he hollered.

They ran a red light, which Rixey only realized after the fact when cars went screeching sideways in their wake. He approved. But the damn tail still wasn’t giving up. The road opened into two lanes lined with clubs and bars and restaurants, and traffic picked up. Couldn’t damn well shoot now. Nick sat heavily in his seat just as Easy cut across two lanes of traffic and made a right turn at the last possible minute.

Rixey careened into Charlie and Shane, whose injured shoulder slammed into the door, sending off more colorful curses.

The turn-and-slide didn’t stop there. Easy took the first left. Right again. And then another right, taking them back in the direction from which they’d come. No sign of the tail. Had they lost him? Nick kept a vigilant gaze out the back. Easy took the next left to cut across the city from east to west, continuing to zigzag to make sure they were tail-free. But he kept his speed down and drove carefully. Last thing they wanted was to get stopped by a cop for speeding or running a red light. Not when they were in the free and motherfucking clear.

Rixey blew out a breath and sagged against the seat. It might’ve been the first time he’d fully breathed in fifteen minutes. “Everybody okay?” He got two affirmatives, and hit his com button. “Eileen? This is A1. We have the package. I say again, we have the package.”

“They have him,” Jeremy said.

Some sort of static filled Nick’s earpiece for a moment, then Becca cried out, “You have him? You really have him?”

Man, the joy in her voice made him feel ten feet tall.

“Yeah, sunshine. I’m bringing him home.”

Becca had been sitting by Charlie’s makeshift bedside for eight hours, willing him with everything inside her to wake up long enough to let her know he was really okay.

Before they’d even returned to Hard Ink, Nick had given her a rundown of the injuries already identified: dehydration, probable broken ribs, multiple cuts and contusions, burn marks, infection in the amputation sites. They’d cut off two of his fingers. The macabre list went on and on, forcing her to detach from the idea of him as her brother long enough to treat him as a patient. Her attempted abduction proved they couldn’t trust hospitals to be safe right now.

Somewhere along the way, B-Team had met up with A and escorted them back. Marz had been shot three times in his lower right leg—the one with the prosthesis. His jeans were literally Swiss cheese, but otherwise B-Team had escaped the firefight at the storage center intact.

By the time both teams returned home, Becca and Jeremy had set up a trauma station using a table from the tattoo parlor and the supplies from her and Shane’s packs, which thankfully included IV fluids and antibiotics. Shane had helped her treat Charlie, and then she’d patched up Shane’s GSW. Thank God he’d only been grazed.

Once she’d done everything she could for Charlie, and thanked everyone, and welcomed them home safe and sound, she’d broken down in Nick’s arms.

After Charlie’d had two bags of saline and a bag of IV antibiotics, the guys had brought a mattress into the gym from the apartment so he could be moved off the firm table without jostling him too much.

She’d been sitting in this chair almost the entire time since then, alternating between sleeping against Nick, who sat beside her, staring at Charlie and willing him awake, and playing with her bracelet until she drove herself crazy with the jingle. She finally took it off and laid it at the foot of the mattress.

She wasn’t alone. Every member of the team had sat or slept around her and Charlie.

If she hadn’t already known before then, she knew exactly why Nick Rixey loved every one of these people. Becca didn’t know how she’d ever repay them.

Actually, yes she did. She and Charlie had to help them clear their names.

Another hour passed, and Becca fell asleep on Rixey’s shoulder again.

“Becca? Hey, wake up, sunshine.”

Eyes still unfocused, she lifted her head. And realized she was looking at an awake but very groggy Charlie.

She flew from her seat, eased to her knees, and leaned against the mattress. Unsure where to touch him that didn’t hurt, she stopped short. “Charlie. Thank God. I’m so sorry,” she said. “You were right. And I’m sorry.” Lightly, she brushed the mop of blond waves out of his face. He always kept his hair longish—it used to drive their father crazy—but he usually kept it pulled back in a ponytail.

He shook his head, his movements sluggish. “No worries.” Typical Charlie. “Thanks for not giving up on me,” he managed.

“I would never. Do you hear me? Never. I love you.”

“Me, too, sis.” The swallowing sound he made was hard and rough. “I would kill for a Mountain Dew.”

She laughed. “How about some water to start.”

He grunted but took a long draw from the cup she held. “Where am I?” he asked, eyes darting over the rough industrial space of the gym.

“A friend’s house,” she said for now. But she smiled at Rixey, and he winked.

Charlie’s eyes scanned around the gathered group. Everyone had gotten up when she’d said his name. “The Colonel’s team,” he stated, using the name he’d called their father for years. It was like he’d recognized them right off. “And some other dudes,” he said, eyeballing Jeremy and Miguel.

“How do you know us?” Nick asked. “I’m Nick Rixey, by the way.”

Charlie nodded. “My dad had some files on a thumb drive. Just personnel records, like patrol schedules and fitness reports, and stuff.” He shrugged. “I was able to patch together the names of most of the team.”

“No shit? There were fitness reports?” Marz said, looking at the other guys. “That’ll give us Merritt’s own copies to challenge the official records. Oh, I’m Derek DiMarzio, by the way. Any chance you still have those?”

“Yeah. I still have the drive.”

Becca sat on the edge of the mattress. “How, Charlie? Your place was tossed. So was mine, actually.”

He frowned and shifted like he was trying to get comfortable. “Thumb drives are hidden inside the wall of a motel I stayed in.” Holy crap. One of the ones they’d gone to, presumably.

Wide-eyed, Nick stepped to the edge of the mattress and looked down on her brother. “Can you start from the beginning and tell us what you found, what Church’s guys are looking for, and why you told Becca to find me?”

Becca looked between the two men she loved most in the world. Her heart ached for Charlie to know something that might help the team.

“Water again first, please?” Charlie said, reaching out. The guys all edged closer as he drank. He passed the cup back to her. How she wished she could do more for him. “Two months ago, I got a letter from a Singapore bank in the mail. It was addressed to my father at my apartment, which was frackin’ hilarious because he never once stepped foot in my place and wouldn’t have trusted me to handle his affairs. Letter said that per the account holder’s request, notification was being sent because of prolonged inactivity on the account. It’d be closed unless the account holder contacted them within ninety days.” He met Becca’s gaze, his blue eyes so like their father’s. His whole face, really.