Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Noble

Several Hours Earlier

I let my fury simmer into cold rage. The urge to immediately execute the men in the SUV is strong. However, I'm more calculated than that. I need to find out who hired them and what they know. Then, I can put a bullet in each of their brains and, if all goes well, be back in time to cuddle Brooklyn before bed.

Sometimes, I wonder if my ability to compartmentalize work and my personal life means I'm a psychopath, but I truly don't believe I meet the criteria. In my mind, I'm a product of my training and nothing more.

Sure, I excel at things that might be considered grim, but if I didn't do them, someone else would.

It's that simple.

I consider myself a pragmatist. I'm logical and calculating, but that's a necessity of my job.

It's exactly why I follow the SUV all afternoon, rather than climbing from my car to execute them at the first stoplight.

During their lunch break, I place a tracker on the vehicle that links directly to the only piece of tech I brought with me. It's smart to be untraceable when committing crimes.

It's just starting to get dark as I follow the SUV away from the city and toward the warehouse district. Because of the tracker, keeping my distance is easy enough.

Once they park, I wait for the sun to fully set as I gear up.

It's a hike to where the vehicle is positioned several warehouses away, but the trek gives me the chance to pull the mask down over my face, as well as bring up the hood on my sweatshirt.

This entire area is spread out, and it takes longer than I expect to get to where they are.

The two men I saw exit the SUV to grab lunch earlier now stand side-by-side with their backs to me as I approach.

This feels like a meeting spot, and I'm torn between watching and waiting or acting immediately. If I wait it out, and they're met by a convoy, I might not be enough. They could disappear to a secondary location to provide an update.

I'd have to spend countless hours waiting for them to be returned to their vehicle.

I decide I'm not going that route about the time I rip my Glocks from their thigh holsters.

These men failed their directive. If the boss isn't willing to give them another chance, they could be executed before I can question them.

I need information.

Okay, and maybe a little bit of revenge.

My foot extends, slamming into the back of the knee of the guy on the left as my forearm wraps around the idiot on the right's throat.

I yank him backward several steps, extending my left hand at his friend's forehead as he spins around.

The guy I'm holding stops struggling when he realizes my Glock is what's pushing against his temple.

The dick facing me tosses his hands up. "Whoa, what the fuck is this?"

"Who hired you?"

"I told you someone was following us," the asshole against my chest says.

They're both young—maybe twenty-five, tops. I still won't feel an ounce of remorse about stopping their birthdays where they are now.

"I'm not going to ask again," I growl. "Who hired you? What method was used to contract your services?"

"Come on, man," the guy facing me says. "You know we can't tell you that."

"What were the parameters of your employment?"

"What?" the guy I'm holding asks.

"Who is the job for, exactly?" I snarl, digging my gun deeper into his temple. Neither answers, and my fury rises. "If you want to live through this, you'll tell me who hired you." It's a lie, but I don't owe them shit.

"That would be me," a male voice says from behind me.

Two things happen as his men fan out around us.

First, I pull the trigger for the guy standing across from me. His forehead caves in as I tug that arm down, slightly changing the angle of the weapon on the right. The last thing I need is to clip my other arm with a through-and-through.

I slam the guy struggling against my chest forward and pull that trigger too. Blood and bone explode as I twist my head, closing my eyes to avoid as much of the spray as possible.

I can't see the next attacker coming up in front of me, but I hear his heavy boots on the concrete. My eyes pop open as I swivel and kick him in the gut. Bringing both guns up, I shoot him at center mass.

An unsilenced gunshot wizzes past my face, startling the hell out of me.

I twist and crouch, appraising the closest threats.

Three more of my shots land in their targets. I'm sure to count my rounds in each gun as I go.

"No, I want him alive," the same voice from earlier growls.

That doesn't stop two more bullets from landing only feet away from me.

I scan, preparing to roll, but the cracking sound that radiates through my skull is the last thing I hear as it all goes black.

My head rolls around as the throbbing in my skull registers.

I yank my wrists, which are twisted behind me, but it's clear I'm bound.

Handcuffs are significantly more complicated to get out of, but some shimmying tells me they used zip ties.

Thank fuck for that.

My eyes refuse to focus on anything.

I'm in one of the warehouses nearby where the altercation took place, if the high-ass windows are any indication. The floor is concrete, and my hands are bound to a pipe that goes from the ceiling to the floor.

So, yeah, it's pretty safe to assume I'm in a warehouse.

The door to the small room opens with a scratching sound and a clank. Dustin Barrett, the slimy fucker, strides in, leaving the door open behind him. He comes to a stop a few feet in front of me and tilts his head.

It's too late to pretend I'm still knocked out, so I do my best to fake being able to focus on his face.

"Who are you?" Dustin asks.

"We've met. Don't you remember?" I chuckle, but it's a bad idea. I can feel my pulse in my eyeballs, which doesn't seem like a great sign. I'm sure I've got a concussion, at the very least. "You're the shitty uncle. I'm the friendly neighbor. Come on, man. This has to be ringing some bells."

I vaguely see the fist fly at my jaw, but I'm in no position to stop it.

My head bounces to the side, which only increases the throbbing in my temples.

"I'll ask you the same question you asked earlier. Who hired you?"

I tilt my head forward and spit blood on his expensive loafers.

My tongue swipes over my busted lip as I try to pretend like there aren't three of him.

I decide the middle figure is a safe bet on which one is real, so I focus on him. "No one hired me. As a matter of fact, I declined your brother's offer of employment."

"Then, why the fuck are you here?" he snarls, grabbing the front of my hoodie and violently shaking me.

It's a pathetic torture attempt if that's what he's going for, but my brain is also feeling especially scrambled. "Keep that shit up, and I'm going to hurl all over your shoes."

"Just fucking answer the question," he growls close to my face.

"It's a free country. I was minding my own business, got a little tired of Cali, so I came to check out New York…" I chuckle darkly. "Then, I met this pretty little thing that lives down the hall. Not a mean bone in her body." I shrug, trying to shake off his hold on my hoodie. "I decided I was going to keep her. And you know what I won't stand for, Dusty?"

He slams his fist into my cheek over and over again.

Luckily, his punches remind me of my little sister's, when she wasn't even swinging at full capacity.

"Have some respect for the position you find yourself in." He finally releases me.

"I won't stand for someone touching what's mine." My head rolls around until I can stare him in the eyes.

Damn, I think I am, anyway.

It's hard to tell with how blurry he is.

I still give him a shit-eating grin.

The metallic taste of blood hits my tastebuds.

I'm sure my teeth are nice and bloody, but I smile like a feral alpha.

If he's looking for my fear, he won't find an ounce of it.

"I claimed Brooklyn and Liberty. They're mine now. The best thing you can do is release me. I'll grab them, and we'll disappear. Do you really want to murder your niece? Are you that far gone, Dustin?" My head tilts as I study the frown on his face.

"I don't want to be involved in any of this," he growls, jabbing a finger at my chest. "But someone is feeding information to the enemy, and it's not fucking me!"

My jaw drops.

There's definitely dissension in the Barrett household.

"It's not Brooklyn. She barely has contact with Avan. She's also essentially oblivious to the reality of what your family is," I say, trying to reason with him.

"Well, it's fucking someone," he snarls, and spit flies at my face.

"Boss?" a voice calls from outside the room. "You've got a call, and it sounds urgent."

Dustin curses under his breath, swiping a hand over his face. "I don't understand anything that's happening."

I frown as he stomps out, slamming the door behind him.

I'm not sure why I believe him, but I guess I do.

I'd say someone is setting him up to take the fall big time .

Too bad I just don't give a fuck. He's far from innocent. He deserves whatever he gets.

My head rolls back as agony pulses in my skull.

"Jesus Christ, you tubby ass. You're going on a diet," an unfamiliar voice hisses from my right side.

I'm pretty sure I passed out, but my head tilts as far as I can twist it.

There's a massive dog being lowered to the ground by two ropes connected to its harness.

Once the beast is on the ground, one side of the rope is dropped and pulled back up. The dog trots around, sniffing the door and running back to my side as the process repeats.

"You're supposed to be a dainty lady canine," the same voice mutters. "We're all laying off the treats. You weigh more than Haze."

The dog grunts, looking so indignant that I would laugh if I wasn't concerned that all of this is a hallucination.

The second dog hits its feet, and the process is repeated with pulling up the rope.

"Guard," a different voice growls.

I blink as both animals pace the room, sniffing and examining everything. Once they're done, they come to either side of the chair and simply lie down.

Yeah, if I was going to hallucinate, a rescue would have been preferable to this.

An explosion rocks through the warehouse, waking me up.

Fuck.

I passed out again.

That's not a great sign.

One of the dogs walks over behind the door and crouches, tilting its head. The one on my right side stands and nuzzles its head against my thigh.

"I'd pet you, but I'm otherwise detained," I mutter, wincing when my brain throbs.

The door slams open, and I barely catch sight of the gun aimed at my head before the dog hiding behind the door growls, pouncing with no warning.

The guy smashes into the concrete floor as the beast viciously attacks. Blood splatters against the wall, and my head tilts.

That's an efficient beast.

The man's screams don't help my head, and I twist to the side in case I puke.

The other dog backs up, growling as Dustin stomps through the door. He does a double take when he spots his man, fighting back against the first dog.

That doesn't detain him for long, and he moves toward me. Once he's close enough, he jams the barrel of his gun against my forehead.

My legs automatically twitch, and I realize they never bound my ankles to the chair.

"What the fuck is this?" he snarls.

His face twists into a grimace as he spots the second dog. He moves to aim at it, and I lift my legs, kicking with all my might.

He shoots, but I have no idea if he hits the dog.

He better fucking not have.

There will be no hell he could experience like the level of torment I will inflict on him if he hurts either of them.

Someone new, in full tactical gear, jogs into the room.

"Release," he growls at the dog that went after the first man.

The dog immediately backs off the guy on the ground, and the newcomer puts a bullet in that guy's brain.

Gunshots ring out, echoing around the warehouse.

Dustin spins around, but the new guy aims at his chest.

Fuck, if he does shoot, I hope the bullet doesn't go through Dustin and hit me.

He moves to aim at Dustin's forehead, but the gun clicks.

"Aww, fuck," he grunts, tackling Dustin as he takes a swing at his face.

They struggle over Dustin's gun, and it goes off.

The bullet embeds in the ceiling, and insulation falls in a dusty cloud.

The man on top gets the gun, but Dustin takes a swing, and it goes flying.

My gaze flies to the door as someone new joins the party.

"You've got incoming, Mav," he growls, tugging a blade from his boot. With no further warning, he tosses it at the guy struggling with Dustin.

The man gets a hand up just in time to catch the handle. His hand twists, and he stabs.

The bloody sounds of Dustin being shanked fill the air, but my gaze falls to my lap, where the massive German shepherd rests its head on my thigh.

"I really thought you were a hallucination," I slur.

Fuck me.

Slurring words is an even worse sign than passing out… I think.

"That must be one hell of a concussion," the guy—Mav—says, climbing off Dustin.

"I've had worse." I grunt. "Maybe, but fuck. I have no idea how I'm supposed to explain this to my woman."

"About that…" the guy in front of me says.

"Not the time, Gunner," the guy who killed Dustin says. "We need to get the fuck out of here."

"Yeah, that would be a good first step." I chuckle as my head rolls around. "But I can't wait to see what Avan does when he realizes someone took out his little brother."

"What?" they growl in unison.

I snort, nodding to his body. "Take a look, if you don't believe me."

"Tonight just got so much more complicated," Gunner says, sighing heavily. "Come on, we'll get you untied, and we need to move."

I don't have any idea who these guys are, but I imagine they work for Bless.

I'm not really in any position to turn down a save.

"I'd appreciate it," I say as my stomach rolls. "Because I'm about to vomit."