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CHAPTER 1
BROCK
A Farmhouse Outside
Zurich, Switzerland
Brock Wickersham stood just inside the torture chamber where they’d done a number on Miley. He had two automatic rifles: one in his hands and the other strapped across his back. He was a solid wall of muscle; close to six and a half feet tall and carrying a physique that spoke of hours in the gym and an active lifestyle. His eyes quickly found the target of his op. She looked like shit.
“Damn. I bet Seth a hundred bucks you’d have taken them down and all we’d find was bits of them to bury,” he said lightly. The reality was there’d been no betting pool—Miley was too dear to all of them.
“You need to leave me here. Get the package and get out,” she managed to rasp.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m not going back to Charleston or Chicago or wherever it is billionaires go to hang out and fret about their wives without you.”
“I’m not his wife… yet,” she groaned.
“Yet being the operative word, baby girl.”
“Don’t call me that. I don’t like it,” she snapped.
“Half-dead and still as snarly as ever. Damon’s going to have his hands full. He’s also going to throw a fit.”
“Probably. So instead of Chicago or Charleston, how about you and I run off to Tuscany?”
“No can do. When Damon took us all to his club for cigars and whiskey—finest bourbon I think I ever had—he made us promise we wouldn’t let you get yourself killed.”
“I did not try to get myself killed.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t try not to, and therein lies the issue. I suspect your husband…”
“Fiancé,” she corrected.
Brock managed to chuckle as he found the keys and unlocked the manacles, catching her before she crumpled to the ground. She pushed at him ineffectively. She had to be in bad shape to think she could take him down. Even under the best of circumstances, Miley was no match for Brock, and they both knew it.
“You know, you’re really going to need to get used to calling that Dom of yours ‘husband.’ I’m pretty damn sure he’s going to insist on it.”
“If I’m dead I don’t have to do anything. Go, Brock; save yourself.”
“Like that’s going to happen. Try not to scream. I don’t think you’re going to enjoy it when I toss you over my shoulder in the same way you do when Damon does it.”
“There’s too many of them, Brock. I won’t be responsible for you getting killed.”
“Neither of us is gonna die today. I don’t think any of them are left. Let’s go, baby girl.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Tell you what, you live through this, and you can punch me in the nose.”
“Works for me,” she said through gritted teeth.
Miley managed not to cry out as he tossed her over his shoulder. He hadn’t been joking; if Damon discovered the way she’d risked herself, he’d tie a knot in her tail and not in a way she’d enjoy. Rumor was that Damon was negotiating with Robert Fitzwallace, the man who’d founded Cerberus, to join their ranks and become Miley’s permanent partner.
He felt her go limp and knew she’d finally let go and fallen unconscious. That was probably best, as she had to be in pain. All he needed to do was grab the package and get it, Miley, and himself to the chopper. He snatched the package from where it had been left and exited the room. They were just rounding the last corner to sprint to the chopper when the door to his left burst open. Brock spun on his heel, brought the P90 up to bear and fired. I guess I didn’t get them all he mused as he put down the last two bad guys.
The sound of the chopper’s rotors whirling away when he finally made it to the clearing was almost as sweet as the sound of a woman’s sigh when she’d been thoroughly pleasured and sated… almost.
* * *
