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Jagger’s cold laugh slithered through the earpiece of the phone, sending a fresh wave of nausea through Lucas. “Tempting. So very tempting.”
“Name the place,” Lucas snapped.
“But if I kill one of them now, we’ll be even. I’ve lost someone important to me. And you will have lost someone important to you. That sounds like a fair trade to me.”
“No! You want me! You can’t—”
“Can you pick, Lucas?” Jagger prodded. “Shall it be your lover? Or maybe the man that’s been a brother to you?”
“Jagger—”
“Tick tock. Tick tock. Pick one.”
“You can’t do this!” Lucas turned back to face a deathly pale Jude. His hands were fisted at his side and shaking. “Take me instead! You want to kill me.”
“True.”
“I can be there in minutes. Let them drive off. I’ll be there. Kill me. The war will be over. I promise.”
“Lucas…”
“Jagger, please. I’m begging you.” Tears choked his voice, but he didn’t care. He had to get Jagger to listen. He couldn’t bear to lose Snow or Andrei. Had to think of something.
“Time’s up.”
The gunshot sounded as if it exploded through the phone, causing Lucas’s ears to ring, but he didn’t notice it over his own screaming.Chapter 11The muscles in Ian’s arms trembled and burned, but he kept his hands lifted in front of his face or Rowe was going to sneak in past his guard yet again and smack him on the side of his head. A trickle of sweat crept down his temple, edging closer to his eye, despite the fact that it was freezing in the basement. They had been sparring in the open space for nearly two hours and Ian was winded. His legs shook, his back ached, and his knuckles throbbed from where he’d managed to land a few hits on the former Ranger.
The expression on Hollis’s face when Ian had gone to his own room the night before wouldn’t leave his mind. But damn, he’d been so embarrassed. Despite years of therapy and working through sexual hang-ups, he still had something wrong. Why else would he crawl around in his sleep like that?
He shifted along with Rowe as his friend tried to circle him, the soles of his sneakers scraping softly along the cement. The sound seemed barely audible over his heavy breathing and the pounding of his heart in his ears. He’d learned the hardness of that cement far too quickly. Rowe had been careful not to break bones or give him a concussion, but he was following Ian’s demand not to pull any punches.
Watching Rowe, he spotted a slight tightening in his jaw as if he were clenching his teeth just a split second before he moved. It was enough. Ian dodged the blow, diving under Rowe’s fist. He hit the unforgiving ground yet again, but caught himself, rolling immediately back up to his feet a few yards away from Rowe.
“That’s it! That was perfect!” Rowe shouted, clapping his hands together. “Come back and let’s try that again.”
“What?” Ian gasped, breathless. He stared dumbfounded at his friend for several seconds, trying to get Rowe’s words to sink in but they couldn’t get past the blood rushing through his brain. “But you didn’t teach me that!” He pointed to the ground where he’d rolled away from Rowe.
“So?” Rowe folded his arms over his massive chest, the thick muscles in his arms made to look even bigger in his gray sweatshirt. “You not only dodged the blow, but you escaped. If you’d have kept going when you got to your feet, you’d have been yards away before I could even turn to give chase.”
“But that’s not the point of this!” Ian exploded, his growing frustration and exhaustion finally getting the better of him. He paced away from Rowe and kicked an empty plastic bucket, sending it crashing across the room.
Rowe raised an eyebrow at him. “And what is the point of this?”
“I asked you to teach me to fight.”
“And I have been.”
“No!” Ian paced away again, shoving both his hands through his sweaty hair. He was starting to cool off just enough that the cold air was nipping at his damp skin, but he ignored it. “You’ve taught me to break holds, dodge, gouge, and run. That’s not fighting.”
Rowe’s skeptical expression never changed. “Are you planning to give up being a chef and start fighting in the ring?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I’ve taught you exactly what you need to know.” Ian sucked in a loud breath and opened his mouth to shout some more, but Rowe held up one hand, his expression as hard as stone. “Regardless of the shit you’ve seen on TV or movies, the best offense is to not fight at all. You don’t take a hit or a kick if you’re not there. If you’re not trapped in a ring with a fucking referee standing there to make sure you don’t get killed, then your first objective is to safely escape. Period.”
