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With a nod from Snow, Ian led the way out of the room, sweeping his gun from side to side as he watched for anyone who might be waiting to attack. The second floor was clear. Ian briskly led the way down the stairs to find Hollis already waiting for him with Rowe leaning against him, blood soaking Rowe’s left arm.
“You’ve been shot!” Ian cried as he reached the ground floor.
“Shhhh!” Rowe hushed, but it was already too late.
“Who? Who’s been shot?” Noah demanded.
“It’s just a little graze,” Rowe replied. “I’m fine.”
“It’s not a graze,” Snow growled. “I’ll take a look at it in the car.”
“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” Noah ranted. Rowe was going to be lucky if Noah didn’t shoot his other arm, he sounded so pissed.
They quickly made their way out of the warehouse with the rest of the team flanking them every step of the way. When they reached the main doors, they exploded outside to find Lucas waiting in the black SUV. Doors were pulled open and about half of them piled in while others started running toward where the rest of the vehicles had been stashed a few blocks away. Noah paused at the SUV for only a moment to glare at Rowe. With a shaky smile, Rowe placed his hand against Noah’s cheek.
“I’m fine, babe. I promise.”
And then Noah was gone without a word.
“Cops are en route. About two minutes away,” Gidget chimed in.
Ian climbed into the back seat next to Max while Snow and Rowe jumped into the middle row. Hollis was in the front seat next to Lucas, but he was keeping his eye on Max. Lucas sped away, and Ian started to breathe a sigh of relief.
They were less than a block away when there were a series of loud booms that sounded like they were coming from the warehouse. Ian twisted around to stare out the back window to see flames and smoke billowing from the large building.
“Rowan!” Lucas growled.
“What?” Rowe said and then hissed in pain as Snow worked on Rowe’s gunshot wound. “Quinn and Cole cooked up these new transmitters they wanted me to test out.”
“What was that? Dynamite?” Hollis asked.
Rowe snorted. “Dynamite. Really? No, that was C4.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You were running around the warehouse with fucking C4?” Lucas continued. “You could have blown us all up.”
“It was just a little C4,” Rowe mumbled softly, sounding so much like a scolded child. “It was just enough to distract the cops. No one in the building got hurt.”
“I can’t believe you took the flamethrower away from me, and he’s allowed to play with C4,” Garrett added, reminding them all that they were still wearing microphones and earpieces.
A hand landed on Ian’s arm, drawing his gaze back to Max who was staring at him with what kind of looked like confusion, but it was hard to tell with his face so battered and swollen.
“Why?”
It was the same question he’d asked in the warehouse. Ian got it. Max had threatened Ian’s life. Threatened his restaurant and employees. Anyone else would have left Max to be brutalized and killed by those men.
But Ian also knew the kind of life Max had suffered already at the hands of Jagger. He knew he was there partially out of guilt. He felt guilty for not saving Max so many years ago, for not looking for him sooner.
That wasn’t the only reason, though. He believed in paying it forward. More than a decade ago, three amazing men saved his life when they didn’t have to. They gave him a shot at happiness, love, and his dreams. He wanted to give Max that shot now.
“Because you’re more than the life you’ve been living,” Ian said softly. “You’re more than what Jagger forced you to be and do. I want to help you get a second chance. But you have to want that second chance too.”
Max nodded gingerly, tears starting to fill his eyes. “I do. I don’t want this. I’ve…I’ve been so lost. I don’t know what to do…”
Ian carefully wrapped his arm around Max’s shoulders and pulled him in close. “I know. You’re not alone anymore. I’ve got you.”
“We’ve got you,” Hollis added from the front seat, bringing a teary smile to Ian’s lips.
Snow’s head turned and he stared at Max for a moment before giving a little nod. “Yes. We’ve got you.”Chapter Twenty-TwoLess than forty-eight hours later, Ian glanced into the back seat to find Max staring out the window, his narrow features pensive as he tapped out some kind of rhythm on his thigh with his fingers. He was in for a bad time with withdrawals, but he seemed more than willing to go through it. He would just need a helping hand. He’d already started showing symptoms with nausea, tremors, runny nose, and more. Ian had sat up with him the night before, and it had been awful. The violent mood swings were threatening to get worse, and Max needed more help than Ian and Hollis could provide alone.
