Hunt just laughed.
She swiveled toward him in her chair, arching a single brow in unspoken menace. Tartly, she asked, “Are you saying you don’t wanna tapthis?” With a sweep of her hand, she gestured to the length of her body.
He brought up both hands, palms facing her. “Oh no. I’m not saying any such thing. I wouldn’t dare. All I’m saying is, I’m not fireproof, so I make it a point not to play with fire.”
Layla was tilting her head one way then the next, as if deciding whether calling herfirewas a good thing or not, while Hunt squirmed.
Out of all of us, he was the last to squirm.
“Just ’cause it seems we’re likely to survive dying by fire doesn’t make us fireproof. It just makes us ‘dead’ proof.” He rubbed his chin as if considering the many ramifications of our apparent undying state.
Slowly, Layla rose to her feet, dismissed the walking stick, and shuffled toward my bed. “Come on, girl. I’ll help you with your bandages. I won’t go lesbo on you, promise, even though you do have some fine titties. Not as fine as mine, of course, but you win second prize.”
She sat on the opposite side of the bed from Griffin, telling him, “Move. Better your first time seeing them isn’t like this, and we need to figure out how well she’s healing. Just in case, you know …”
Regrettably, I got the feeling we all understood precisely what she was referencing.
In case someone tried to kill us—yet again.
But before Layla could so much as lean toward me, the door swung open and in prowled two guards with guns raised, the same guards who, days ago, had taken off their gas masks and offered up the defibrillators with a casual, “Courtesy of Mr. Chase.”
Griffin and Brady rocketed to standing, and Hunt was only seconds behind. Layla inched protectively closer to me while I eyed my IV drip line, considering how quickly I could yank it out, unfasten the blood pressure cuff, and get my feet under me.
Not fast enough. Definitely not faster than a bullet or five.
“Easy,” cautioned the bastard with the blue eyes who’d pointed his gun at my face in the gym. “Take it easy.”
Gun on a swivel, he kept the door at his back and stationed himself several feet away from Hunt, who was closest.
The second soldier slid out from behind him and lined himself up with a wall at his back, his gun also trained on us.
“Don’t so much as move,” Bastard continued. “I don’t even want to see a muscle twitch or I’ll shoot. You got me?”
Oh, we got him all right. I could practically feel the five of us vibrating. I had no doubt the guys were going to jump Bastard the very instant they got a clear opportunity.
Brady growled, then said, “You killed my friends. You killed my sister. You killed me.” A vein bulged in his neck. Brady was one smooth move away from charging, Neanderthal style.
Our stares were fixed on the men with the guns, waiting. Anticipating. Calculating.
Whereas in the gym I’d experienced fear—for my friends and for myself—now I felt none of it. My desire for righteous justice, and yes, maybe also a fair helping of vengeance, was so strong as to crowd out everything else.
If Bastard and his fellow soldier managed to kill one of us, more likely than not we’d come back. If we managed to kill either of them, they wouldn’t. Even though we found ourselves on the wrong end of the weapons, we still had a certain advantage over them.
Brady cracked his knuckles as if preparing to tear them limb from limb. Suddenly, I wanted that and, for a swift moment, I allowed myself to fantasize about leaping from this bed and snapping their stupid fucking necks, how satisfying it would be to break their spines.
“You will not move, got it?” Bastard pressed. “You’ll stay right where you are.”
We didn’t respond beyond a rumble rising up Griffin’s throat.
“You will do nothing to threaten Mr. Chase or you’ll get a bullet to the chest.”
Oh, so we were about to see the asshole himself, were we?
The smile that spread over my lips was spitting mean in a way it had never been before.
In a seductive purr, I said, “We can hardly wait.”
Bastard was obviously a poor judge of character, facial cues, and voice intonation, because he called over his shoulder, “It’s clear.”
