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And fuck, how he wanted Makenna.
Not a peep of complaint. No whining. No pouts. She did what she had to, even if the task proved unpleasant, which this climb certainly was. Thunder’s finger joints ached and his arm throbbed where the barbed wire had sliced it.
Maverick kept pace with Makenna, whispering words of encouragement, the higher they climbed. “Okay,” he said when they reached the top. “Careful going over, and keep your body over Thunder’s sweatshirt. Hold the top of the fence under the razor wire. Like this.” He demonstrated, swinging a long leg over the top and following it with the other.
Makenna watched with a nod. “Okay,” she said, a waver in her voice, but still no grumbling. She didn’t even ask to pause for a break though slightly breathless and huffing for air.
As she struggled her way over the top of the fence, she grew even more winded. Probably nerves combined with intense physical activity. Once she’d cleared the wire, she began the descent. After moving down a few links, she ended up face to face with Thunder. Through the fence, he met her anxious gaze. “You’re quite the badass, Miss Makenna,” he said, flashing her his famous grin.
It did the trick, relaxing the muscles in her face and drawing a small smile from her. Thunder couldn’t help himself. He pressed a quick kiss to her upturned lips through the fence.
Fuck, she was just as sweet as he remembered, sweeter even.
She gasped, and her eyes popped wide.
“I’m gonna climb below you for the rest of the way down,” Mav said, oblivious to the sparks crackling above him.
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Makenna called down.
“Just take it slow and steady.”
After giving Thunder another sweet smile, she continued the descent, and he scaled the top of the fence without injury this time.
A few minutes later, all three of them had feet planted on solid ground. The moment his boots hit the dirt, Thunder sought Makenna out, pulling her to his side with an arm around her shoulders. After being so worried about her for the past two hours, he needed her close to ease his mind. His body didn’t mind having her pressed up against him either.
“My car is here,” she said as they hiked their way toward Maverick’s truck.
“Shit.” Thunder and Maverick both came to a stop.
Maverick rubbed his jaw. “We can’t leave it. Mak, you’re gonna have to drive out of here yourself. If anyone spots you in the lot, tell them you’re grabbing something and will be right back in. Make a right out of the compound. Our navy-blue truck is parked about a half-mile down the road. Pull over when you see us. Thunder will hop in with you and drive your car the rest of the way back, okay?”
Thunder could see she wanted to argue at being ordered around, but she had a good head on her shoulders. The plan made sense. The night had rattled her. She didn’t need to be driving with her nerves shot and gallons of adrenalin coursing through her. As fired up as he was, Thunder could get them back in one piece while Makenna tried to relax.
They began walking again until Makenna let out a loud gasp and froze.
Both he and Maverick tensed, ready for a fight. “What’s wrong?” Thunder asked. “You see something?”
“No.” Makenna shook her head as she pressed a fist to her mouth. “What happened with Crank freaked me out so badly, I forgot to tell you what I overheard. God, what the hell is wrong with me? I’m a horrible person.”
Thunder’s blood turned to ice.
“Hon,” Mav said, as if talking to a frightened animal. “Pretty sure you couldn’t be horrible if you tried. Just tell us what you heard. We’ll take care of it.”
Makenna dropped her arm and met his gaze with solemn eyes. “The CDMC is planning to attack Jazmine tomorrow.”
Thunder knew they were talking. That Makenna was sharing important information, but, like a malfunctioning record player, his mind stuck on one detail, replaying it again and again.
“What the fuck did Crank do to you?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“HEY, MISS!”
Makenna rubbed her eyes as she stifled another yawn.
“Yo! Waitress!”
A hand slapped on a table, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Sorry!” Mak scurried two tables over, holding out the mostly full carafe of coffee. “Refill?”
A middle-aged man with a stereotypical beer gut and eyebrows so bushy they were difficult not to stare at frowned her way. “What? No. This isn’t what I ordered.” As he scowled, he shoved a plate piled high with piping hot pancakes her way. “I wanted the Omelet Supreme.”
Across the booth from him, a small woman who appeared the same age stared out the window as though embarrassed by her companion’s behavior.
“I am so sorry, sir,” Makenna said, snatching up the untouched plate. “I’ll put a rush on that omelet, and your meal will be comped. Promise it will just be a few minutes.” She turned and slogged toward the kitchen. Her legs were heavier than she could ever remember them being, and clearly, her brain was only functioning at about half capacity.
