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I reach across to the table and grab a gun before shoving it deep into the holster at my hip. “Question my ability to do this one more time and I’m going to take this gun and shoot the tip off your dick.”
King’s brow arches as he watches me and I see his snappy retort busting to come flying through his lips but he bites his tongue. He reaches for another belt that he tightens around my thigh, shoving a knife into it and meeting my hard stare with a narrowed gaze. “Don’t accidentally stab yourself with it.”
“Careful,” I warn. “I might miss and get you instead.”
King huffs as he turns back around to focus on the blueprints, and as he steps away I find Carver directly behind him, shaking his head. “At some point, you’re all going to have to get over your bullshit.”
I give him a blank stare. “I’m the only one who has shit that needs to be made up for. He has no reason to be all pissy.”
King doesn’t turn back but his scoff is so fucking loud that it basically bounces off the wall. “Do I need to remind you that you just tried to shoot me upstairs? That bullet went zooming right past my fucking face. You could have killed me. You’re not nearly practiced enough to be pulling stupid pranks like that.”
A booming laugh comes tearing out of me. “That’s rich coming from the guy who set off the bomb that nearly killed me. Feels good, doesn’t it? Nearly being killed by the person you love. Though, at least I had the decency to look you in the eye when I did it.”
“Knock it off,” Cruz mutters, loading himself up and checking over his guns. “We get it. You hate each other right now and there’s all sorts of shit to be unpacked from all of this, but now’s not the time. Get your heads in the game. You can tear each other apart when we get back.”
“My head is in the fucking game,” King snaps back at him at the same time that I mutter, “You’re damn right, I’ll be tearing all of you apart when we get back.”
Carver groans. “All of you shut the fuck up,” he says before looking up at Grayson. “What’s the plan?”
“Alright,” Grayson responds, pointing down at the blueprints. “We’re going in here.”
I step in between King and Grayson to get a good look, and despite how angry I am with King right now, I can’t help but love the feel of his fingers brushing against mine, even more so when his pinky finger locks around mine, telling me that hopefully soon, we’ll be able to get back to where we used to be.
My gaze drops down to the blueprints and I follow Grayson’s finger as it travels over the papers, committing every step of the plan to memory. I won’t be the reason the boys don’t get their brothers and sisters back.
I hold my hand out to Carver. “Phone.”
His brows furrow in confusion, but nonetheless, he hands over the goods. I pull up the photo of the kids that Paris sent and focus on the surroundings, taking note of where everything lies in the room, how big it is and just how hard it would be to get them all out of there. “Where is this room?” I ask, lowering the phone beside the blueprints and getting a good mental idea of what we’re about to walk into.
“It’s hard to tell from just this picture, but my guess is that they’re being kept in one of these three rooms,” Grayson explains, his finger moving across the papers. “If it were me, I’d have put them in the room furthest from the exit, but this is Paris and so far, she’s surprised us every step of the way so we’re going in with absolutely no expectations. Anything goes. Just keep your chin up and your eyes open. It’ll most likely be dark and dirty, hard to see, and probably scary as fuck. Keep your gun up at all times. Shoot first, ask questions later.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“Good,” he says, his eyes softening for just a moment before hardening with the knowledge of the task ahead of us. “Everybody else sweet on the plan?”
The guys all nod and finish loading themselves up with weapons, and I don’t miss the way Cruz adds a few more knives and another gun to my other hip.
“Let’s roll,” Carver says once everyone is ready.
He pulls his balaclava over his head, hiding his face just as the guys asked him to do as Cruz reaches for the black bandana hanging around my neck. He pulls it up over my face and rests it just below the bridge of my nose so only my eyes are visible. “I don’t want you getting hurt,” he murmurs, the pain still heavy in his eyes from my earlier rejection. “You know that King is just talking shit. You’re not going to be on your own there. We’ll protect you no matter what.”
