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BOOKER
The sirens grow louder in the distance, and I look at Gage with a scowl.
“Was there really a need to hit her?” I grunt, glancing at the slumped beauty in the chair. Her blonde hair hangs around her face, hiding it from view, but I’m certain there’s going to be a massive bruise on the side of her pretty face.
A shame, really.
“Yeah,” Eric adds, moving over to Genevieve. With fingers still wearing the plastic jewellery, he tilts her chin up, and we all catch a glimpse of the swelling mark. He whistles. “You didn’t have to hit her so hard, mate. Look at that shiner.”
“She was causing trouble,” Gage rumbles, rubbing at his chest, where her heel must have dug in nicely. He probably has his own mark, but he only has himself to blame for underestimating the woman. Hell, we all underestimated her.
The sirens draw closer, and I look towards Archer with raised brows, knowing we need to get out of here
“We don’t have time for any intricate plan.” He sighs. “She’s coming with us. We can’t leave her here when she’s seen as much as she has.”
“Maybe you should have left your mask on,” I start, but his sharp glare cuts me off.
“Rookie mistake.” Eric nods, unafraid of Archer’s scowl. The man doesn’t care much for authority, no matter the source.
“Just grab her,” Archer spits out, pulling his mask back on to hide his face—a face that Chaz’s woman has seen. Fucking hell, this is bad.
Without waiting for any further direction, I slice through the rope securing Genevieve to the chair, catching her before she can fall to the floor. Her face is already going to hurt like a bitch when she wakes up from the punch, so there’s no need to add to that. Without waiting any longer, the sirens adding urgency to my movements, I lift her in my arms and toss her over my shoulder, her hair tickling my lower back as it brushes against it.
“Let’s go,” I say, gesturing towards the entrance.
The four of us move to the front door, and Gage peers out, looking down both sides of the hallway. “All clear,” he murmurs quietly, in case anyone is listening.
After all, someone called the cops. It could be any of the neighbours, and the less people who see us leaving, the better. As a unit, we all step into the hallway and turn towards the stairwell. I follow Gage and Archer, Eric taking up the rear. He pulls the apartment door closed behind us as if we were just visiting, and I shoot him a look.
“What? No use leaving it open for someone else to steal her shit. If we can’t have it, neither can they.”
I suppose he has a point there.
With the woman hanging over my shoulder, her breasts pressing against my back, I can’t use my hands for anything other than to hold her in place. My gun is out of the question if we need it, but I trust the others to take care of it. We work as a unit, a strange family of sorts. We’ve done this so many times, it’s almost second nature, though typically, I’m carrying a bag full of jewels rather than an unconscious woman.
Luckily, the penthouse isn’t so high up that we waste precious minutes rushing downstairs. Her apartment is on the twelfth floor, so we make quick work of the staircase. The police take long enough that we’re out the fire door and on the bottom landing after Archer disconnects the alarm. Seriously, they make it so easy in these rich high-rises. They think they are untouchable here, but Archer breaks through their defences faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. The man is insane with tech.
The old, inconspicuous black Range Rover waits patiently for us in the tight alley. There’s a yellow ticket under the windshield wiper that Archer grabs and balls up before tossing it away. After all, it’s a fake one. We’ve long since discovered cops won’t give a ticket for illegal parking if there’s already a ticket on there. Once we started giving ourselves a ticket, the cops stayed away.
“Quickly,” Gage orders, opening the backdoor for me.
I lean in and gently settle her in the middle of the backseat, holding her up when she slumps over so I can climb inside beside her. Eric eagerly jumps in the backseat on the other side, and I release her so she collapses a little towards him, her head resting on his shoulder. I notice how he glances down at her and frowns, but we have more pressing issues.
“Go,” Gage urges. “Unless you want to be here when those sirens pull up.”
Really, Genevieve should look at purchasing better security. Clearly, she can’t rely on the police. I look down at my watch. The sides are scratched up, but it’s functional. It was a gift from my sister, and I never go without it. It’s tough, but I’m tougher on everything I call mine. My mind catches on an image of my ex-wife, one of the things I was too rough on until I chased her away. It was a long time ago, my mind riddled with PTSD triggers after coming home from being stationed overseas. In the end, I let her go. She’s happily married to an admittedly great guy now, and in my mind, she’s no more than a memory of how not to treat a woman if I want her to stay.
Archer throws the car into first gear in front of me and eases out into the street. He pulls out just as we all simultaneously take off our masks. It would be suspicious if four masked men were driving a car. Just as he pulls onto the busy London streets, three police cars speed by us, going to the front entrance of the building.
I snort. “Idiots.”
“We won’t question our good luck,” Archer replies, his eyes meeting mine in the rear-view mirror. “Now we need to figure out what to do with her.”
Looking down at Genevieve Dalton, I study the tangled hair hanging around her shoulders and the fancy dress she wears that also seems somehow less fancy than what most women wear to red carpet events. Wasn’t she supposed to be hosting some sort of charity event tonight? Shit, Chaz fucking Dandridge was supposed to be with her, but she’d looked upset when she came into the apartment, more so than just seeing us would have caused. There’d been something in her eyes.
“I think we need to get her out of the city,” I say, looking into Archer’s eyes.
“Out of the city?” Gage snarls, turning in his seat. It’s almost a comical sight to see a man so large in stature twisting around in a small Range Rover. This car certainly wasn’t made for men like Gage. “We should just dump her in the Thames and be done with it.”
