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The sound of a car pulling up fills the inside of the cottage. Although there’s a greater chance that it’s Nash than anyone else, I still position myself to have the best advantage and wait.
Silence swarms around me, and I remember a time when something like this would make my heart race. It wouldn’t scare me, but the thrill of a possible fight always had the ability to get my blood pumping. These days, almost nothing seems to make that happen.
I chance one more look at Alani as the door opens, and I pray it’s Nash. The thought of someone else shooting first and asking questions later runs the risk of hitting her, and for some fucked-up, unexplainable reason that does have the power to make my pulse kick up a notch.
I shove it down—that threat of vulnerability—and hold my gun up, my finger on the trigger because if I’m anything, it’s prepared.
My cell phone chimes with an incoming text, but I don’t lower my gun long enough to check it. My guess is that it’s Nash letting me know he’s here and not to shoot his ass, but I won’t risk myself to make sure. Plus, I haven’t decided yet if I’ll shoot him. He’s late and I fucking hate late people, especially when it puts me out.
The door opens, and I recognize the side profile of his face as he steps inside.
From my position, I see more movement outside, and the flash of men in full swat gear makes me grind my teeth. It’s no fucking surprise that those motherfuckers are here. Those do-gooder assholes from New Mexico have nothing better to do than stick their fucking noses where they aren’t invited. In a battle one-on-one, I have no doubt I could best any given one of them. As a group, Cerberus is fucking unstoppable, and not to be fucked with.
“Seriously?” Nash growls, his eyes landing on the three men tied up across the room.
Relief washes over their faces in the flickering candlelight. The idea to shoot each fucking one of them just to prove them wrong hits me, but that’s something a psycho would do. I don’t think Alani would be impressed with me if I did that.
I step closer to Nash, knowing just how badly this evening can go with the devil dogs outside, inching closer to the house.
“If I’d known I’d end up on the wrong side of Cerberus, I never would’ve agreed to this shit,” I growl at Nash.
“Just put your gun away. They’re pissed at what you’ve done, but they’re not to the point of blowing your head off just yet,” Nash replies. I’ve yet to decide if he’s brave or just fucking stupid.
I lock my eyes on Nash, and in the next breath, the house is being invaded, a half a dozen men swarming inside like something you only see in movies. They do it with the ease of practice, perfecting what would take cinematographers many takes to accomplish.
I snarl at the man who put me in this fucking situation as I lift my hands over my head.
“Pretty fucking stupid,” Kincaid growls as he steps in closer to me.
His rifle isn’t at the ready but angled down.
“I should shoot you where you stand,” he growls.
I nod because he’s fucking right. He probably should, but I also know him to be merciful where he shouldn’t. The proof was in Mexico just a few days ago. The man can annihilate the bad guys and somehow still manage the softest touch for the victims. His whole fucking team is an anomaly, and I despise each and every fucking one of them for it. Why do some people have the ability to control that part of them and others, like me, get eaten by the darkness?
I look over Kincaid’s shoulder, a wave of something unexplainable washing over me when I lock eyes with Alani. She should be speaking with her sister, crying because she’s been rescued, but instead, her full attention is on me. I want to swim in it, to breathe it in and let it settle and burn in my lungs like thick smoke.
There isn’t a hint of the fear that should be there, and the absence of it makes it very dangerous for her. The challenge is undeniable, and my need to gobble it all up becomes a living breathing thing inside of me.
Her eyes narrow to slits for less than a breath, and then the tears pool over her lashes. I lick my lips, wanting to taste their saltiness on my tongue.
I’d consider the sight of them a reward, but then I catch the wink.
It stops me in my tracks, Kincaid’s voice fading into nothing as I watch her.
She’s purposely provoking me, and that knowledge settles deep, invading places I know it will be very difficult to pull her from. She feels like no less a part of me than my skin as I turn to walk away.
