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“I’d think long and hard before you reach for the piece stuffed under your jacket,” I murmur when the man in the sleek black suit slides his hand across his waist. “If Henry finds out you’re operating on his turf without a permit, you won’t make it back to the dump you call headquarters.”
Henry is a common name, but when it comes to gangsters, it is the only name that matters. He is the boss of all bosses and a recent associate of mine.
With his hand back at his side, the unnamed man mutters, “I’m not operating.” He peers past my shoulder to Henley. “I asked if she wanted to get out of here. She said yes.”
“She can’t stand, but I’m meant to believe she agreed to go with you willingly?” When he jerks up his chin, I scoff out a brittle laugh. “Get the fuck out of here before I send a snapshot of that ugly ass neck tat to Storm.” Storm is Henry’s hacker. She can get shit not even the bureau can find. “I bet she’ll find it in a heap of places like this.” I wave my hand at the club. “And every single image will show you walking a drugged woman out, won’t it?”
My jaw tics when he doesn’t deny my claim. Sex trafficking is rampant now, and they’ve moved on from kidnapping women no one will search for. They take anyone they want.
The remembrance sees me putting my boot into the man withering at my feet before I pull out my cell phone to assist in his identification.
The fact I’m beating into him so freely convinces the goon that I’m not better than him. “All right, all right,” he interrupts. His hands are in the air, but his smirk is more in amusement than fear. “We’re leaving.” He drags up the first man I took down before I snap his profile. “Get in the fucking car.”
His eyes remain on me as he loads his men into his vehicle minus the asset they came for. My gaze only drifts to the rearview mirror for the quickest second when flashing lights project from a few streets over.
My eagerness to get Henley out of the alleyway before she is forced to sober up in lockup leaves the goon none the wiser that I’m a federal agent. He tosses me a gang symbol before he exits the alleyway in a smoke cloud.
The scent of burning rubber adds to the redness of Henley’s cheeks. “Brodie?”
“Yeah,” I reply far too smugly. I should hate how she can recognize me so easily, but I don’t.
“I don’t feel good.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but you’ll need to hold it in until we get home.”
I’m not sorry. Not a single fucking bit. I’m angry and my veins are clogged with adrenaline, but since I can’t guarantee the goon didn’t slip something into her drink, I can’t announce how frustrated I am right now.
I need to get her home first.
And safe.
Making sure she is safe is my main priority.
I pick up my bike, then roll it close to the dumpster like the scrapes down one side aren’t breaking my heart. Once my helmet protects Henley’s head, I straddle my bike the best I can without letting go of her hand before gesturing for her to slip in behind me.
She backs away, shaking her head. “I-I can’t. I don’t feel good.”
“Those lights aren’t disco lights, Henley. They’re the cops, so if you don’t get on my bike, they will question why you were drinking in an establishment owned by the mob.”
My reply sobers her up quickly. “What?”
“Get on, and I will explain when we get home.”
“I-I—”
“Now, Henley!” I hate myself and everything I am about when she startles from my shout before scampering for the bike as fast as her wobbly legs can take her.
She shakes the entire way and long after I pull into the garage of my home. She even shakes when Thane curls a blanket around her back before digging her cell phone out of my pocket.
I was so focused on Henley that I forgot Amelia was on hold.
“Yeah, he’s got her,” Thane updates Amelia. “I’ll make sure she calls you as soon as she wakes up. All right, bye.”
“Leave her,” I demand when a second after he dumps her phone on the shelf in my garage, he attempts to assist Henley off my bike. “I’ve got her.”
“You sure?” he checks upon noticing Henley isn’t the only one shaking.
My adrenaline is high, dangerously so.
“Yeah.” I pretend to shake off my fear as if it is an overload of testosterone before dismounting my bike and pulling a silent Henley into my arms. “Take Henley’s room. I’ll put her in my room to ensure she’s close to the bathroom.”
“That’s a good idea. She smells like a brewery.”
