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He grins. "Got me."
"Are you even fucking human?" I snarl. Not only am I ripped apart inside with the loss of Dani, not only is my head pounding like there's a jackhammer going off inside it, but I have to deal with this asshole, too.
"For her I am." He shakes his head. "But I can tell you're in pain, and that you care for this woman, too. I’ll ease up." Rook cocks his head to the side, listening. With my head banged up and foggy like it is — feeling like it's stuffed full of cotton balls soaked in hot sauce — it takes me a moment to hear what he's hearing. Then I catch it: incoming motorcycles. The MC. And Smokey. Hell, the entire crew is probably on its way to be here in T-Minus thirty seconds. "Also, I want you to know that, in the shit that is about to hit the fan in the next minute, I've got your back."
"You've got my back?" It takes a moment for those words to register, then adrenaline floods my system as those bikes reach the shop and I hear footsteps outside.
"Someone, maybe even multiple someones, will want to beat your ass for letting Danielle get away. They might be justified, but I want you to know that, out of respect for the fact that you — idiot boy-child that you are — tried your best, I will not join them in massacring you. That's me having your back." He clears his throat. "Which is really fucking hard, because the odds are that Danielle is going to be dead in the next few hours and it's all your fault."
"Goddamn piece of shit, Rook," I snap, standing. Fuck the fact that my feet and fists hardly work right now, I'm going to wring his neck for being such an asshole.
Then the door opens. Flies open. Kicked open by Smokey, who stands in the doorway, eyes on fire. Behind him, I see Hawk, Ghost, Bullet, and Thunder. Everyone is here to witness my murder.
Smokey charges forward the second he lays eyes on me.
His hands wrap themselves in the collar of my shirt, pulling my face to within inches of his.
"What the fuck did you do with Dani, Striker? Where the fuck is she?" He shouts, his voice a mix of betrayal and fear. His words hit me like a physical blow. "Where's my sister?"
This close, I can see it isn't fire in his eyes. It's fear. Fear and pain.
My friend isn't just dealing with my betrayal and my failure in my mission, he's dealing with the fact that the other person he's closest to in life, Dani, is about to die. Two of the people he cares about the most have just hurt him in ways so deep it may take him years to process it.
"Owen... Please, tell me what happened to my sister," he prompts again when I find myself unable to speak. “Please.”
That pain he feels, it fills my chest, too.
I look at my former best friend, the man who saved my life, the brother of the woman that I love — no, loved — more deeply and fiercely than I thought it was even possible to love someone.
"I lost her, Dixon. I lost her."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Danielle
Worn, weary, wearing dirty overalls, walking barefoot, and brokenhearted down the road outside Reid's Repairs, I take a deep breath.
Well, fuck, if this isn't hell, I don't know what is.
I have no money, no phone, no nothing, and I have to get back to the wedding compound before everyone wakes up and realizes I'm gone. If I don't make it there at all, Morgan and Riley are dead. If I do make it there, but too late, then I'll get killed, too. My only option is to get there faster than humanly possible. Maybe it'd be possible if Owen were carrying me, but I'm alone.
So alone.
For a moment, I look over my shoulder at the shop and debate asking him for help. Explaining things. Maybe he'd understand.
Then I shake my head.
He kidnapped me.
It's his fault that I'm in this situation to begin with, because he couldn't take the basic step of trusting me, trusting that I know what I'm doing. I'm not a child, I'm a grown fucking adult and I'm stepping into a situation that is obviously dangerous — yes, I'm paying attention to my surroundings and being cautious. It' doesn't take a Marine's training to know that being surrounded by the mob is not ideal.
This is all on me now. Me and me alone.
Because the man I thought I loved is unconscious on the dirty floor of the garage.
I'll have to hitchhike if I want to have any chance of making it there in time.
Cautiously, I kneel and grab a rock and slip it into my pocket before I approach the busy road and hold out my thumb. The rock is for security. Just in case whoever stops is a serial killer or a creep. Because, if I can take out Owen with a soda can and a half-assed throw, I'll absolutely destroy a lesser man with a legitimate throw.
