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Panic welling, I dragged the table a couple of inches and, ignoring the filth, climbed up and began sawing at the ropes that bound her hands together. It felt like minutes sped by, but in reality, it was only one or two.
The knife wasn’t exactly super sharp, but the ropes began to part. I kept sawing back and forth as I glanced over my shoulder, waiting for footsteps.
I’d just cut through when we finally heard them coming.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
“Give me your gun,” Irish demanded. She was rolling her shoulders and arms back and forth, driving the blood back into them. Damn, Irish had to be suffering from bad pins and needles, but her face was blank.
“Titus, you asshole. The bitch is off limits until Fury gets here,” the guy called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Get down, over there, you’ll be safe,” Irish whispered as she ducked behind the wall opposite to where she’d pointed me.
“Titus, answer me, you prick. If you’re fuckin’ that bitch before Fury gets here, he’s gonna fuck you up,” the guy called.
When nobody answered, curses came from below, followed by a stamp of boots on the metal stairs. Irish aimed at the top stair, waiting for his head to appear, and without warning, the moment he did, she fired. His body toppled backwards, no doubt alerting everyone that something was now most certainly wrong.
“Do you have extra clips?” Irish asked. She was searching the bodies of the two men in the room and had pulled five guns from them and three clips.
“Yes.” I fumbled at my pockets and threw them at her.
“Stay behind me. If I shout, run, move, and don’t look back… What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” Irish grumbled as she checked the clip in the gun, ejected it, and inserted a new one.
“I saw you fighting them in the van and followed. Dylan and Rage should be here soon. I called it in,” I replied.
“Rage may take a while. They took Summer at the same time as me,” Irish stated.
I jolted in horror. That poor girl was more innocent than me. Rage had clearly made a choice to chase after her.
“Dylan will still come,” I insisted.
“Yeah, Hawthorne will because you’re here,” Irish agreed.
“They’d have come anyway!” I snapped.
Irish caught my indignation and waved a hand. “Honey, I ain’t arguing. Your boss would most certainly have come for me; I don’t doubt it. But I also expect he’s called in every man he employs because he knows you’re here. I bet you my firstborn. He’s called you at least ten times, and you’ve missed his calls. Which means Hawthorne knows you’ve come in after me, and he’ll rally every single person he has. You’re somewhat special to Hawthorne’s, and he’s going to be pissed as fuck at you. Now it’s my job to ensure you get back to him alive and well,” Irish stated.
I couldn’t disagree with her words. Once I ignored his first two calls, Dylan would have sent out an SOS. All of Hawthorne’s were heading in my direction.
“Stay behind me,” Irish commanded.
“No probs,” I replied. It most certainly wasn’t.
The men downstairs weren’t freaking quiet when it came to approaching us. Irish took a stance at the top of the stairs and took three men down before the rest realised what was happening.
“No wonder they can’t win a fuckin’ war. Not a brain cell between them,” Irish muttered.
“How did they get the drop on you?” I asked, just wanting to be perverse.
“Fucking desired me,” Irish snarled, and I shut up. She clearly didn’t appreciate being reminded of it.
“The bitch is free,” someone interrupted us, and Irish let loose a laugh.
“Come and get me face to face, you motherfuckers,” she taunted.
“Give it up, bitch, you ain’t got nowhere to go,” the guy shouted from down below.
Irish snapped back in return, “I’ll shoot you face to face. Not in the back like you did me.”
