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Quick stopped on his porch and turned to Cayson. He wanted to pull him into his arms. The dark morning was cold and unforgiving, and his doctor only had on a pair of shorts he’d scooped up off the floor. “You can’t. Too dangerous. If I need you, I’ll call you.”
No kiss, no hug, no nothing. Rome turned to dash down the two steps.
“Rome.” Cayson rushed to get his attention before he was gone.
“Yeah?” he called over his shoulder, unlocking his truck.
“Please be careful.”
Fuck. This was a pretty big reality check for Cayson. Quick didn’t have time to say the right thing to take that worried look off his angelic face. He wondered what Duke was saying to Vaughan right now. Was his son used to this life already? Used to the life of a bounty hunter? Would Cayson be able to handle it? Maybe it was best they found out now, before Quick handed over his heart. Too late. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that Cayson would be gone when he got back, but he still had to go. Had to force himself to nod at his lover and get inside the cab. He and Ford were about the same distance away from the office. Duke had a slightly longer drive. Looking at his watch, he knew it usually took ten minutes to get to their building, but he was getting ready to break every traffic law in Atlanta. He had to get there ahead of Ford.
Brian
Motherfucker. Brian clenched his teeth when he was backhanded across his face. He’d been dragged across the floor after being stomped repeatedly by steel toe boots. They tried to get him up into one of the chairs, but he dropped his entire two hundred and forty pounds of muscle like dead weight. No matter how they strained, the three of them couldn’t lift him. He acted like he was dazed from the blows, but he was very much alert. He’d managed to hold the alarm button on his watch while he was being kicked. Now he was propped against one of the steel columns in their lobby area with his hands duct taped behind his back. Four minutes and thirty-five seconds. Brian kept counting in his head. His brother would be there in about another four to five minutes. He said a little prayer for the souls of these men. They’d need it. They were about to meet their maker.
“Tell us your name! Tell us your goddamn name!”
Brian didn’t speak. He never spoke, but these bastards didn’t know that. They thought Brian was just being stubborn. He let his head dangle lazily. One of the three thugs who’d burst through their office door the moment he got back from posting a bond turned a chair around in front of him and lowered himself into it. Brian didn’t look up, but he knew exactly how far the man was away from him.
Brian was Special Ops; military trained and used to watching his surroundings, so he’d made sure the parking lot was empty when he got out of his classic Mustang. He’d just got the key inside the door to their office when he heard hurried footsteps approaching, and a blunt object slammed across his back. He hadn’t had the chance to counter when another blow landed hard across his temple, knocking him sideways, stunning him.
“Is that him?” One of the men asked, out of breath.
“Gotta be. He’s huge.”
“Make sure.”
“The other owner isn’t as tall. This has to be him.”
Who are they looking for? No sooner than Brian thought it, he realized this had something to do with Quick. This was personal. These men didn’t even know what Quick looked like, that meant they were sent as a favor. Sent by someone who had money.
“Roman… Quick. Whatever the hell your name is.”
“Is that you?” One of the other men was smart enough to have a hoodie over his head and a black ski mask concealing his identity. He appeared to be the lookout man, because he fidgeted nervously as he stared out the window. “Just say your name and we’ll leave.”
Brian wanted to roll his eyes. These guys were idiots. If they were after Rome, then they should’ve at least known what he looked like. And it was obvious they didn’t scope out the area, otherwise they’d know everyone who worked there, and they’d target the right man. For fuck’s sake, his photo was on the company website. Now they were all going to either be seriously injured or die because of their amateur methods.
“Dude, call your nephew again and ask him what the guy looks like. Tell him we got him. He’s freakishly tall, tattoos, and built as shit. This has to be him.” The man who posed like he was in charge had an older model six shot revolver pointed dead center at Brian’s chest.
