Page 20 of The #2 Guy

9

Christine

I need to make him believe me. If the thick-headed stubborn sexy fool would just listen for a second, I could’ve explained that I told my brother I had run off with Johnny and that we were in love. I told him to stop looking and he had admitted he suspected he thought that our parents were in over their heads at the time when they were killed. Johnny was so right while we were so totally wrong and now my stupid man went off in the middle of the night half-naked, loaded up with guns to save the man who held me and yet also gave me hope.

“I need to save them both,” I mutter to a fat, tabby cat who just appeared for the first time. The cat stares at me with wise eyes as if saying, “Go get your man.”

“I will.” I move to scratch her head and get a hiss in return. “That’s fair. I guess, I deserved that. Don’t worry. This fucked-up fairytale will have a reverse happy ending… as the once captured damsel is off to rescue her big man. But first I need to get free of these handcuffs.” I suck in a deep breath. I’ll have to dislocate my wrist there’s no other way. I’ve lost weight but I never had fat wrists. During one of my “field trips” in the FBI a Navy Seal once taught me this trick. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch,” he had said but if it’s a matter of survival you’ll do it.

“Fuck, here goes nothing…,” I blow out a breath, then pull forward using all my weight against the metal link then I quickly twist my wrist to the side and using all my weight to drop. There’s a sickening crunch. I broke my damn wrist, but I’m free. Tears burn but I can’t stop. I need to save Johnny so I can lay my heart at his feet right before I crack his skull for doubting me after what we shared tonight. No one could fake what happened in the bed upstairs. I quickly find a scarf, making a quick sling then grab the cache of weapons he left behind with ammo, shoving it all into a bag. I find a silencer, attaching it to the barrel. Then I push my feet into boots, grab his coat, and open the door to the garage. I grab the first fob off the rack, clicking it to see what car matches. A big ass Ford truck, perfect for snow. I know where we are now. When I broke into the office computer I just wanted to know where we are because it’s so beautiful. Oregon. Who knew? But I need him to share it with—all the perfect starry nights and morning smelling of fresh dew. I especially need him during the night, to hold me tight through the darkness. Fuck. I love him so much. Need him even more. No man can compare to him in my book. Not even Romeo Roque.

From our conversations over the past few days, I’ve been able to gather that Rog or Roger runs with an MC and kept me hidden in rooms under his bar. When Johnny and I fled, I remember reading a sign that read “Sassy’s.” I turn the car on and open the GPS, typing it in. Bingo. I’m 3.2 miles away. I hit the gas as the garage door opens, flying down the drive past the car I tried to escape in only a few days ago. The gate was left open and I waste no time racing through. I have no idea what I’m racing toward besides him. All I know is I’m finally running to the one man who’s always run to me. It’s my turn to do the rescuing. After that, I’ll keep him captive if I must. Tie his ass up until he believes me when I tell him it’s us. The two of us now and forever.

My destination is just ahead on the left. My hand is screaming… but I can push down the pain. I rely on my training and the grit that saw me through the last couple of years. My hands gently pull the wheel to the left, then shut off the car. I check my guns and get out.

I’m light on my feet as I dodge behind the trees, zig zagging forward until I’m at the edge of a parking lot. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Vans and motorcycles are parked out front. The lights are off, but the front door hangs on its hinges, clearly being blasted open. But there’s no police. The establishment is by itself down a thickly forested road and behind it is nothing but trees. It’s literally popped down in the woods. There’s no one to hear gunfire or screams. It’s no wonder they kept me here.

I won’t lie. Part of me wants to cut and run. I just escaped this place and now I’m running headfirst back.

Ducking low, I sprint to the corner of the building, lifting a head to peak through a window where bullets broke all the glass. I hear the shout of voices but see no one. They must be in the basement. A place I know well. I know every crack in the foundation, every corner and dark shadow. I quickly round and enter through the door, raising my gun to take down threats. But no one’s here. They don’t expect back up. Well, I’m about to surprise the fuck out of all of them.

Carefully, I make my way over broken glass and turned over tables. The smell of gunfire burns my nostrils. But I don’t turn back. My man needs me.

Shouting followed by the hard hits from fists come from the dark pit I lived in. Beads of sweat dot my brow. My wrist is on fire. But I hold the gun steady in my hand as I descend.

No one sees or hears me. I become one with the shadows. The smell and cracks are familiar. Like a blind woman running a hand over a beloved’s face, my hand travels over the wall. I know exactly where I am and where I’m going. The power’s been cut. A few men have cell phones out, using it for light. I creep closer.

My man is on his knees with his hands tied in front of him. Blood trickles from his nose. One eye is swollen shut. His bottom lip will need stitches. The man who refused me his name, kneels next to Johnny, Roger. His hair hangs over his forehead, shielding his face, hiding whatever damage they’ve done to him.

“Where are they?”

Johnny refuses to talk, smirking instead. A thug lifts the tip of his boot, kicking my man in the ribs. Oh, hell no.

I refuse to have a conscience. I refuse the notion of right and wrong, because in this moment I’m living in the gray. Power comes over me. I get to choose. I get to choose who is right and wrong. There’s no thought of justice my only thought is saving my man. I only have a clip with sixteen rounds. There’s 12 men. I can’t miss. I need to take them all out while trying to avoid return fire. The silencer will buy me the precious seconds I need. Crouching low, I raise my right hand, while my left is still cradled in my makeshift sling. It takes every ounce of willpower not to give into the pain as I hold the gun steady with my good hand.

“Fine. You fucks won’t tell us where you stashed our merc, then this will send a message.” A gun is raised to my man’s temple. I don’t think. Just act.

Blood sprays across the floor, just as the other thugs are processing that he’s been hit, I fire in rapid succession taking them out one by one in seconds.

Slowly, I stand, stepping over their bodies until I’m kneeling right in front of the captor of my heart. I wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes.

“Put one through my heart and end my misery.”

“Shut-up you thick-headed, ass.” My fingers gingerly inspect his temple.

It’s then he notices my wrist. “What did you do?” He hisses.

“What I had to.”

I move over to Rog. “Hey, there sugar.”

“I’m not your sugar and I’m pissed as fuck at you.” My fingers probe the cut on his forehead a bit rougher than I intended.

“Cut me loose and I’ll help you finish him off,” he gestures over to Johnny. “There’s a knife in my boot.”

“What in the hell happened here?” I take the knife from his boot but don’t cut him loose. Instead I take his cell from his pocket.

“A difference of opinion.” Johnny, spits blood from his mouth as he speaks.

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