Page 70 of Bound

Chapter Eighteen

Porter

Icould see Marcos's house in the distance. There were some faint lights glowing around a few of the windows, but aside from that, the place looked empty. That wasn't the case at all, and I knew it; his men were standing guard, and Emery was in there.

My headlights were off, and the engine idled quietly as I sat trying to figure out how I was going to get inside. I wasn't the only asshole out there gunning for his head.

He had enemies on all sides. It comes with the territory, it's just a part of that world. You can't climb to the top without pissing on others to get there.

He had his selected few, the men he entrusted his life to. From what I knew, there were always at least two or three other guys roaming the grounds, squatting in some hidden spot, jerking off to pass the time.

I was about to walk right into the lion's den. Most people wouldn't be stupid enough to ever do that alone. Except for me. . . I was that fool.

Reaching for my gun, I felt the vacant spot where it was normally tucked away. Cringing to myself, I scratched my fingers through my hair, wondering how the hell I was going to go blazing in there to get Emery back.

I was going to have to be careful and really think about each step I would take. As much as I just wanted to charge in there like a raging bull, I couldn't. I wouldn't risk Emery getting caught in the crossfire, no fucking way. This had to be done as quietly and swiftly as possible.

Climbing out of the car, I popped the trunk and searched around inside. There had to be something I could use, something that would work as a weapon. Finding the tire iron, I held it in my hand.

This will have to do.

Clutching the metal, my knuckles went numb as all the blood drained out, leaving them white. This anger was going to fucking kill me. My heart was ready to implode, and my head was throbbing.

All I felt was this bristling rage that coated my body like a hard shell. There was nothing else inside, no fear, no worries, no regret. This woman had become mine, she had become a part of me in ways I couldn't understand, but wasn't willing to let go of.

I loved her, and because of that, I would do anything for her. Even if that meant exchanging my life for hers.

Using the shadows, I stalked through the night like the Grim Reaper, eager to suck the soul out of the next man in line.

Peering through the darkness, I could see two guys outside. One of the men was sitting in a chair by the front door, his gun resting in his lap. From where I was, I couldn't tell if he was sleeping or just relaxing.

The other guy was pacing the grounds, walking back and forth between the cars, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings.

He's first.

Keeping myself low to the ground, I crept up behind Marcos's Hummer, silently waiting for asshole number one to come my way. The man kept stopping, periodically checking over his shoulder, and searching as far into the distance as his eyes would allow.

I could feel the ground shake slightly from his steps, and hear the soft ping of gravel as it was kicked up by his feet. Adrenaline surged through my muscles, forcing my fingers to tighten around the metal bar.

His shadow grew long and slender, his breathing audible as he approached where I was hiding in the darkness. The tips of his sneakers poked out from under the bumper, close enough for me to take action.

Leaping up, I swung the tire iron, cracking him across the side of the head. Dropping to the ground, he laid motionless as a thin stream of blood trickled down his forehead.

I could have killed him right then, but I didn't. I wasn't there for that, even though every inch of my body was screaming at me to do it.

But who would I be if I killed him? I'd be no better than the men I had set out to destroy. I wasn't like these men, not anymore.

Emery had been right, she reminded me that I wasn't that person, that I didn't need to do this. I was better than that, I was willing to stop when lethal force wasn't necessary. That guy was out cold, he wasn't a threat to me anymore, and by the time he woke up, I planned on being long gone.

Grabbing his ankles, I dragged him behind the truck so he was out of view. Looking down, I didn't recognize the guy, he had to be new, someone who had rode the ranks to qualify to be one of Marcos's personal protectors.

I know what you did to get here.

The guy looked to be about my age, twenty-four or so. Dressed in a thin white t-shirt and dark blue jeans, he reminded me so much of myself. It was as if I could see the pain on his face, of the life he had that led him there.

Checking him over, I patted down his sides and found his gun secured in a holster at his hip. Plucking it free, I stuffed it into the back of my jeans, and picked up the tire iron.

It felt good to have a gun on me, there was a higher level of safety knowing I had the right kind of power to take these guys on.

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