Page 51 of Risky Taste
I sit up too fast, the pain spiking, and wince, my hands gripping the side of my head. “Who is it?” My voice trembles, the warmth from a minute ago draining away. Sebastian scoops me up, pulling me against his chest as he starts toward the stairs.
“Well,” Logan says, stepping closer, his eyes flicking to Sebastian, “Heath’s at the door with some guy I’ve never seen before, which wouldn’t be that odd except they’ve got guns.”
“Did they come to fucking kill me?” The words spill out, panic clawing at my chest.
Logan shakes his head. “Not technically, I don’t think. I think it’s a fail-safe? Whatever it is, we’re not gonna be sitting ducks.” He looks at me, urgent. “Noah, please tell me you’ve got something in this house.”
“My dad’s old shotgun’s here, and maybe something else. We… haven’t really gone in their room much.” My voice cracks, the weight of that room—Mom and Dad’s, untouched since they were gone—hitting me hard, but I shove it down, focusing on the now.
“That’s perfect, Bunny. Sebastian will take you upstairs. Stay right the fuck there.” He’s already moving, heading for the hall
“I couldn’t move if I tried,” I mutter, my legs jelly, the meds and the headache pinning me where I am. Sebastian chuckles as he rushes me up the stairs, laying me on my bed. As lovely as this house is, I’m now pissed off that there’s no back door. Mom thought it was nice; Dad used to talk about building one but without a backyard, it didn’t really make sense.
Now, I’m regretting we never put one in.
“Call the police,” Sebastian says as he leans over me. “You got something in here, right?”
I nod, gesturing to the night stand. “Yeah, I’ve got something but both of you better come back to me. I’m tired of losing people.”
Sebastian kisses my forehead, lingering there for a moment too long. “We’ll be back. Promise,” he says before disappearing out into the hall.
I fumble for my cellphone from my pants, fingers shaking, the screen blurring as I dial 911. The operator picks up and I stammer through it—“Two guys with guns at my door, Heath, I don’t know the other one, please hurry”—my breath hitching, the headache pulsing with every word. She starts asking for the address and how do I know who’s at the door and if I’m safe.
I keep rattling off what I know, hoping and praying that we’re still in one piece once the officers arrive. The operator says to stay on the phone, that help is on the way but I fish through my nightstand for my gun anyway, holding it close to my chest.
I hope I won’t have to use it.
Chapter thirty-seven
SEBASTIAN
I storm down the stairs, pissed as hell that it’s come to this—Heath and some armed bastard at Noah’s door, like we didn’t have enough shit to deal with. Logan’s right behind me, handing me one of two shotguns he must have procured from Noah’s parent’s room. Logan hands me a handful of old shells, none of this going to stand up against two fucks determined to take us down.
“We’re not engaging, Logan. If they break in, we defend ourselves but I’m not starting a firefight if I don’t have to.”
Logan nods in agreement, both of us settling back into the living room. It gives us enough of a vantage point without being in a direct line of sight. I should have known, though, that they wouldn’t just wait nicely at the door and the fact that there’s no other way out of this goddamn house—even the windows only half the width or height as they are anywhere else—just makes this all worse.
The front door splits open, several blunt hits cracking the wood before Heath strolls in, casual as fuck, like he owns the place. His jacket’s open, his pistol tucked into his belt. He scans the open space, frowning when he doesn’t find what he needs. “Where’s Noah?”
“None of your fucking concern,” I snap, stepping forward, the shotgun steady across my chest. “Where’s your friend?”
Heath’s grin widens, his expression darkening. “I’m surprised you guys didn’t catch on. It was always the plan to kill Noah. He’s the reason we’re all in this mess. Kurt would still have his parents if Noah had kept his motherfucking mouth shut. Whatever happens to Kurt happens to him, but Noah’s gonna suffer.”
The words hit me like a punch, and I get it—his friend’s not here to back him up; he’s upstairs, going for Noah while Heath plays distraction. I charge for the stairs, praying that we’re not too late.
“Stay put!” Logan barks at Heath behind me, but I don’t look back, my focus narrowing to the steps, to Noah. I hear Heath move, his footsteps scuffing, and then a shotgun blast cracks loud, Heath’s scream ripping through the air.
Out of the corner of my eye as I speed down the upstairs hallway, I can see that Heath is on the ground, screaming, blood pouring from his shoe. Logan’s got him handled. Now I just need to make sure Noah is safe.
I burst through Noah’s bedroom door, my heart slamming in my chest, the handgun heavy in my grip, and catch the guy Logan saw through the peephole climbing in through the window, his gun raised. Noah’s bed is empty, my gaze frantically walking through the room to find him pressed back against the corner, his pistol outstretched, his hands steady.
Two shots crack loud, point-blank, and the guy drops, a heavy thud on the floor, blood pooling into the carpet. Noah groans,his hand flying to his ear, his other hand falling to his side still clutching the gun, and I rush over, pulling him into my chest as I discard the shotgun on the bed.
“Babe, are you okay?” Sometimes I forget how sharp Noah is because we never spend time on the training grounds together anymore.
“Climbing through my window is some bullshit,” he mutters against my chest, wincing as he presses harder on his ear. “Where’s Heath?”
I grin, relief cutting through the panic. “Downstairs. Seems Logan shot him in the foot.” Sirens wail in the distance, closing in, and Noah’s eyes flash, a deviant smile spreading across his lips.
