His to Protect (The Guard Book 3) Page 16

  “Promise you’ll text me.”

  She saw the hesitance in his eyes, though he finally nodded. “As soon as I can. Baby, I’ve gotta go. I’ll take this with me.” He drew the fingers he used to fuck her with to his mouth and licked them.

  She collapsed on the sofa and watched him crawl off her and walk away, still pulsating from the pleasure he gave her…and missing him already.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Haven’t hidden in a dark warehouse for a good two weeks,” Lars whispered into the comms unit.

  A few yards away, North chuckled in response. “How does Lillian handle knowing that?”

  “She doesn’t need to know everything I do.”

  Blackened shapes of cars under dust cloths separated them from the door. Any minute, they expected the men hired by the bigwig drilling company to walk in. The word had come in complete with video footage of a money exchange in return for taking out Sloane. Meanwhile, several more of their team would handle things on the back end—such as stopping these threats for good.

  The Guard would intercept these guys and end it. Aware that they’d be in for a fight only pumped North up more. He palmed his weapon and tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing. Difficult when all he heard were Sloane’s rough, throaty, feminine cries. So soft and wanting yet desperate for his touch. Fuck, a man could get used to that feeling.

  They awaited the signal from their men surrounding the building. North couldn’t make out Lars’s position on his three, and scattered throughout were others, including Madeline.

  The woman surprised him more than any of his fellow guards. Such a hard ass and yet she seemed to be his biggest champion when it came to finding love. North always considered her a true friend, and now she’d proved it to him on another level besides keeping a bullet out of his head in times like this.

  With the scent of car polish filling his head, he still couldn’t stop thinking of Sloane’s personal musk. If he drew his fingers under his nose, he’d catch it again. He must remain focused on his mission—and on getting back to her.

  Thus far, he hadn’t found a reason to text her. Pulling out his phone seemed like a risk he couldn’t take at this time, so he left it deep in his jeans pocket. Shifting his shoulders, he tried to get into a more comfortable position where he sat propped against a stack of hard tires. And the bulletproof vest he wore always felt too constricting, a necessary evil he must deal with if he wanted to stay among the living.

  A low whistle reached him through the comms unit. On high alert, he maneuvered into position.

  When the door opened, his team was ready. At the front, two guards moved out of the shadows. In a blink, they had the men tied, gagged and dragged out of sight. So when the next man entered, he looked around.

  “Where the fuck are you guys?” He flicked on the lights.

  This is our cue.

  North and Lars rushed out. “Get on your knees! Hands behind your head!”

  “Fuck, it’s the cops!” The guy’s bellow brought more running into the building rather than running from it. North kicked one in the gut, pitching him forward to sprawl on his stomach—not before he squeezed off a shot.

  The bullet grazed North’s temple. At the burning pain, fury rose in his blood. His veins pounded with adrenaline and anger. In the back of his mind, he realized he should have texted Sloane. Why didn’t he when he had a chance?

  Lars rushed at the man North kicked, and he stomped the hand holding the gun. North heard the sickening crunch of bones.

  Five more men poured into the building, each as big and packing as much heat as the next. The Guard came equally as equipped for battle.

  North hurled himself at one and bashed him in the head with his weapon. The hard steel to the temple dropped him like a brick wall under a wrecking ball. Breathing hard, North whirled to the next. His gun jammed.

  Staring into the face of death, all he saw was Sloane’s beautiful face wavering in his mind.

  The blow to the back of the head came out of nowhere. Pain exploded through his body, and he crumpled forward.

  “North’s down!” He heard Madeline’s voice in his ear before his cheek kissed concrete.

  For a solid ten heartbeats, he lay there, dazed. My phone. Text her.

  He fished the phone from his pocket and thumbed out a text.

  I might not get a chance to say this to you. I love you.

  When a boot appeared near his head, he dropped his phone and pulled the trigger instead, blowing the man’s ankle out from under him. The man howled in pain.

  North’s bullet struck a propane tank on the other side of the room. A huge whoosh sounded before the explosion.

  Gathering himself up, North hauled ass for the closest exit. He spotted Madeline on the ground and dragged her out along with him just as a second explosion occurred.

  Madeline scrambled up, swayed and nearly collapsed again. He gripped her by the back of the shirt as they both turned to see Lars and the rest of their men run out of the building.

  “Get back!” He heard the bellow though he hardly registered it as projecting from his own throat. They hauled ass a safe distance away, and North collapsed in the cool, dewy grass. His head throbbed, and sticky blood dripped down his jaw. All he could smell was burned hair, and one look at Madeline showed him why—the woman’s blonde hair would require a shave.

  She crawled over to Lars. “Are you all right?” She rested her hands on his chest, and he nodded. Then she turned to North and assessed his injuries with a glance. “You idiot. One inch to the right and you’d be dead.”

  “And your ponytail got burnt off.”

  Shock registered over her features, and she raised a hand to the back of her head.

  “We all smell like singed hair.” Archer rubbed a hand over his own sizzled head.

  “Guys, it’s gonna blow.” North watched flames licking at the open door. “Get as far away as you can if you wanna save your eardrums!”

  They took off, running deeper into the trees. The huge explosion of several gas tanks rocked the steel building on its foundation, and a black mushroom cloud rose into the sky.

  “Damn, that’ll draw some attention,” North drawled out.

  They all turned to him, each member of The Guard bleeding, bruised, singed and grinning to be alive.

  Madeline was first to start laughing, and then they all joined in. Every muscle in his body screamed, but North laughed until his stomach hurt.

  * * * * *

  “Christ, we all reek.” North rolled down the car window to let the breeze flood through and wipe out the stench of burning hair, fabric and probably skin too. He rooted in the glove compartment and came out with a bottle of painkillers. After popping four, and swallowing them without water, he sat back in the seat.

  Madeline threw him a look. “You should close your eyes. You probably have a concussion.”

  “Pretty sure we all do after that blast. I’ll be fine, though.” He couldn’t quit thinking about something, and now seemed like the perfect time.

  “Take a detour, Madeline.”

  She glanced his way. “Where?”

  “To get Sloane’s sister.”

  “I wondered when you’d say that.” With a smile, she took the next left and headed south again.

  Forty minutes later, they pulled up to the house where Scarlett lived with her husband. He blew out a breath. “Last time we were here, we saw some scary shit.”

  Madeline nodded. “She isn’t going to come quiet.”

  “No. We’ll take her out kicking and screaming if we must. But we’re getting her the fuck away from this man.”

  They devised a plan, and with it solid in his mind, they approached the house. Last time he’d come here for Sloane. Now he realized he wanted to free Scarlett for her own good as much as her sister’s. What Sloane cared about, he had begun to care about just as much.

  Walking up to the place without her at his side felt wrong. Each footstep carried him toward his end
goal—to make Sloane happy. His text said it all. I love you.

  He didn’t even check for a reply. He could wait until he could look into her eyes to see what she would say to his words.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Madeline. He held up three fingers and then ticked them off. When he kicked in the door, Madeline rushed past him, headed straight for Scarlett. A shriek sounded from the other room, and he didn’t have time to think about the fight that woman was putting up because he had her big, burly husband to take down.

  Using the fighting skills he and Madeline trained with what felt like months ago back at the church, he swept the guy’s leg. He came at him with a stick of firewood, heaving it toward his head hell-bent on taking him down for good.

  North proved too fast for him. Ducking the blow, he jabbed him in the throat with a quick punch. The guy wheezed as his windpipe collapsed from the hit, and North took the chance to finish it.

  He whipped out a zip-tie and bound his hands. Then he levered his weight into him to hold him in place long enough to bind his feet. After this, he tied him to the closest chair and called 9-1-1. “I’d like to report a case of child abuse.”

  “I’m not going anywhere! Why are you here! Who are you? My husband! What did you do to him?” Scarlett screamed as Madeline carried her bodily out of the house.

  At the door, North turned back and looked the man in the eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot your balls off. You know what they do to child abusers in prison, right?” The man’s fearful expression brought a tight smile to North’s face as he quickly followed Madeline out to the car.

  Wrestling Scarlett into the vehicle seemed to be the real challenge of the day. The woman screamed and cried, kicked and punched.

  “I think we’re going to have to cuff her,” Madeline grated out. The short strands of her hair stood out on the back of her head.

  North shouldered his way past Madeline to the thrashing woman. He captured her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. “Scarlett, stop! Sloane sent me to get you. Do you hear me? Hold still and listen. Sloane wants you out of this place. Your sister!”

  The force of his tone made her pause. She kicked out one more time, and Madeline cursed as her foot grazed over her shin.

  “Scarlett, stop it. You’re going to be all right, but we need you to cooperate.”

  “My husband,” she whimpered.

  Your husband is a twisted motherfucker who warped your brain.

  He barely held his opinions in check, because dealing with a mind like Scarlett’s required a much kinder approach. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Listen to me, Scarlett. Okay? We’re going to get in this car and go get some help.”

  “Help for Brandon?”

  “Yes. Help for him.” In the form of a prison cell, he mentally added.

  “Get in the car.” Madeline urged her inside, and Scarlett crawled into the back seat. When Madeline arched a brow at North, he nodded.

  For her own good, they had to cuff her hand and foot or risk her throwing herself out of the moving vehicle or attacking one of them while driving and killing all of them.

  After some more struggles that left him feeling like he could use a few more of those pain pills, they got Scarlett situated and took to the highway again. This time they made the longer journey to the mental facility that would help rehabilitate this woman from the things she’d endured.

  She couldn’t be more than seventeen though she looked thirty. Haggard, thin and bearing bruises under each eye, Scarlett looked like a faint image of the photos he’d seen of her and Sloane before this all took place.

  Sloane…he couldn’t wait to return to her. He had a lot of talking to do. First, he needed to feel her in his arms.

  * * * * *

  I might not get a chance to say this to you. I love you.

  How many times did she read that text—heard it replay in Bodhi’s voice in her head?

  She’d asked herself countless times why he’d chosen to text those words to her. He could have said anything. Instead he chose to tell her he loved her.

  She couldn’t escape the conviction that he was dead and those were his final words to her.

  Tears, never far away, washed down her cheeks again. Raw pain sliced through her, and she dropped her face into her hands. Oz approached her, and she waved him away. No words could slap a bandage over her pain, and the pinched look on Oz’s face told her that he knew more than he was saying.

  He and Rose bent their heads together, and she ignored their whispering. Turning into herself, she could only rock. He loves me but he’s never coming back.

  She knew it like she knew her own name. Like she knew how much she cared for him too—how much she loved him.

  Vaguely, she acknowledged Rose putting her arms around her and heard the rough tones of several men speaking. Their conversation growing louder. Then Rose forced Sloane to look at her.

  “They’re on their way back. North is coming, Sloane. Do you hear me?”

  The words broke through her haze, slowly sinking in and then jerking her out of her despair. She leaped off the sofa. “Bodhi?”

  “Yes, honey, he’s coming back. He’s on his way.”

  Oz circled close to them. “They’re six minutes out.”

  Sloane’s heart rolled over as she realized what they were telling her—Bodhi hadn’t been killed. Those weren’t his last words to her.

  Six minutes seemed to be an eternity. She stood at the door waiting, while the rest prepared. Rose took out a first-aid kit. Simply the sight of it made Sloane’s stomach pitch with the memory of Bodhi stitching up his own wound.

  “He’s hurt?”

  “They’re all hurt. Here comes Lars and Archer.”

  Seeing the two men exit the vehicle made her heart pound so hard she had to grip on to the wall to remain upright. Then she realized the condition they were in.

  Both looked to have been…blown up.

  Shocked and stunned, she only stared as Rose and Oz sat them down at the kitchen table and began tending to their burns. When she heard the door open again, she whirled.

  Across the space, she met Bodhi’s gaze. A cry escaped her, and she ran to him. He opened his arms and gathered her in. She buried her face against his hard chest and breathed in the noxious stench of burned hair and something chemical that reminded her far too much of that trunk.

  A sob escaped her, and he flexed his arms around her, drawing her onto tiptoe. She couldn’t stand here and not say what had been going through her mind for long hours while thinking him to be dead.

  “Bodhi…did you mean it?”

  He drew away enough to meet her stare. “Every word.”

  A sharp cry left her lips, and she threw her arms around him. Just then she saw the thick gash on his temple and the fact he was bleeding and looking more than a little pale.

  “He’s hurt. Someone help him!”

  Oz came out of the kitchen to inspect both Bodhi and Madeline, who appeared to be missing quite a bit of her ponytail if not all of it. “Jesus Christ. No wonder you all smell like burned hair.”

  To Sloane’s shock, Bodhi exchanged a look with the woman, and they both burst out laughing. From the kitchen, the others joined in.

  “You’re all insane,” Sloane cried.

  Even though she liked the look of her man smudged in dirt and looking all roughed up, she did not like to think of what happened to him.

  “Everyone come to the kitchen,” Oz directed. After they did, and they took up chairs around the table with Rose doling out antiseptic and bandages, Oz looked at the group. “What the hell happened?”

  Bodhi rubbed his fingertips between his brows as if his head hurt. To her surprise, when he glanced up, he was grinning. “We almost died.”

  The crazy people burst out laughing again. With a sigh, Rose shook her head, and Sloane hovered near Bodhi. “That cut must have knocked you senseless. Why are you laughing at almost being killed?”

  His eyes danced with amu
sement as he looked at her. “Pretty sure the blow to the head did that, not the bullet winging past my ear.”

  “Oh God.” She sat down hard on the chair next to him.

  “He’s got such a hard head, he’ll be fine in a few hours.” Madeline scraped her fingers through her burned hair.

  “Guess you’ll be sporting a GI Jane look, Sister,” Oz said.

  “Yeah, I hope you have some clippers here. Or maybe I’ll blade it off using that antique knife Bodhi and I placed a bet over. I’m pretty sure I won the rights to it when I got all the hair burned off my head.” She rubbed at her hair, and everyone chuckled.

  Talk continued, and Sloane listened although her mind kept circling back to the dangers the man she loved faced—all because of her. What kind of love put someone in peril?

  He took her hand and rubbed her knuckles lightly while Rose cleaned his cut and bandaged it. “You’ll have a scar,” Rose said.

  He shrugged. “What’s another scar?” He focused on Sloane. “C’mon. We need to talk.”

  As he stood and led her through the kitchen and upstairs to a bedroom, she still felt the aftershocks of what she’d endured. The minute she got him alone, she planned to let him have it for scaring her to death.

  Right after she kissed him.

  He drew her inside a bedroom and closed the door behind her. She barely opened her mouth before he grabbed her, pinning her to the wood. His warm breath washed over her lips. “I love you, Sloane. I can’t fight it anymore.”

  She searched his eyes and saw all the truth lying in those sparkling depths. “I love you too, you idiotic man! What were you doing to get yourself blown up? Have you even seen your hair or clothes?”

  “No. I was too busy freeing your sister from her hell.”

  She went dead still. “What?” she rasped.

  He nodded. “Come sit down.” He led her by the hand to the bed and made her sit before he gave her the full story of how they got Scarlett away from the man she believed she loved.

  At this, Sloane broke down completely. Unable to speak for several long, tearful minutes, she simply clung to Bodhi.