Just then, the second biker bursts inside, and yanks a gun from his waistband, pointing it square at Tyrique’s head. Maverick doesn’t hesitate. “Take his bitch ass out.”
“Move, move, move!” Sergeant Lewis explodes through my earpiece.
The Bastards scatter like they were ready for this… out the side doors, through the back, gone before the first siren wails.
I’m frozen, holding my breath as I watch the screen. The man hesitates, just for a second. Gun raised, finger twitching. Something flashes in his eyes, and that second is the only window we’ve got.
“Go!” I yell, pushing out of the van. Tony’s right behind me, gun drawn. We make it just in time to see Maverick peeling out of the lot, followed by two of his men. The other three almost made it, headed in the opposite direction, but were blocked in by a few squad cars.
My boots pound the pavement, heart hammering in my chest, and all I can think is…that’s my brother in there.
And I might be too damn late.
THREE
NIGHTMARE
I’m toostunned to move. My hand slowly lowers, the gun suddenly feeling too heavy to hold up. Squinting at the guy standing in front of me, it feels like I’ve been blindsided by a punch I didn’t see coming. He’s shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting like he’s scanning for exits to escape. He’s a lot thinner than I remember, cheeks caved in, skin tinted with a sick shade of yellow. Eyes glassy, and lifeless.
But underneath all that damage, I can still see him.
“Ty?”
His head snaps up like I just yanked him out of a nightmare.
“M… Malcolm?” His voice cracks halfway through my name, like it hurts to say it.
It’s him. Tyrique. My childhood best friend. My brother in every way but blood. We used to tear through the city like it owed us something. Talked about our future like we owned the world. Now he’s here looking like a shell of the person he used to be.
We just stand there, staring at each other. Him trying to hold it together, me trying not to let the past drag me under.
“I didn’t know you were…” he says, taking a step toward me. His words trail off as if he’s too exhausted to speak.
“I don’t understand. I don’t… what happ…”
Before I can finish, the door slams open behind me.
“Drop the weapon! On your knees!”
A loud female voice slices through the warehouse shouting orders.
When she steps in closer, everything in me locks up, my eyes going wide. Londyn… what the actual fuck.
Her braids are longer now, brushing down her back as she moves. Her jeans are tight, hugging her hips like they’re poured on. She’s curvier too, the kind of curves that make it damn hard not to look. The shoulder holster she’s wearing pushes her breasts up just enough to make it impossible not to notice.
Then there’s her skin. Smooth, warm brown that damn near glows under the warehouse lights. The attraction is instant… hot, hard, and physical. I hate this. Hate that my body reacts before my brain gets a chance to shut it down.
Fuck me! Londyn’s the kind of beautiful that makes a man forget he’s got cuffs waiting. And right now, that pisses me off almost as much as staring down a barrel. Hard to believe she’s the same brat with braces who made it her mission to torment me and Ty.
Her lips are drawn tight, eyes hard as steel, locked on me like she’s waiting for the flinch that gives her permission to pull the trigger. That scent, leather and vanilla, hits like a sucker punch. Soft, dangerous, and addictive. I try to shake it, remind myself this is the worst damn time to notice anything about her. But it’s already in me, crawling down my spine, coiling low in my gut.
The gun hits the floor with a sharp clang. My knees follow, concrete biting through my jeans. If she recognizes me, it doesn’t show. I’m halfway to saying, “It’s me, Malcolm,” when she moves fast with no hesitation.
“You so much as breathe my name,” she hisses low, interrupting me, “I'll bury you so deep you’ll forget what daylight looks like, and your brothers will forget you ever existed.”
I guess that answers my question.
Her grip locks firm around the back of my neck, forcing my head down. The cold bite of metal snaps around my wrists. Fast, and precise like she’s done this a hundred times. The cuffs dig in, and I welcome the sting. Because nothing could’ve prepared me for this night. I don’t fight her. I don’t speak. I just let it happen.
