I almost lose my balance. “Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?”
“Eh. Foreplay is important,” he says nonchalantly.
“Ass.”
“I’m joking,” he insists. “Just come by here.”
I glance at the opening door of the complex I’m parked in the garage behind, only to find the two I’m here for exiting. God, these are the guys who think they’re better for Wren than Reed?
Fucking pathetic.
I’m about to make them piss themselves. “Yeah, okay. You have me here, right?”
“Yeah, I have you. Be quick.”
“Got it,” I say to Kade before hanging up.
I’ve already clocked the cameras in the corners and noted the vacant spaces around their car.
Time to get to work.
I get off my bike, push my belt bag over my chest, helmet remaining on my head, and start toward them. I’m counting on them noticing me behind them, counting on their fear to spike so I can see what they’ll do.
The one with longer hair is the first to observe me. He nudges his brother’s side, jerking his chin my way. The second pivots and narrows his brows, obviously unsure of why someone in all black and a biker helmet is following them, then turns back around as if he thinks they should just ignore me.
So cute.
They turn by a car I know isn’t theirs and head up the ramp. I take the opportunity to maneuver through the lot outside of their view, taking my un-extended baton from my bag. When they don’t see me behind them, they appear relieved and even turn back toward their car.
And every step in its direction is faster.
Good boys.
That’s what I like to see.
They’re five cars away from theirs when I appear behind them again, and this time, the color drains from their faces. I swing the baton in my hand so that it extends. The short-haired one bolts, leaving the other in the dust. The second pulls something from his pocket—pepper spray, I realize.
He whips around with it, and I simply stand there as it repels off my visor.
Nice try.
His eyes widen as if he’s realizing mid-stream how fucking dumb of a move he just pulled. The spray drops to the ground. He turns on his heel.
I catch the backs of his knees with my baton.
His legs sweep out from under him. He lands flat on his back, passing out when his head smacks the ground. I grab his leg so I can drag him toward the car his brother is practically flailing toward.
“Ah! Predator! Attacker! I’m being robbed! Help—”
I prop the unconscious one up against the railing in front of the car so I can keep an eye on him as the other leaps into the driver’s seat. I pull the passenger handle before the conscious one can lock the doors, and as I slide into the car, he throws his hands up and begins speaking so quickly and in such a high-pitched voice that it makes my eye twitch.
Oh my god.
Shut up.
I pull my gun out and press the barrel to his forehead.
His lips zip, and I let out a relieved breath.
