D is walking me backward up the yard toward the driveway, that’s when I hear the rumble of a V-6 crunching on the gravel. I don’t have to see to know that it’s the black Challenger he showed up in during the wedding.
The screen door to the house flies open and Gray and Dad run out onto the porch, both carrying rifles.
“Uh-uh-uh,” D sing-songs as he pushes the gun to my head harder, digging painfully into my skin.
They both stop and set the rifles on the porch, holding their hands up.
The sound of a car door opening is behind us, and my panic is about to overtake me. He can’t really be taking me, can he? This can’t be happening. My breaths are starting to com in short gasps as my hope fades.
“Lepa.” Jax barks.
My eyes jerk back to him. He takes a slow, deep breath and I follow him.
“Hallie, get in the fucking car.” D barks.
“I’m so sorry, Marley.” She cries.
“Fucking go, goddamn it.” He yells at her.
My eyes are locked on Jax’s.
“Uvek c´u doc´i po tebe. Da?” [I will always come for you. Yes?]
He tilts his head and lifts his eyebrow, making sure I understand.
“Yes.” I whisper.
Mason raises his hands as angertwists his features, and he yells, “No.”
The butt of the gun hits my head and just before the world goes black, I see the calm drain from Jax’s face and rage twists his features.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THREE YEARS AGO
Budapest, Hungary
Jax
The alcove that dips back from the sketchy as fuck alley is littered with rugs and laundry hanging from balconies, and ropes tacked up against the walls or from window to window. Each of those windows is covered in bars of various sizes and styles, almost like they were picked from dumpsters.
The main road that leads to the alley is a quaint urban cobblestone road between old as fuck apartment buildings, but once you step off those cobblestones and onto the cement path, the age of the buildings become obvious with all the various paint colors on the bricks.
This district of the city, District VIII, has cleaned up considerably since its dark days, but it doesn’t matter how hard you scrub any city, there will always be pockets of filth peppered throughout that just won’t come clean.
“Alpha 5 report. Over.” Alpha 1 is calm, his voice low in my comms. He’s also my boss and team leader, Callum.
“It’s quiet, no movement.” My reply is brief and with no military jargon or call signs. My intel on this place is solid. I’ve watched this alley for almost a week and I know who comes and goes and when.
“Alpha 2 report. Over.” Alpha 1’s order is directed at Mason.
Mason’s southern drawl comes over the line. “Some movement at the east main entrance, customers by the looks of it. Over.”
I glance across the street at Alpha 4, who is leaning comfortably against the wall, in the shadows, smoking like he lives here and blends in like he’s one of those customers. Hell, we both do. He’s looking toward the main entrance and slides his hand in his pants pocket, indicating that he has eyes on them.
Even though I can’t see him, I know Mason has us in his crosshairs.
My hair is sticking to my neck and I’m pretty sure my pits have grown some kind of science experiment after being in this fucking humidity for days. I hate this country, not because it’s a bad country, I don’t have any issues with the country itself.
