“You ready?” I ask my team. “Everyone in position?”
Ace stands beside me, double- and triple-checking that the buckles on his harness are properly secured. “Fuck, I wanna take Izzy so deep that I have a personal meet-and-greet with her IUD.”
The fuck?
“You good?” I ask, reaching out to nail him in the arm, only to watch as he takes a breath and sighs, clearly deep in thought, and definitely not with his head in the game.
“I think I’m in love.”
Diesel scoffs in my earpiece. “You don’t stand a fucking chance, bro,” he tells Ace. “She might think you’re a good time, might even let you play between those pretty thighs for a few weeks. But you and I both know that when she’s done playing with the class clown, it’ll be me she’s coming home to.”
“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath. “We are not getting into this shit right now. Both of you need to get in the fucking zone. Apart from some wild flirting and bedroom eyes, Izzy hasn’t given any kind of indication that she’s actually interested in anything more than one night with either of you assholes, so man the fuck up. Focus on what we’re doing, and think about fucking my girl’s best friend on your own damn time.”
Ace clenches his jaw, and if it weren’t for the fact that the second we jump off the edge of this building he will do and be exactly what I need, I would have whooped his ass by now. Ace has never let me down, and I don’t anticipate him starting tonight.
“Ready?” I ask, inching toward the edge of the building and getting into position as Ace does the same.
He nods at me as Diesel speaks directly through my earpiece, leading the team on the other side of the building. “We’re ready.”
I glance at Ace and then at the two men on my other side. “In three . . . two . . . one. Go. Go. Go.”
We fly off the side of the rooftop, plunging down floor after floor as the early-morning fresh air rushes around us. Then just as we sail past the thirty-ninth floor, we all swing back to gain momentum. The strategically placed explosives detonate with perfect timing, blowing in the windows of the thirty-eighth floor, allowing us to soar through the spray of glass.
The noise is deafening, and each of my men lands in a low crouch, rolling deeper into the room while simultaneously unclipping their harnesses. The armed men inside try to catch their bearings, looking around in shock as if wondering how the fuck they lost the upper hand so quickly.
Diesel’s team crashes through at the exact same time from the opposite side of the floor, and as the piercing screams of the hostages rip through the cavernous showroom, my men quickly surround the gunmen.
The bullets fly almost immediately, and while I was hoping they’d have a few brain cells inside their heads to understand that they don’t stand a chance, apparently that’s not how this is going to go down. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.
In situations like this, they know there’s no getting away with a simple slap on the wrist, and prison isn’t for the weak-minded. There’s only one way out for people like this, and it’s a one-way ticket in a body bag directly to the morgue. Hell, it’s men like this who are the reason for Harper having such great job security.
Bystanders scramble to take cover as bullets fly back and forth. We take out two of the perpetrators within the first three seconds, all while keeping cover over each other and the hostages. It’s a fucking bloodbath, which is not at all what I was hoping for, but I knew it was a possibility.
Two more of the assailants go down, leaving only two to go, and as my team closes in—half of us focusing on the gunmen, the other half leading the hostages away from danger—one of the gunmen drops to the ground, his gun aimed directly at Diesel.
A breath catches in my throat, a moment of sheer panic pounding through my veins, but this ain’t Diesel’s first rodeo, and just as the bullet flies from the chamber, Diesel whips out of the way, narrowly avoiding a direct hit to the chest.
Blood spurts from his arm as the bullet rips through his uniform and continues behind him, and in true Diesel form,he gets on with what he’s doing as though nothing happened, returning fire and taking the fucker out.
My bullet is last to fly, taking down the final gunman and putting this shit to bed, and while I could have easily taken the kill shot, giving this asshole an easy way out seems like too much of a kindness. He can die in prison for the bullshit he’s put all these people through these past twelve hours.
Ace runs in and slams his boot over the final gunman’s wrist, quickly disarming him before kicking the weapon away, putting an end to it as everyone races in to do their part. The barricades are freed from the doors, allowing the paramedics access as the rest of the cops swarm the area, hurrying to the hostages to offer any help they can, but my attention is on Diesel.
“You good?” I ask, gripping his arm and tearing his uniform away to get a look at the damage, knowing damn well he would have just walked straight out of here without even bothering to get it checked.
“Fine,” he mutters, allowing me only a second to lay my eyes on the wound before pulling free of my grasp.
I let out a sigh and wave over one of the paramedics. “He needs stitches. Don’t let him leave before he’s been checked out.”
Diesel scoffs and strides toward the door. We don’t technically need to hang around here right now. Don’t get me wrong, we’ll be on scene for the next few hours, cleaning up our equipment and documenting every bullet fired from our guns before making detailed statements. People died here, and the department will want to ensure that every t is crossed and every i is dotted. There’s no room for mistakes, and they will go above and beyond to ensure that every move we made was aboveboard. And it was. My team is just that good.
The paramedic sighs, watching Diesel walk away, and all I can do is smirk. It’s not the first time the paramedics have had to deal with the stubborn-natured men on my team, and it sure asfuck won’t be the last. But out of all of them, Diesel is the hardest to deal with by far.
“Fuck me,” the paramedic mutters under his breath. “I’d have had a better chance at survival if I’d performed the Macarena in my birthday suit during the middle of your shootout than to tell that asshole he needs to be looked at.”
“That’s just the perks of the job,” I tell him, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re on your own, though. Good luck.”
I laugh to myself as I turn around and take in the destroyed building around me before letting out a heavy breath. Everywhere I look, there are bullet holes, shattered glass, bodies, blood, and hostages. It’s a fucking mess, but it’s my mess, and now it’s time to clean it up.
