Page 107

I barely hear him, though, because every bit of anger I have is trained on the man beneath me. My fist slams into his face once. Twice. Three times.

“You should have stayed down,” I snarl. Blood splatters the front of my shirt, my hand, my face.

He killed Dahlia’s last remaining family member.

He drugged her.

Drove her into that icy river.

Abducted her.

Tried to kill her again.

And now⁠—

A hand grips my shoulder and rips me back. I turn to swing, but Cowboy blocks my fist and slams me into the wall. Thanks to the adrenaline and the anger surging through my veins, I can’t even feel it.

Everything is red.

“He’s down!” Cowboy yells.

I lunge forward, my only goal to demolish the man who tried to rip Dahlia away.

Cowboy slams me back—this time hard enough to knock some of the red from my vision.

“He’s down.” He tells me again, gaze locked on mine.

Of all the people on my team, Cowboy has always been a near match for me. He’s the only one who has been able to stop me when I’m teetering on the edge of that line, and I do the same for him.

“He’s down,” he repeats a third time.

I nod, breathing ragged, then look toward the right as Hilda emerges from a bedroom with a manila folder in her hand. Her gaze drops to the bloodied, groaning man from the floor, then looks back up at me, eyes wide.

She shifts her attention to Cowboy. “This is what you need.” She offers it to him, and he shoves it into the front of his bulletproof vest.

“Thanks. Let’s get out of here. Cops are five minutes out.”

The pain in my abdomen is intense, so I lift my shirt and see that the bandage is saturated with blood, as is the waistband of my jeans. Still, I’m alive, and not in any immediate danger of bleeding out.

I don’t think.

Cowboy wraps one arm around my waist, but keeps the other hand firmly on his weapon. Together, the three of us rush through the house.

“What’s your status, Cowboy,” Zane asks through the comms.

“Got Tank, package H, and the docs.” Package H. Hilda. “Headed toward the front door now. We still clear?”

“All clear,” Zane confirms.

“Coming out.”

Cowboy releases me and rips the front door open. Instead of taking the offered help a second time, I step outside, keeping one hand pressed firmly against my injury. The sun shines brightly down on top of the guards who are kneeling just outside, their hands zip-tied, weapons discarded in a pile to the left.

Mason and the brothers are standing guard, while Presley is standing alongside Cap, Demo, and Cable Guy. My brother’s injured arm is in a makeshift sling, but his expression is light enough that it eases all my worry.

“Ryker!”

Dahlia’s voice is a beacon.