“Jetta’s still here,” I tell Silas. “She has to be. We need to keep searching.”
“Fine. What do you want to do with her?” he asks, pointing his gun at the woman on the floor.
“Leave her. She’s safer in the pantry,” I tell him. Then to her I say, “Stay here and don’t come out until we tell you to. Got it?”
“Y-yes,” she answers with a nod, her teeth chattering from shock as she wraps her arms around her knees that are pulled up to her chest. God, she reminds me so much of Jetta. Why couldn’t it be her here safe and sound in the fucking pantry?
“Let’s go,” I say to Silas. I start to shut the pantry door when Nash yells, “Incoming!”
“It’s us! Hold your fucking fire,” Malcolm calls back before him, Fiasco and Wirth slip past Nash to join us in the kitchen, still wearing their helmets.
“Everyone whole?” I ask in concern since I don’t know what the hell I would do if one of my brothers gets hurt and it’s my fault for dragging them into this mess.
“We’re good,” Malcolm says. “Took out three guards around the side yard and back. You all have any trouble?”
“Three guards at the front too, but we got the jump on them before they knew we were there.”
“Good,” Fiasco says before he peeks in the closet. “Who is she?”
“Chef apparently,” I tell him, right before a gun blast goes off. The woman screams bloody murder while the rest of us hit the floor on our stomachs instinctively. Well, all of us except for Nash.
“What the fuck, Nash?” Fiasco grumbles.
“It was another guard,” Nash responds. “We need to get out of here and spread out before more come and trap us inside.”
“He’s right. Let’s move,” Malcolm agrees.
“We’ll come back for you soon,” I tell the frazzled chef before I shut the pantry door on her.
As a group, we make our way around the lower level of the house that’s empty. We’re about to head up to the second floor when there’s a loud creaking like footsteps from the ceiling above us. The reason for the noise soon becomes clear when Harry and a guard carrying Jetta appear at the top of the spiral staircase. Spotting us, both of the men freeze and thankfully neither have a gun in their hands.
“You’re done, motherfuckers,” I tell them. “Let her go.”
The guard immediately puts Jetta down. He removes the gun from his holster, tosses it down the steps, and then raises his hands above his head because he realizes there’s only one way this ends.
But Harry isn’t that smart. He quickly snatches up Jetta by her beautiful, colorful hair and pulls her in front of him, using her as a human shield. Her eyes are bright red and makeup is running down her cheeks like she’s been crying. No telling what that asshole did to her before we got here! She looks as terrified as the woman in the closet, and I know for certain that we did the right thing killing the guards to get to her. I’ll never regret my decision. I just hope Jetta will be able to forgive me when she finds out I’m a killer.
“Let me leave here unharmed or I’ll throw her down the stairs,” Harry threatens, pushing Jetta forward, making her gasp, and then yanking her back against the front of his body again by her hair. “Maybe she’ll end up with a few bruises or broken bones, or maybe she’ll snap her neck. Do you really want to take that chance?”
Malcolm and the other guys look to me for my answer, which is, of course, fuck no.
How could I ever live with myself if something happened to Jetta because I gambled with her life? So what the fuck am I supposed to do now?
“Drop your weapons now or I’ll throw her!” Harry threatens.
The last thing I want to do is lower my gun, but I still crouch down and lay it on the floor before the rest of the guys do the same while I try and figure out how to outsmart the asshole.
Thankfully, Jetta was way ahead of me. Her fingernails that were digging into his arm to try and pry it from her hair suddenly lowers into a fist that connects with Harry’s groin.
His first reaction, as is every man’s, is to reach down and grab his junk, which allows Jetta to get free. She sprints down the steps as I race up them, meeting her halfway to wrap her in my arms. I just barely get her lowered and covered before gunfire erupts.
Jetta doesn’t make a sound; she just buries her face in my neck and pulls me to her even tighter. Here’s hoping motorcycle helmets are also bulletproof.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I promise her because I’m certain that it was the Aces who retrieved their guns and fired first. “It’s almost over.”
“I know,” she replies once there’s nothing but silence and the ringing in my ears. “I’m sorry I didn’t cancel,” it sounds like she says.
“What?” I ask. Lifting my head, I raise my helmet’s shield to look at her face without the tinted plastic in the way.
“The date. I should’ve cancelled! I don’t want to go out with anyone else. I love you, Devlin!”
“Ah, baby. I love you too,” I reply before ripping my helmet off to brush my lips over hers. A soft kiss turns into a desperate one where our tongues are dueling, unable to get enough until someone clears their throat loudly.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Malcolm says. “But now isn’t really the time or place! We need to go, and you need to put your helmet back on!”
“Right,” I agree, placing one last kiss on her lips. I get to my feet and slip my helmet on, lowering the face shield before I finally help Jetta to her feet. She glances up to the top of the stairs where Harry is laid out and bleeding from several bullet wounds to his chest and stomach.
“Oh my god. He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asks.
“Yeah, he’s dead,” I agree. “Now what the hell are we going to do with him?” I ask, nodding to the guard, who is still lying face down on the floor that he hit when the shooting started.
“I surrendered,” the giant mutters. He grabs the stair rail and pulls himself up to his feet, putting his hands up in the air again. “And I didn’t hurt her. I was carryin’ her to the panic room.”
“Is that true?” I ask Jetta as I throw my arm around her waist to tuck her into my side.
“Yes,” she agrees. “No one hurt me.”
“But would you have stopped Harry from hurting her eventually?” I remark.
“I ain’t stupid,” the guard says. “I didn’t see nothin’ and won’t say nothin’. All I was doin’ was tryin’ to provide for my family.”
Of course that is the perfect thing to say since Malcolm has a new kid and wife.
“We’ll let him and the woman in the pantry go,” our president declares. “They didn’t see any of our faces and don’t know who we are, do you?” he asks the giant.
“Nope. Don’t know and don’t care.”
“Good,” Malcolm mutters. “Now let’s see if we can find some gasoline to light this place up.”
“Can I take her…” I ask.
“Yeah, get her out of here,” Malcolm agrees. “You two can escort the guard and chef off the premises.” He nods to Fiasco and Silas rather than blurting out their names aloud. “We’ll take care of the rest,” he adds gesturing to Nash and himself.