Page 58 of Betrothed in Fury
“Get some of the guys to come from the house,” I instruct Krychek and Jaime, “and see if we can’t call in a favor from the Wildes. Just to be on the safe side.”
“You don’t trust my judgment?” Rage says.
I pat his shoulder. “Sounds like you get the idea.”
He issues a playful glare before we finish up with Klyde, creating a pickup plan for the Veritovs. Once that’s done, Krychek heads out to fetch the car, and Jaime joins me.
“Sorry if this wasn’t up to snuff for you, bro,” Rage says.
“I’ll be fine once some more guys get here.”
“Bet you’ll be even better later, when you see your Wilde lover.”
He’s not wrong. “Speaking of Logan, I suggest you don’t watch us again unless you want me to cut your dick off.”
He grins. “I think you just wanted to say something about touching my dick.”
I roll my eyes. “Jaime.” I motion to the exit into the hallway, and the three of us head toward it.
“So when is this wedding gonna take place?” Rage asks. “We gotta make arrangements. Get all the family together.”
“It’s not that kind of wedding,” I say, almost sounding annoyed that it isn’t a real wedding. I tell myself it bothers me because I should have the right to marry whomever I choose, but I can’t help wondering if there’s more to it than that.
As we near the exit to the hall, there’s an unmistakable sound, one I’ve become acutely aware of over the course of my life. Assault rifles. We’re under attack.
“Fuck.” I snatch Rage by his shirt collar and drag him with Jaime as we round the corner into the hall, a series of shots following us, coming from the other side of the warehouse. Rage and I exchange a look, and though my griping at him before was justified, I’m also not an idiot. Now isn’t the time forI told you sos.
We retrieve our guns from our holsters, peeking into the warehouse, where two guys in clown masks have already downed five of my guys, including Klyde. Clearly these bastards found the blind spot in our security and slipped in through the other entrance or a window on the other side of the warehouse. The sort of worst-case scenario I feared.
As gunfire rains down on them from our guys on the upper level, they use the crates as shields.
Fuckers.
The gunfire continues for what feels like forever, my mind flashing through the ambush with Old Terror, the day I lost him, my mom, and four of my siblings. I held his hand as he pulled me close, his face covered in the blood of his best friend and personal bodyguard, his chest loaded with bullets.“You…take care of your siblings, you hear me?”he told me when he still thought more would survive.
“Of course.”
“And the Wildes are our family too, you understand that?”
“Yes.”
At the time, I didn’t understand why we held this allegiance. Hell, some days I still don’t.
“You’re gonna be fine,”I told him, though I knew it was a lie.
He smiled.“Of course I am. I’m fucking Old Terror,”he said because he didn’t mind lying either.
Those were the last words I heard my father say.
The assault-rifle shots cease, which is concerning as fuck since I haven’t heard any more fire from our guys. Rage and I exchange another look, Jaime covering our backs as Rage rushes to the other side of the exit and I brave a peek around the corner. One of the masked guys is on the move, rifle pointed up, searching the second story for survivors, meaning he’s confident he got everyone. I don’t have time to worry about that, though. Itake the shot, nailing him, blood splattering from his skull before he drops like a sack of stones to the ground.
“Got one,” I manage to tell Rage before shots drill into the hall from the other attacker’s automatic.
Rage signals with two fingers downturned like a claw. “Raptor”—our good ole-fashioned safety plan, just like Old Terror taught us.
“Don’t you dare,” I mouth.
“You better have my back, bro.”
