Page 38 of Unleashed
Colten closes the gate. I stand and look at my brother. He nods. The man's hit the bottom of what he has to give.
"What do we do with him?" Jett asks.
"Zip-tie him in the tack room. I'll call Hunter."
Jett grabs the man by the vest and hauls him out, dragging him toward the tack room.
I call Hunter.
"It's done. Both buildings are ash. SR is on their gate." I pause. "But we've got a problem. Shooter on the property. Not Carson's. He’s Greek."
Silence. Long enough that I check the screen.
"Hunter?"
"I’m on my way."
Twenty minutes later, Hunter walks into the tack room, face like thunder. He crouches in front of the bound man. Studies his face. The neck tattoo. The tactical vest Colten stripped off and laid on the bench.
He reaches into the vest's chest pocket and pulls out a phone. Flips through it. His expression doesn't change, but something shifts behind his eyes.
He stands.
"Fuckin' Greek restaurant," he mutters.
I frown. "What?"
He shakes his head. "Nothing. I'll handle it."
Colten and I exchange a look. Jett's leaning against the door, arms crossed. None of us knows what the hell that means.
"Get some sleep. All of you. I'll make some calls," Hunter says and then turns. "And Ace?—"
I look up.
"Good work tonight." Half a smile.
"And he nearly got shot in the head!" Jett chimes in.
"Occupational hazard." I shrug, glaring at Jett.
The man who got shot a few weeks ago in broad daylight at a fucking rodeo.
Hunter’s gaze hardens. "Stop making it a habit. I need you alive, Ace."
He walks out, phone already to his ear.
Colten claps my shoulder just as Jett yawns. The man on the floor has gone very quiet; I would, too, in his situation.
“Jett, with me,” Hunter calls from outside.
Jett wiggles his eyebrows. “Looks like I’m in the good books today.”
And then he’s off. Fucking crazy man, I love him.
I head out to Seven. He nuzzles my chest as I loosen his cinch. I press my forehead against his neck and close my eyes.
My knuckles are bleeding. My jaw is bruised. There's a bullet hole in a fence post with my name on it, and a Greek mercenary zip-tied in our tack room, and my brother just said something about a restaurant that means more than it should.
