Dare (BLOOD Brothers Book 5), page 2
The air filled with chaos: footsteps pounding the hall, someone shouting “Clear!” The comm crackled against my ear, a thread of sound in the storm.
My legs wouldn’t cooperate; they were rubber and fire at once. The copper taste of blood spread across my tongue where I’d bitten it. It was almost deja vu all over again. Only then, he’d dragged me out of the bedroom and into the utilitarian hallway with its bare concrete floors and walls.
He’d run like a rat, fleeing a sinking ship, hauling me with him. But pain. Pain and terror had locked me in place then too. I’d frozen. When the gunshots came—he’d fled.
Then…
He turned toward the door, muscles coiling, and for an instant he looked almost startled, as if he never thought to find himself the prey instead of predator.
Only, he’d been prey before. That reality floated up from the deep morass where it had sunk. When he jerked me upward, I didn’t fight the roll of my stomach this time.
I threw up on him.
Every ounce of food and drink I’d had that day spewed out of me. Not that it had been much. It was mostly bile. It all burned, but he swore as he took it in the face and the chest. When he slapped me, I took the blow and stumbled sideways, but I didn’t go down.
The voices on the comm were constant now. They were coming.
AB was talking to me. He was letting me know they were coming. The world that had slowed down to a painful crawl slammed into fast forward and I grabbed the first thing on the desk my fingers touched.
A hard marble paperweight.
I threw it.
Ignacio. That was his name.
It rushed back into the void along with sound and fury. His name was Ignacio. I threw the paperweight as the door to the office slammed with a hard kick.
One.
Two.
Then cracked under the fierceness of the blows, the wood splintering and the lock sheering away.
But I’d already grabbed the next thing off the desk and threw it even if I didn’t need to do another damn thing. Ignacio was already dead, even if he didn’t know it. And his death? It would be brutal as fuck. As he’d soon find out.
My guys were here.
Chapter
Two
GRACE
The door slammed behind me, and the world narrowed to the split second before disaster hit. Ignacio lunged, that same cruel, twisted smile stretched across his scarred face. My stomach pitched. My hands shook, my muscles frozen—but my eyes landed on the paperweight sitting heavy on the corner of the desk.
Instinct overrode fear. I grabbed it, hefted it, and hurled it as hard as I could. It smacked into Ignacio’s temple with a satisfying crack. He staggered sideways, swearing, but didn’t go down. My chest heaved, adrenaline lancing through every vein.
From the corner of my eye, a hidden door burst open and men poured in. Weapons raised, faces twisted in rage. My knees nearly buckled, but I threw myself behind the desk, grabbing the heaviest object within reach—a brass lamp. I swung it at the closest man as he lunged. The lamp smashed against his shoulder, sending him sprawling backward, arms flailing.
“Grace!” Bones’ voice cut through the chaos, sharper now, urgent. “Hold—”
A second man dove toward me. Reflex finally caught up with my brain. I rolled to the side, dragging the desk chair partially between us, and grabbed a hefty book. The man’s aim wavered; he stumbled as I threw it, and it clattered against his chest, knocking him off balance and giving Voodoo the opening to pin him to the floor.
Ignacio recovered from the first hit and lunged again, eyes wild, rage spilling over. I froze, a frozen statue of fear and nausea—but before he could reach me, Bones slammed into him from the side, twisting him off balance. My stomach dropped when I realized he might… no, he could kill him.
“Wait!” I gasped, voice trembling but sharp. “We can use him.”
Bones’ hand tightened on Ignacio’s arm, and for the first time, he paused. Voodoo hesitated as well, their eyes flicking to me, questioning. I swallowed bile, forcing my voice steady. “Don’t kill him.”
Movement flickered from the corner of my eye and I twisted to see the last man lunging at me. I grabbed the ornate paperweight again, hurling it directly at his knees. He went down with a sharp yelp, scrambling to regain footing, but Voodoo was on him instantly.
“What about them?” Bones’ voice was a shard of winter cutting through the room. His intonation was flat, precise, and utterly devoid of warmth, as if the question barely registered in the air around him.
“I don’t care about them.” Truth. Harsh. Implacable. I didn’t know who they were and my attention was on Ignacio. Bones locked an arm around Ignacio’s throat, strangling the man who struggled, clawing at his arm to no avail. Ignacio’s eyes went wide, even his milky scarred one and I didn’t look away as the fear and terror registered on that man’s reddened face.
The grim satisfaction that flooded me in those seconds before the man lost consciousness was a kind of brutal wakeup call. But I didn’t care. I wanted Ignacio to hurt. I wanted him afraid. The thump of Ignacio dropping as his expression went slack and Bones rendered him unconscious added another savage layer to the whole scene.
The next sounds were the cracking of necks. It wrenched my attention from the man now on the floor that Bones secured to the others in the room. Voodoo went through them one at a time. Eliminating them. I kept waiting for the revulsion to hit me, but it didn’t. He removed their weapons once they were dead. No one left to come after us from behind.
Some distant part of my mind even registered why Voodoo used his hands rather than a weapon. No blood spatter. No DNA. Not that we’d be able to hide the signs of violence.
My legs shook, my blouse was damp, and my hands were slick with sweat. My chest heaved, every inhale tasting copper and panic. Bones’ eyes flicked down; his gray gaze was sharper than steel, cold enough to cut, yet scorching in intensity. He seemed to take in everything about me—from my trembling hands to the flush creeping across my skin, reading me as if I were laid bare.
For just a heartbeat, his expression softened. Before, he’d always seemed so remote, so meticulously composed, without a hint of feeling. That wasn’t him at all. It was a mask. The veneer of control, taut and precise, concealed a fire that could scorch and consume. Beneath it all was the violently passionate man I’d come to know and love. I’d never been so grateful to know he had that power—especially now, with Ignacio in our custody.
“Housekeeper secured,” AB’s voice cut through the comm. “Sweeping the house. Clear except for your room.”
Bones exhaled sharply, then looked at Voodoo. “Back him up.”
Voodoo brushed a knuckle down my cheek, soft but grounding. “Good job, Firecracker,” he murmured before he disappeared through the broken door.
I forced a shaky nod, aware that the adrenaline was fading, leaving me raw and trembling—but alive. Alive, and with a tiny, burning spark of control that seemed to have evaporated with Ignacio’s arrival.
The room finally settled into an eerie stillness, broken only by the ragged rhythm of my own breathing. Bones moved closer, silent but watchful, like a shadow that had softened its edges for me.
I sank to the floor, pressing my palms into the carpet, trying to steady the trembling that had taken root in my bones. Every inch of me felt raw, exposed, fragile. That’s when the smell hit me. My stomach lurched. The wet heat at my thighs, the slick copper tang in the air. I’d pissed myself. The dampness on my blouse was my own vomit and it clung to me, smeared in some places.
I froze, a wave of panic overtaking the adrenaline, the brief triumph, everything. My hands flew to my face, my body shaking so violently that I could hear it in the quiet.
Bones knelt beside me before I could even move, calm as a mountain. His gray eyes locked onto mine, steady, assessing—but not judging. Not once had I felt anyone look at me like this before, and it made my chest tighten.
“Do you want to clean up?” he asked softly, his voice an anchor in the storm of my shame and fear.
When he lifted a hand to touch my face, I shook my head, voice a broken whisper. “No… I… I’m filthy.” I shouldn’t have let Voodoo touch me.
“Filthy,” he echoed, carefully, almost like testing the word against the room, against me. This time, he reached for my hand. “Grace.”
I flinched, yanking it back. “Don’t touch me. I’m… I’m disgusting.”
Bones didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head, still calm, still unflinching. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.” His voice didn’t scold. It didn’t pity. It simply… held. I could feel the warmth of his hand hovering near mine, patient, steadying, as if just being in contact might anchor me back to myself.
“I… I—” I swallowed, the words catching in my throat, my trembling redoubling. My knees drew up instinctively, hiding, curling in on myself.
I let my breath hitch, a single tremor rippling through me, and my hands rose to rest atop his, letting the warmth of both anchor me even as the humiliation and the shaking surged. Bones’ thumb brushed against my knuckles, methodical, steady, and I realized I was clinging to it—not just for support, but because it reminded me I hadn’t failed completely. I hadn’t been broken, not entirely.
I wasn’t back in that warehouse. I wasn’t chained, gasping for air, unable to protect myself. I wasn’t there at all.
“You’re safe now,” Bones said, low and even. “No one can hurt you here. Not while I’m standing.”
I wanted to believe him, wanted to stop trembling, wanted the room to stop spinning and the nausea to fade. But I let myself stay there, huddled, fragile, and alive. I couldn’t see Ignacio, Bones blocked my view of him.
“Do you need to clear the house?” I asked, my voice still small, unsure.
Bones shook his head slightly. “Alphabet and Voodoo will handle the clear. You don’t need to worry about it.” His gaze didn’t leave mine, steady and unflinching.
I hesitated, fumbling for what we were supposed to have been doing, then asked, “Do we need to search the office?”
He shrugged, an almost faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It will keep.”
My chest tightened. “I thought we were on a timetable,” I pressed, finally meeting his gaze squarely.
“The only timetable we’re on,” he said, voice low, almost teasing, “is our own.”
“But… the plan…” I argued, the words tumbling out even as my stomach knotted.
Bones didn’t pull away. Instead, he continued to rub my knuckles in slow, deliberate circles. Each touch chipped away at the tension coiled in my limbs, bit by bit loosening my death grip on my knees.
“Plans change,” he murmured, as if reading my mind.
“I… I—” I swallowed hard, the words catching in my throat. I didn’t have another argument.
Bones didn’t rush me. He let his touch anchor me, methodical, steady. His thumb brushed against my knuckles again, drawing my hands to rest atop his. The warmth radiating from him seeped through the tremor, and despite my retreat, it was like he held me.
“Still with me, Dollface?” The utter gentleness in his voice threatened to undo me.
“I think so,” I whispered and shifted just slightly, letting my body lean toward him without realizing it. The pressure of his presence was grounding, the slow, deliberate touch of his hand a lifeline in the storm inside me. And though my mind raced, my chest heaved, and my legs still shook, there was a small, stubborn spark of control flickering inside me.
“Good.” He eased to sit on the floor right there, not seeming even a little put off by how dirty I was. “Just going to sit here with you until you’re ready to move.” The explanation accompanied his careful movements, each one telegraphed to show me what he was going to do.
“Might take a while,” I confessed, as much as I wish it wouldn’t.
“We’ll take as long as you need.”
The words wrapped around me, fragile as they were, like a shield. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to stop trembling. I wanted the room, my body, my mind, to stop spinning. But I stayed huddled, fragile, and alive, letting myself feel the contrast between the chaos we’d survived and the quiet here, between my fear and the safety he offered.
We stayed that way for a long moment—just us, and the unconscious Ignacio at our feet, and the quiet that stretched around the aftermath of violence. But when I rasped, “Okay… okay,” something in his shoulders eased by a fraction.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said quietly.
The words made a hot spike of shame twist through my stomach all over again. I stiffened instantly. “I—I can’t. I’m—” My breath hitched, and I swallowed hard, the burn of bile still bitter at the back of my throat. “I’m so gross.”
Bones’ eyes held mine, steady as gravity. “You’re hurt. You fought. You survived.” His voice didn’t rise, didn’t harden. It softened. A dangerous softness, because it saw everything. “That’s not gross.”
A tremor rolled through me so violently that my arms wrapped around my stomach before I even realized I’d moved. “But I—” My voice cracked. “You don’t understand. I pissed myself. And I threw up. There’s—” My breath stuttered. “It’s on me. I can feel it.”
He lifted our joined hands, brushing his thumb along my knuckles again in that same slow, deliberate circle that had kept me tethered through the last moments of hell. “Grace.” His tone was a low command wrapped in velvet. “Look at me.”
I forced my eyes upward. The intensity in his gaze—steady, immovable—made my lungs seize, but in a different way than Ignacio had. Bones’ gaze held no ownership, no expectation, no hunger except the kind that meant he would burn the world down before he let anything else touch me.
“Nothing on you,” he murmured, “diminishes you. Not this. Not anything he did.”
My mouth parted, but no words came out. My voice had abandoned me again. Bones moved first, shifting closer—not touching more, not crowding, just moving into my space with the same quiet confidence he used approaching live explosives.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
I shook my head quickly, panic flaring sharp. “No—no, I—Bones, I can’t get it on you. I smell. I’m—”
He didn’t let me pull away. His fingers slipped beneath my hand and curled around it, firm, anchoring. “Grace. Look at me.” I did. Barely. “You could be covered in blood and mud and ash,” he said quietly, “and I’d still touch you.”
My pulse stuttered, a shock of heat rolling up my spine before I could smother it. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t trying to soothe me. He was stating a fact as solid as the floor beneath me.
“You’re shaken,” he continued. “And you’re allowed to be. But don’t mistake that for weakness.”
“But I—” My voice cracked again. “Bones, I’m disgusting.”
“Not to me.” The way he said it—leveled straight at me, voice low and steady—made something inside me unravel. My breath shuddered. My fingers tightened around his almost desperately.
For a long moment, he let that settle between us.
Then Bones shifted, rising to one knee. His hand slid from mine only so he could reach up and brush the hair back from my face—so gently it made tears burn behind my eyes.
“You can lean on me,” he said. “Or I can carry you. Your choice.”
The tears threatened harder. “I don’t want to get anything on you.”
He gave a slow, almost imperceptible shrug, his lips beginning to pull into a faint, devastating half-smile. “It washes off.”
I let out a shaking breath that was almost a laugh. Almost.
Bones held out both hands this time, palms open—not pulling, not pushing. Waiting.
My body shook so hard I wasn’t sure I’d be able to move. But I reached for him. Carefully. Slowly. As though the movement itself might crack me in half.
His fingers wrapped around mine, warm and steady, and he guided me upward, supporting my weight easily.
My legs almost gave out. Instantly, his arm slid around my waist.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice so close to my ear it sent a different kind of shiver down my spine.
I didn’t protest this time. I couldn’t. Something in me gave in—not to fear, but to safety. To him.
When I finally managed to whisper, “Where are we going?” Bones’ grip tightened just slightly.
“To clean you up,” he said. “Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.”
Behind us, Ignacio lay unconscious on the floor. But Bones didn’t look at him. He looked at me—at every tremble, every breath, every inch of shaking, messy humanity I was trying to hide.
“At our pace,” he added softly. “Not his. Not the plan’s. Ours.”
My throat tightened. My fingers dug into his shirt and I let myself lean fully into his strength.
Chapter
Three
BONES
Grace was shaking so hard I could feel the tremors through my arm, even with her barely leaning on me. Light contact. Bare minimum pressure. She was trying not to touch me more than she had to.
That wasn’t going to work.
The guest room was clear. I swept it myself before I let her in. AB and Voodoo had the rest of the house. Her assailant was unconscious and zip-tied to a radiator in the office. Nothing was getting to her.
I walked her into the adjoining bathroom—clean tile, soft lighting, nothing sharp in sight. Neutral ground. A place that wouldn’t trigger anything unless she projected it there herself.
Her breath started to hitch the second she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She froze. Went rigid. Like she expected the glass to judge her.
“Don’t look at that,” I said quietly.
She flinched at the sound of my voice. Not from fear—startle response. Too much adrenaline, too much shock running through a body running on fumes.
