Defending His Hope, page 11
West chuckles. “Good luck with that, man. You punch Ry, he’s gonna knock you into next week. But don’t worry. We’ll keep Hope safe until you regain consciousness.”
“Fucker,” I say under my breath. “Go. I want to be on our way to Seattle within the hour.”
Hope
The jangling of keys draws my gaze from the waning fire in the woodstove. West hoists his pack on one shoulder, and I sit up straighter. “You’re leaving?”
“Not yet. Just gotta load the bodies into my truck. I’ll be back in half an hour. Maybe less.” West’s slight accent—something southern—is oddly reassuring, except that he’s talking about five dead men like they’re a load of topsoil.
“You’re…taking them?” I don’t know why I’m surprised. Except I thought the police would be involved. Until I realize that West and Wyatt would probably be arrested for murder. And I’d be to blame. “I’m sorry, I just…”
I can feel the blood draining from my cheeks, and West drops his pack. Before I know what’s happening, he’s holding my hand and rubbing slow circles on the inside of my wrist. “Count to ten, Hope. Focus on my voice and count with me. One…”
I can’t. Murphy whines and presses his nose to my neck. I’d hold him. If I could move.
“Wyatt! Get out here,” West calls. He drops my hand and, seconds later, Wyatt pulls me against him.
“I’ve got you, darlin’. Breathe.” His deep voice rumbles through me, his scent calming me in a way nothing else can. It takes several moments, but the darkness threatening my vision fades. My heart no longer feels like it’s about to explode. If only I could stop shaking.
“I’m okay,” I manage.
“You’re not. Don’t lie to me.” Coming from anyone else, those words would terrify me. But from Wyatt, they’re reassuring. He’ll protect me until his last breath. As long as we’re together, anyway. “Look at me. Please?”
With a shuddering sigh, I draw back to meet his gaze. “When Brix doesn’t check in, Simon will send another team. A bigger one. You can’t fight them alone—”
He cracks a weary smile. “Not planning on it. West’s team will take care of everything. This is what they do.”
“I thought you said there were only five of them?” I don’t understand how he’s so calm. Or how I’m supposed to leave him in an hour. I’ll never see him again. “Simon has dozens of guys. Hell, he probably has hundreds! You’re all alone up here.”
“Not staying up here. I’m going to Seattle with you.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, I think he has to be joking. But there’s no humor in his eyes. “Wyatt, you hate the city.” I can’t begin to explain how much I want him to come, but there’s no way I’ll ask him to leave the one place he feels at home.
“Not as much as I care—fuck it—not as much as I think I could love you, Hope.”
Shock steals my next words. “You think…?”
The kiss is hard and fast and everything I’ve ever wanted. Possessive, yet tender. Passionate, but almost gentle by the end. And when our lips part, he cups my cheek, his thumb skating lightly over my skin. “It’s too soon. I know it is. I don’t care. I don’t want to lose you,” he says, his voice rough. “But you have to tell me what you want. If you’re not okay with me going with you, I’ll find a place in Seattle on my own. I’ll get a cell phone so you can contact me. In case you ever decide—”
I throw my arms around him, then quickly adjust when I catch his shoulder and he grunts. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you. Whatever happens next, I need you with me. The rest we’ll figure out as we go.”
Wyatt
Murphy snores from the second row of seats in West’s truck. Hope is tucked in the crook of my arm. She fell asleep not more than ten minutes after the two-mile hike from my cabin to the highway. I hate leaving the place—especially since this Simon fuckwad knows where I live. But it’s the only way to keep her safe, and that’s all that matters to me.
“Coffee?” West asks when I stifle my yawn. He gestures to a couple of thermoses in the center console. “Help yourself.”
“You’re a life saver.” After a long swig, I stifle a moan. “Holy fuck. Instant coffee is shit compared to this.”
He laughs, then slaps his hand over his mouth and glances at Hope.
“She’s not a light sleeper,” I say quietly. “At least, I don’t think so.”
With a quick check of the mirrors, West merges onto Interstate 90. “Exactly how long have you known this woman, anyway?”
“Forty-one hours.” At his arched brows, I tighten my arm around her. “Don’t look at me like that. When you know, you know.”
The man chokes down a swig of coffee. “When you know, you know? Are you telling me you’re in love with her after forty-one hours?”
“Maybe. Haven’t figured that part out yet. I think I could be heading there.”
“Damn.”
Hope shifts against me, and her eyelids flutter open. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, darlin’. You fell asleep. We still have another two hours before we get to Seattle.” I press a kiss to her temple and hope she’ll rest more, but instead, she sits up, her gaze zeroing in on the thermos.
“Is that coffee?”
With a chuckle, West nods. “Help yourself. It’s not instant, though. Hope you like it strong.”
“I used to live on quad-shot Americanos,” she says, her lips quirking into a smile. She hums a little as she takes a sip. “Oh, God. This is amazing. Wyatt, I’m sorry. Your coffee doesn’t hold a candle to this.”
I roll my eyes. “West is a coffee snob.”
“Watch your language. Or Hope and I will drink the rest and you’ll be left with nothing.” He winks, and Hope clutches the thermos to her chest. “Plus, I seem to remember you were too the last time you lived in Seattle.”
“Maybe.” I shrug, aggravating my shoulder. I’m about to turn my focus out the window when Hope passes me the insulated container.
“I’ll share,” she says. “I’m not used to the caffeine hit anymore. Too much and I’ll start vibrating.”
“Not used to—?” West frowns. “You gave up coffee?”
With that single question, Hope’s entire demeanor changes. She shrinks against me, dropping her gaze to the floor and clenching her jaw so hard, I can hear her teeth grind together.
“West, don’t,” I warn.
“It’s okay. He’s going to find out the whole story eventually.” She sighs, but still refuses to look anywhere but the floor mat. “Simon didn’t drink coffee. Or anything with caffeine. No meat, no dairy. No junk food. I haven’t had a candy bar or soda or a hamburger in more than three years.”
“Holy shit. Not even when you went out?” West asks.
Fuck me. Why didn’t I tell West what she’d been through earlier? The pain etched on her face shatters my heart into a million pieces, and when she sniffles and swipes at her nose, it’s like all the tiny fragments catch fire.
“He never let me go out. I didn’t—I don’t—have a phone or clothes or money. I left with nothing…”
“Shhh, darlin’. It’s all right.” Holding her close, I glare at West over the top of her head. “That asshole doesn’t get to control any part of your life ever again. No one’s gonna tell you what to eat, what to wear, or what to say. Not while I’m around.”
From the driver’s seat, West clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Hope. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You didn’t know,” she says, her voice flat. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” Running a hand through his hair, the man blows out a breath. “How much did Wyatt tell you about me? About the group I work with?”
Hope sits up a little straighter, her gaze fixed out the side window. “Just that you were all badasses.”
He laughs, checks the mirrors, and flips down the visor as we round a bend and sunlight glares through the windshield. “Well, he got that right. But a lot’s changed since Wyatt last set foot in the city—any city.”
“Fuck. Like what?” I ask.
“Everything? Ryker and Wren are married now. Though I think you knew that. Graham—he came to Hidden Agenda a couple of years ago—hooked up with his guy, Quinton, and we hired two more folks. Raelynn’s been on a handful of ops already, and Caleb just started training.”
“Is that all?” As relieved as I am that West, Inara, and Ryker have help, I don’t know Graham, Quinton, Raelynn, or Caleb. How the fuck am I supposed to trust them?
“Shit. No. Ripper.”
The coffee threatens to come out my nose. “Ripper? As in Sergeant Richards? He’s dead.”
West glances over at me, a haunted look in his eyes. “Not anymore.”
Ninety minutes later, the coffee’s gone, and the Seattle city limits sign comes into view.
“Let me get this straight,” I say. “The jackhole who tortured Ripper for six fucking years just happened to kidnap the long lost love of Dax’s business partner?”
“Yup.” West shakes his head. “Pretty damn stupid of him. But he’s dead now.”
“You know this shit only happens in books, right?”
West shoots me an amused look. “If everything we do wasn’t completely illegal, I’d say it’d make a good story.”
Hope’s right leg bounces against my thigh. She’s vibrating with nerves—and caffeine. I’m not doing much better. I haven’t been around people in so long, I don’t know how to act. Or how to control the anxiety twisting itself into a knot in my chest.
West assures us we’ll be safe. That Ryker McCabe bought a whole goddamn building not far from downtown and outfitted every unit with bulletproof privacy glass, top-of-the-line security systems, and encrypted hardline internet.
He tucks a small, black comms unit into his ear and taps it twice. “Ry? We’re twenty minutes out.” After a pause, he adds, “Yup. Have Wren send it to my phone. ”
Another two taps, and he glances over at me. “We’re going right from the secured parking garage to the elevator. Wren’s monitoring the security cameras, so there shouldn’t be any surprises, but keep Hope between us. You’re in unit 507. Ripper and Cara have 501, with Graham and Q in 511. Ry and Wren took over the whole top floor. The only other occupied units in the building are folks we’ve worked with before. They’re vetted to hell and back, so you’ll be safe.”
“Simon has people everywhere…” Hope says quietly. “You’re sure?”
West offers her a weary smile. “Wren’s seven months pregnant. If Ry could, he’d bubble wrap the whole world for her. When they found out about the baby, he had her run every single background check a second time. And a third. Then had Zephyr—she works in Boston with another group we sometimes partner with—double check her work. That…didn’t go over so well with Wren. Pretty sure Ry slept on the floor for a few nights.”
The idea of that tiny, petite redhead putting Ryker McCabe in his place is so amusing, I have to stifle my chuckle when West continues. “And then he upgraded the elevator access. The other tenants can’t access anything above the fourth floor.”
Hope relaxes slightly, but she’s still wound so tight, she could break at any moment.
“Ryker doesn’t take chances, darlin’,” I say when I drape my arm around her shoulders. “Once you meet him, you’ll understand. He’s…intense.”
West barks out a laugh and merges on to Interstate 5. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
13
Hope
Sandwiched between Wyatt and West with Murphy padding along behind us, I try not to panic at being somewhere vaguely public—even though West had to punch in a long string of numbers on the garage security panel, scan his thumbprint, and say some sort of passphrase before the gate opened.
“Ry and Wren will set you up with your own access codes, voice prints, and phones,” West says when we’re in the elevator. “Anything you need—clothes, food, supplies—we’ll get for you.”
Anything?
In my world—the world I’ve lived in for the past three years—no one offered me a single thing that didn’t come with a steep price. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t take anything from West and his team. But I have nothing.
No. You have Wyatt. For now, at least.
I don’t know what I expected. That I’d show up in Seattle, hand over the memory card, and just…start a new life? Walk down the street without fear? Go to a coffee shop and people watch? Have dinner in a restaurant and order whatever I wanted?
I can’t do any of those things.
The elevator doors whisper open to a long, well-lit hallway. “No blind corners.” West points to small, beige boxes spaced at regular intervals along the ceiling. “Security cameras monitor 24x7, and all the footage feeds into Wren’s facial recognition programs. Anyone trips her system, and alarms go off. Ry, Graham, and Ripper will be at your door in minutes. Probably less.”
Wyatt keeps his arm around me as West stops in front of Unit 507 and enters another long series of numbers on the keypad next to the door.
“Oh, my God.” My breath catches in my throat. The apartment is gorgeous. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows, French doors that lead out onto a balcony, plush carpeting. Muted blue walls, fluffy couches. A vase overflowing with flowers on the kitchen counter. It’s welcoming and oh so peaceful. Different in every way from the perfect, museum-like atmosphere of Simon’s compound.
West hovers in the doorway. “There are two bedrooms down the hall, and the fridge should be stocked with some basics. Take a few minutes to settle in. I’m going upstairs to give Ry a quick debrief before I take care of the load of shit in my truck,” he says, his hand on the doorknob. “Wyatt, if you need to take Murphy out before Ry comes down, press 701 on the security panel and it’ll connect you to him. He’ll handle the building access.”
Wyatt nods, but doesn’t say a word. When West leaves, I turn to him, my hands on his hips. “You hate this. Don’t you?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze. Just stares out the windows at the setting sun. “It’s quiet up here. Where I lived before…” With a shrug and a wince, he pulls away and adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder. “There were sirens all the time. Traffic noise too. Not the best area of town. Come on, Murph. Let’s get your bed set up.”
Man and dog amble down the hall, looking completely out of their element in the luxurious, almost feminine space. I wander over to the French doors and press my palms to the glass. Am I allowed to go outside? Not knowing amps the anxiety churning in my belly, so I retreat and sink onto the overstuffed light blue sofa and tuck my legs under me.
Maybe letting Wyatt come with me was a mistake.
But if he stayed up in the mountains, Simon would find him.
He’s safe here. Even if he is miserable.
Murphy bounds down the hall with a rawhide bone in his mouth, looking like he just found the Holy Grail. The pure joy in his eyes makes me smile. “Whatcha got there, buddy?” He’s so smart—or so eager to share his treasure—that he drops the very wet, very slimy bone in my lap.
Ew. I shouldn’t have asked.
“Murph.” Wyatt snaps his fingers, and the dog picks up the bone, then settles at my feet. “Sorry. He loves those damn things.”
I’m about to tell him it’s okay when a chime sounds. Murphy drops his prize, bolts to the door, and bares his teeth.
“Go into the bedroom,” Wyatt snaps. “Now.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. No one knows we’re here. They can’t.
“Hope…”
The doorbell—what else can it be?—sounds again, seconds before there’s an electronic click from a speaker, then a man’s rough voice. “Wyatt, open the goddamn door.”
“Murph. Friend.” The dog returns to his bone, and Wyatt holds out his hand for me. “It’s Ryker. Come here, darlin’.”
Tucking me under his arm, he flips the sturdy locks and steps back as the door swings inward. Oh, my God. I thought Wyatt was huge, but the man in the hall is a giant. Scars cover half his bald head and the left side of his face then wind down his neck before disappearing under a tight, black t-shirt. He’s obviously ripped, and I’m pretty sure he could bench-press a car.
The woman at his side doesn’t even reach his shoulder. Her billowy green sweatshirt matches her eyes, and red, wavy locks tumble around her heart-shaped face.
“About damn time,” Ryker says. His lips twitch into what might almost be a smile. “Never thought I’d see you back in Seattle, Wyatt.”
“Ry.”
The men stare one another down for so long, the redhead rolls her eyes. “Will the two of you get over yourselves? My feet are permanently swollen these days and I have to pee. Again.” She turns her focus to me. “I’m Wren. You must be Hope. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Um, hi. And…sure?”
Wren thrusts a messenger bag into my hands. “Thanks. Be right back!” She’s down the hall before I know what to say. Or how to react to the tension between the two alpha men in front of me.
“You gonna invite me in?” Ryker asks. “Or are we doing this standing in the doorway?”
Wyatt takes a step back with me and shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “It’s your place, Ry. We’re just borrowing it for a spell.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Ryker moves with a grace a man his size shouldn’t possess. I expect to feel the floor vibrate with his every step, but he’s utterly silent as he crosses to the French doors. For a beat, I can only see his broad back as he stares out over the city skyline. Then his shoulders heave and he turns to face us again. “You saved my life, Wyatt. We’re…family.”
The last word seems to stick in Ryker’s throat, and from the look on Wyatt’s face, it wasn’t what he expected to hear. He gapes at the big man until Ryker rolls his eyes. They’re this odd mix of hazel, green, and blue, and the colors seem to shift as he fixes his stare on me.
