Defending His Hope, page 19
West answers, “Two minutes.”
That’s ninety seconds too long. “Romeo?” I ask. The detonator’s toast. I’ll have to blow the door the hard way.
My watch buzzes, and I glance down at the screen. I’ve never been so thankful for tech in my entire fucking life. The thermal scan of the great room on the other side of the wall shows two hostiles in constant motion.
Raelynn gives me a wicked smile. “Like shootin’ fish in a barrel.” Bracing her right hand on her left forearm, she tracks their movements. “Get ready to move.”
I nod, crouched like I’m about to compete in the fifty-yard-dash. After two shots, I take off. A guy in a black t-shirt and khaki pants races down the stairs, and I drop him with two shots, center mass.
Should have worn body armor, asshole.
Pressing myself against the wall twenty feet from the basement door, I take aim. “Romeo? Am I clear?”
“Clear.”
The entire door pops off its hinges with one shot to the det cord. It teeters for a split second, then hits the floor with a massive crack.
Another buzz on my wrist, and I’m looking at the scan of the basement. It’s grainy, the cement walls interfering with the signal. But all the heat signatures are close together.
“Give it up, asswipe!” I shout. “Send Hope and Bettina up the stairs, and maybe we’ll let you live!”
Hope’s choked scream nearly sends me to my knees. Arrens is hurting her, and nothing—not even a set of stairs with zero cover—is going to keep me away from her a moment longer.
“Don’t be a damn fool,” Raelynn says as she hits wall next to me. Another cry, this one weaker, and I glare at her. “We’re gettin’ her back. But we ain’t fixin’ to charge down there like someone jerked a knot in our tail.”
“If it were the love of your life down there—”
Her blue eyes harden, and she reaches into the pocket of her tactical vest. “The love of my life died in my arms. Bring him up again, and I’ll break my foot off in your ass.” She pulls the pin on the flash bang and shouts, “Hope y’all have sunscreen!”
The stun grenade hits the stairs, and we both cover our ears and squeeze our eyes shut. Even from thirty feet away, I can feel the blast. When the sound fades, I fly down the stairs at a dead run, praying Hope at least had time to close her eyes.
Kyle’s sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, only inches from the spent grenade, not moving. A folding table’s on its side across the room. Where the fuck is Hope?
A shot hits me in the shoulder—my bad shoulder—and my knees slam into the concrete. The MK-23 slips from my hand.
“Wyatt! No!”
Hope.
My lungs are screaming, but the impact short-circuited my diaphragm, and I can’t even draw a shallow breath. Arrens rises from behind the table, laughing, and Rex yanks Hope against him.
She’s alive. Bruised. Terrified. Disoriented. But alive.
Shots hit the wall behind them. Simon fires back, and Raelynn calls for backup. Something’s wrong with her voice. Is she hit?
Rolling onto my side, I manage to suck in a wheezing breath. Backup won’t do shit.
Hope’s eyes are glassy, and from the way her arms are pinned behind her, she’s restrained somehow. Rex grips the back of her neck, fingers and thumb digging into either side of her jaw just under her ears.
Her keening cry is pure agony, and I think she’s only standing because his grip is so strong.
“Say goodbye to your lover, Hope.” Simon aims a Glock 19 at my head.
This is it. I’m going to die. And so is she unless someone has a spare miracle lying around. “I love you, darlin’. I should have told you sooner. Every fucking minute of every day since we got to Seattle. Because that’s when I knew.”
Something shifts in Hope’s eyes. The haze of pain clears, and she throws herself backwards against Rex. The man yelps. It’s enough. One second of distraction. Simon’s aim wavers. His gaze turns to Hope and his only remaining general.
Something metallic hits the ground. My fingers close around the grip of the MK-23, and I fire.
Arrens doesn’t make a sound. The single shot to his head smokes, and his eyes roll around in their sockets. A stain darkens the front of his thousand-dollar pants. Before his bladder empties completely, he collapses.
“Hope!”
She catches her knee on the side of the table, and almost crashes down on top of me. Nothing is more important than holding her. Until she starts struggling in my arms.
“My hands…”
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Sitting up, I pull the knife from its sheath and snap the zip tie. “Are you hurt? What did he—”
“You fucking bitch!” Rex braces one hand on the upended table. Blood glistens all around the zipper of his khakis, but he’s still got enough fight left in him—along with Simon’s gun—to end both of us.
I’m about to shove Hope behind me when Bettina pushes to her feet just out of Rex’s view. Something silvery glints in her hand.
I grin. “Might want to watch your mouth, shit-for-brains. You’re the one who’s fucked.”
Death comes for Rex wearing a torn, gray dress. Bettina clutches the blade Hope used to stab him in the family jewels, and there’s such fire in her eyes, I almost wish he could see it.
“Que te folle un pez!” she screams and drags the weapon across his carotid artery.
Rex drops the gun, his hands pressed to his throat, but he’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet. Hope buries her face in the crook of my neck, and I rub circles along her back until she whimpers quietly.
“You’re hurt.” Every protective bone in my body—which is all of them where she’s concerned—demands revenge, but the men who tortured her will never touch anyone ever again. “What did he do to you, darlin’? Tell me.”
With a final gurgle, Rex breathes his last. Bettina staggers back until she hits the wall and stares at his body like she’s waiting for his ghost to arise so she can kill it too.
“Yankee! What’s your status?” West asks over comms. But a hint of his voice carries down the concrete steps, so I know he’s close.
“We’re clear. Get someone down here to help Bettina. I’ve got Hope.” She’s trembling now, and bite down on one finger of my glove to pull it off. I need to feel her, to touch her. The skin of her cheek is hot under my palm.
Ghosting my thumb along her jaw, I watch her eyes. She flinches when I reach the pressure point that pig fucker used. “How bad?”
“I’ll…b-be okay. Just want to get out of here. Please?” Tears shimmer on her lashes. I’d give this woman the entire goddamn world if I could.
“That I can do.” My shoulder protests every single movement, but I can ignore the pain. For Hope, I can do anything.
“Well, ain’t this the prettiest sight.” Raelynn holds her right arm tight to her body, her thumb hooked in a loop on her vest. From her expression, she’s in a hell of a lot of pain, but I don’t see any blood. “Sugar,” she says, holding up her left hand as she approaches Bettina, “you can keep that blade, but let me help you upstairs, okay? We’ll get you cleaned up and then we’ll get the hell outta here.”
“My sister.” Bettina turns to Hope. “Carla is still trapped. I cannot leave without her!”
“We know all about her, sugar. Soon as we finish here, we’re fixin’ to shut down every one of the brothels. So come on, now. You’ll be with Carla real soon.”
The two women shuffle toward the stairs, passing Graham on his way down. “You hurt?” he asks us.
“I’m good. Hope needs a doctor.”
“No.” She clutches my vest, and I peer down at her. “I just need you.”
We’ll see about that. She might be the bravest—and most stubborn—woman I’ve ever met, but I’m not above carting her off to a doctor whether she wants it or not. There’s nothing I won’t do to keep her safe.
Nothing.
Epilogue
Hope
I don’t remember much after Wyatt practically carried me out of Simon’s house. Ripper waiting for us in the van. A very painful climb up the stairs to the plane. Having to strip down to my bra and panties so West could make sure I didn’t need a doctor.
The one thing I do remember? The worried look on Wyatt’s face. It’s still there. Even though the sun’s up—it’s almost 10:00 a.m.—we haven’t slept. Thanks to Ryker’s connections, half a dozen men and women stand guard around the plane in case any of the local police try to give us trouble.
I can’t get comfortable. Every time I take a deep breath, something else hurts.
“You need a doctor,” Wyatt says. “I don’t care what West thinks. The minute we land, we’re going to the hospital.”
“I just want to go home.” My fingers tremble as I touch his jaw. “Take me home, Wyatt. To that nice apartment with Cara and Ripper next door.”
“Don’t forget Graham and Q on the other side.” He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. “We’ll be back there soon.”
“Back home?” My head throbs, and I can’t figure out how to tell him I want to live in Seattle—with him—forever.
“Hope, what’s wrong?” Concern furrows his brow. “You know we’re going home.”
“I love you.” The words tumble from my lips as tears burn in the corners of my eyes. “I tried to tell you before. But I was so scared.”
Wyatt cups my cheeks gently and brushes his lips to mine. “I know, darlin’. Hardest thing I ever had to do was let you get into that cab. I wanted to toss you over my shoulder and run as far and as fast as we could. But I wanted you to be free even more.”
Free. The word bounces around in my head—my throbbing, fuzzy, aching head. Then I burst into tears. Every muscle aches. Down to my fingers and toes. Wyatt’s afraid to touch me, and if I’m honest, I’m scared too. But I need his arms around me.
“Hope? Fuck. You’re going to the hospital.” Wyatt glances around the plane like he’s desperate for someone to help him. To help me.
Sniffling, I swipe at my nose. “I need you to hold me. You won’t hurt me. Just…love me.”
Shoving the armrest up, he shifts in his seat and opens his arms. I settle against him, and though I was wrong—even the lightest pressure on my back is almost too much—I’m safe. Held by the man I love.
“They’re on their way,” Ripper says a few minutes later. He’s on his fiftieth trip up and down the aisle since West, Graham, Inara, and Ry left to shut down the brothel on the north side of the city. “Carla’s with them.”
“Gracias a Dios.” Across from us, Bettina covers her face with her hands, crying with relief, and I’d comfort her if I thought I could get up. Raelynn and Inara gave her fresh clothes, and she let West examine the worst of her burns, even though she sobbed the whole time.
“Y’all want coffee?” Raelynn asks. West ordered her to stay put after finding out she’d dislocated her shoulder fighting with one of Simon’s goons—and then popped it back in herself five minutes later. Her duct tape sling earned her the field medic’s side eye, but he couldn’t argue with how well it worked.
“Oh, hell yes. Is there any food?” As if my stomach has only now realized I haven’t eaten in more than eighteen hours, it growls loudly.
“We got a whole case of MREs. But unless you’re hankerin’ for the worst meal of your life, I wouldn’t risk one.” She putters around in the little kitchenette at the back of the plane for a few minutes, and the rich scent of dark roast fills the space.
“Found a little somethin’ special.” Raelynn sets a tray on the table in front of us. Four cups of coffee and two chocolate bars. “Don’t tell Ryker I had those in my pack. I’d never hear the end of it.” She winks at me, then nudges one of the bars toward Bettina. “Go on, sugar. Ain’t no one gonna tell you what you can and can’t eat ever again.”
The look Bettina gives her? Pure joy. I don’t care how hungry I am. There’s no way I’m touching the other bar. Bettina deserves both of them.
Before she gets even halfway through the chocolate, Ripper clears his throat. “They’re back.”
“Carla?” Bettina pushes to her feet as the plane door opens. The sisters hold on to one another for so long, Inara has to guide them to a plush couch at the back of the plane so we can take off.
Ryker drops into one of the seats across from us. “Eighteen women. Six men. All under the age of twenty-five. All taken off the streets. Mexico. Canada. Panama.”
“Where are they now?” Wyatt asks.
“With people I trust. In a few days, they can decide if they want to go back home or stay in the United States. Got half a dozen FBI agents on the way from the Austin field office. They’ll show up tomorrow and clean up the rest of the mess that piece of shit left behind. And once we regroup at home, we’ll hit all the other brothels that fuckstick ran and shut them down too.” He drags a hand over his head, rubbing along one of the worst of the scars. “Not sure what it was about this one. But fuck. I’m glad it’s over.”
One Month Later
Wyatt
“We’re here, darlin’.” I shut off the engine and stare at the cabin. For three years, this was my home. But after four weeks in Seattle building a life with Hope, I wasn’t sure I’d ever come back up here again.
Until I came home from a walk with Murphy and she had a suitcase open on the bed.
I panicked, terrified she was leaving me. That she’d come to her senses—despite how many times we’ve said “I love you” since we came back from Salt Lake City.
“Hope? What are you doing?”
She jumps, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “I didn’t think you’d be home for another half an hour.”
“I missed you. I thought we could grab dinner at that Thai place on the corner.” Murphy presses himself to my legs. He can feel my growing panic. “Are you…leaving?”
Hope drops the sweatshirt she was folding, her eyes wide. “Leaving? Wyatt, I love you.”
“Then…why are you packing?” I’m not proud of the desperate tone to my voice. We have a life here now. Friends. Family. Hope started taking on some small accounting jobs from home, and she and Ripper have been talking about how they can make Hidden Agenda’s investments more profitable. The salary I earn working with Ry and his team is plenty to keep us going—since the man doesn’t charge us a cent for this apartment—and we’ve bought clothes, dishes, throw pillows—even put up a few pieces of inexpensive art.
“Wyatt, look at the suitcase.” Hope’s expression is one hundred percent “I can’t believe I have to explain this to you.”
Flannel shirts. Levi’s. My hiking boots. Cable-knit sweaters for her, leggings, wool caps, and thick gloves.
“You’re packing for the cabin. But I thought we agreed…”
Reaching up to touch my cheek, she smiles. Her bruises have faded, and her sprained shoulder rarely bothers her anymore. “We agreed Seattle was home. Not to stay here three hundred-and-sixty-five days a year. Why can’t we live here…but spend a week up in the mountains every month or so? You love it up there. And even though I don’t ever want to live in a world without Netflix, Dinner Dash, and central heating, getting away from the city from time to time? It’s something we both need. West…um…sort of wired it for satellite internet a few days ago. So we won’t be totally cut off. Just…by ourselves.”
It was the best damn gift anyone’s ever given me. Understanding. Compromise. Love.
Hope stretches in the bucket seat. Ry let me take one of Hidden Agenda’s trucks up here for the week. Both because we decided not to buy a car and because the four-wheel-drive vehicle comes with GPS tracking. I’m not complaining.
“Well, mountain man? You carried me inside the first time you brought me here. Want to do it again?”
Even after a month, Hope still has some pain. A hairline fracture to one of her vertebrae—being dragged down a set of stone steps isn’t good for the spine—healed badly, and some days, she struggles.
“Be honest with me, darlin’,” I say as I scoop her into my arms. Murphy runs ahead of us, circling the cabin so he can use his special doggie door to beat us inside. “What’s today’s number?”
“Only a two. It’s a good day, Wyatt. I’m fine. I just wanted to wrap my arms around you after that long drive. And maybe…” she arches her brows in a way I’ll never be able to resist, “convince you to carry me straight into the bedroom, strip me naked, and show me a little more of the mountain man’s Kama Sutra. We only made a dent in it the last time, and you know me.”
Nudging the door with my foot, I carry her over the threshold. I’ve seen that gleam in her eyes before. “I do, darlin’. You’re an over-achiever.”
“So…?”
The bed beckons. “So, we’d better get started. I want you at least twice before dinner.”
“I love you, Wyatt. Come here, so I can show you just how much.”
Peeling off my shirt, I don’t even think about hiding from her. Hope accepts me. My scars. My occasional foot-in-mouth awkwardness. My intense and overwhelming need to protect her.
We’ve had some bad days. I’ve triggered her more than once. But our love survived a madman with more than a dozen men guarding his compound. There isn’t anything we can’t handle. Together.
Thank you for reading Defending His Hope. It’s my greatest hope—ha—that you enjoyed this expanded version of the book as much as I enjoyed writing it. .
I hope you’ll consider leaving a review wherever you purchased Defending His Hope. Reviews—even short ones—are so important to your favorite authors. You don’t have to write much. A single sentence or two about how the book made you feel is plenty! If you can leave a brief review, I’d appreciate it so very much.
The next book in the Away From Keyboard series is available for pre-order now! Trusting His Instincts is Raelynn’s story. I can’t tell you much about it yet, but trust me. It’s gonna be smoking hot and full of Texas sass.
