Page 232 of Sweet Temptation

I waited until Maddox appeared in the lot below. He was wearing a black hoodie with the hood thrown up. He climbed the stairs in silence and slipped up the walkway toward me, his arm down at his side, and in the shadows I could see he was carrying something.

“Is that…?” I crept toward him, my whisper fading out as he held it up a bit. The light caught the brand name and the long, shiny drill bit.

It was a fucking power drill.

“Creative,” I muttered.

He shrugged. “Work with what you’ve got.”

I motioned for him to hand it over, and he gave me a disappointed look as I held out the knife. We swapped, and I nodded for him to stand in front of the door. I flattened myself against the wall, where Sanchuk wouldn’t see me through the peephole. Maddox palmed the knife.

When Sanchuk looked through that peephole, or out the window, all he’d see was Maddox in his hoodie with the Kings spade on the chest. Just your friendly neighborhood Open-the-fucking-door-before-I-call-my-entire-club-down-here visit.

I knocked on the door, quietly.

“I can’t believe you’d use me like this,” Maddox muttered, feigning hurt feelings as he stood there like the bait he was.

I rolled my eyes.

A moment later, the deadbolt on the door turned.

Stupid motherfucker was opening the door.

By now, though, he knew he had little choice. Obviously Maddox had followed him here from the club, and he was fucked either way.

The door opened a few inches, Sanchuk’s face looking out through the crack. The security chain was still engaged.

But Maddox’s boot took care of that. One quick kick and the old wood of the door frame splintered.

So, fuck it.

Maddox plowed through the door, and I went after him. It wasn’t elegant, but it got the job done.

I shut the door behind us.

Sanchuk had been knocked back, and I barely saw the gun before it fell from his hand. He let out a garbled scream. Maddox had his gun arm, and I took care of the rest of him.

All my MMA training went out the window in favor of the power tool in my hand.

I shoved the drill bit up under his jaw and put him flat on the ground, a knee in his sternum, holding him there with the full force of my body weight and just the right amount of don’t-fuck-with-me pressure on the metal bit pressed to his skin.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

He was panting, but he didn’t try to move.

I was panting almost as hard as he was as I held him down, my free hand grabbing a fistful of shirt collar. At least he’d taken off the creepy cloak. “Jesus Christ… Did you just try to shoot us?”

“I try to shoot you,” he grit out, “you’d be shot.”

True enough.

Maddox had scooped up the gun, and checked it. “Loaded,” he said casually, and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans.

“Check the back,” I told him.

Maddox went to check the washroom in back and the closet.

I yanked Sanchuk up a bit, by his shirt, and slammed his head down on the floor, as a warning not to try to pull that shit again. Lucky for him, there was carpet, so it didn’t do much damage, just hurt like a bitch. He groaned and swore.

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