Page 19 of Rescuing Our Bride

“Dude, I know where I’m fucking going.” I grind out through clenched teeth, barely containing my frustration. I’m not pissed at Jax, and it won’t help our situation if I misdirect it at him.

“Sorry,” Jax mutters from the passenger seat. His stiff posture says he’s as pissed off as I am. “We shouldn’t have taken her. I fucking knew this was going to happen.”

“You couldn’t have told her no any more than I could.” With two clicks on the indicator-control stalk protruding from the steering column, I kill the headlights, then shift the van into neutral and let the van coast with the street’s downgraded slop until we reach the end of the dead-end road adjacent to Patrick’s property. Two other pompous assholes occupy this street, but their cookie-cutter mansions sit far enough back from their property lines that they won’t even know we’re here. Having planned and abandoned more than one home invasion at Patrick Calhoun’s place, we know that this corner is a blind spot in both neighbors’ security camera feeds. Fucking security companies should be ashamed of themselves. Not that I’m complaining. We need every advantage we can get because Patrick Calhoun did not climb his way to the top of a criminal enterprise by being a fucking idiot.

He knows we’re coming to rescue her.

We leave the van with the doors unlocked at the end of the street, cut through the overgrowth, and disappear into the tree line. We backtrack a mile and a half through the woods until we reach the ten-foot-high brick wall that runs the full length of Patrick’s property.

“Ready?” Jax asks as he whips out his cell phone and opens an app he created that allows him to temporarily disarm home security systems. He’s yet to come across one he couldn’t crack. “The landline backup is still rerouted to us, so we’re good to go on my end.”

“I’m more than ready to bring our girl home, where she fucking belongs.” I lace my fingers together and brace to give Jax a boost.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go get her.” Jax tucks his phone away, grips my shoulders, puts one booted foot into my palms, and bounces off the ground with the other.

I use that momentum to hoist him up to the top of the wall. After grabbing the ledge, he swings one leg over, then the other, and drops down out of sight. A couple of seconds later, the rope comes hurtling over to my side, and I climb up and over the brick wall to drop down beside Jax. He unravels the rope from around his waist, loops it back up, and slings it over his shoulder.

“T-minus fifteen minutes.” Jax pulls his gun free of the holster strapped to his side. “More than enough time to breach the back door and disarm the security system from inside. Once it’s down at the control panel we’re good.”

“After you.” I motion for Jax to take point, knowing that’s his preference. Me? I couldn’t care less which one of us storms in first as long as we leave here with Anna.

We stick to the shadows, using the landscaping to our advantage and taking cover behind large topiaries when Calhoun’s security detail makes their rounds. Jax drops two with nonlethal rounds. The best guess, factoring in the various body masses of the guards, is the tranquilizer darts will buy us a couple of hours.

We’ll be long gone before Patrick Calhoun and his goons know what hit them.

I rest my hand on Jax’s shoulder, signaling I’m right behind him and ready to go when we reach the back of the house and the French doors that lead into Calhoun’s living room. Anna’s in there. I can see her silhouette through the curtains and hear Patrick’s raised voice. He is shouting something at her, but I can’t understand the exact words.

What I can make out is that Anna is not wearing any fucking clothes.

“Mother fucker.” Jax is up and moving, kicking down the back door with me on his six.

Our plans for a swift and stealthy rescue mission go to shit. Honestly, at this point, I don’t know why Jax and I bother to make plans at all. They’ve yet to work out as expected—at least where Anna is concerned.

She’s our wild card.

Patrick reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun, aiming for Jax. I rush him, head and shoulder tucked down, and barrel into him like a defensive lineman stopping a rush on the ten-yard line. He pulls the trigger but misses the shot when my body connects with his, and I tackle him to the floor. We’re grappling around on the floor, and he can’t get another shot off.

Jax is with Anna. I can hear him consoling her, checking her for any more injuries than the marks Patrick left on her face. She’s crying, begging for Jax to help me. The sounds of her struggling against Jax, her need to get to me just fuels my need to keep her safe and make sure she’s free of any ties to Patrick Calhoun, who still hasn’t given up his gun.

Patrick frees his arm and rolls enough that half his body is out from under me and fires again. Jax calls for Anna, and I hear a loud thump and feel the vibrations of the impact through the hardwood floor.

“Jax, talk to me. Is Anna okay? Are you hit?” I shout as the ground fight with Patrick resumes.

“We’re good.” Jax is still soothing Anna, maybe from behind the couch, or another piece of furniture they used for cover when Patrick tried to shoot them.

Calhoun is quick for his size. As doughy as he is I wouldn’t have pegged him for being such a scrapper, but he’s giving as good as he’s getting. He’s screaming, threatening to kill Anna, but not before he has a little taste of what he paid for. He says something about letting his men have a little fun with her too and use her up good before they bury her.

After that, the world is a haze of red and a buzzing in my ears.

I grab Patrick’s wrist and slam it against the floor to break his hold on the gun with no luck. Patrick hits the trigger, firing wild each time his wrist slams against the hardwood until there’s a distinct click. He’s out of bullets. Something hard cracks against my skull, and I realize it’s the butt of Patrick’s gun.

“Son of a bitch.” I slam my fist into his ribs, tenderizing his left side like a premium cut of certified USDA Angus beef.

Jax is there, jumping in the fray no doubt because the eminent danger for Anna is over. He gets a few solid hits in for good measure and once we’re sure Patrick is beaten into submission, he helps me to my feet.

“You look like shit.” Jax grips my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze before jerking his head in the direction of the bloody heap on the floor. “What do you want to do with him?”

“Tie him up.” I march over to a small bar lined with decanters and grab the nearest one. Knocking the cut crystal top from the bottle, I bring it to my lips and take a long pull, relishing the scotch’s burn as it makes its way down to my stomach. “I think it’s time we had a little chat with Mr. Calhoun.”

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