Page 7 of Dangerous Devotion

Pride swelled in my chest. Holy shit, the way the three of us, without so much as looking at each other, took over the helicopter was nothing short of amazing.

We approached the house, and I reduced the speed and exhaled at the sight. Relief washed over me when I saw the other helicopter down on the landing H.

Thank God.

But my satisfaction was short-lived. My stomach clenched as I watched Jemma, Hawk, Goofy, and Dante scrambling towards the house.

“Fuck,” I muttered, banked the chopper sharply, and looked around. “What the hell are they running from?”

Hero leaned forward, squinting through the windshield.

“Maybe they think we’re the bad guys coming back for round two?” Peaches mumbled into the intercom.

“Shit,” I muttered when realization hit me like a freight train. “Call Dante and tell him it’s us,” I ordered Hero. We should have done that a while ago. Error on my part.

Seconds ticked by, the potential for disaster looming in my mind.

“Hey, Dante, it’s us in the chopper,” Hero said into his phone. “Don’t take us down, okay?”

I listened, my chest tight, until Hero gave me a thumbs-up.

“See you,” Hero said, then ended the call.

I focused back on the controls and maneuvered the helicopter towards the front lawn.

I set the helicopter down on the lawn with a gentle thud, my muscles aching from the tension in my body. The pain in my arm flared, and I glanced down at the blood seeping through my shirt.

Shit. When did that happen?

“Nice flying, bro.” Hero grinned, looking annoyingly unscathed. “You didn’t kill us after all.”

I rolled my eyes. “Unlike some, who are mostly bumbling around and flirting with the pretty ladies, instead of keeping up on their flying lessons, I actually know what I’m doing.”

Hero snorted and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Says the guy who uses his body as a shield for one pretty lady and is currently bleeding all over the controls.”

“She’s my future wife.” I flexed my biceps and winced. “And it’s just a scratch.”

Peaches suppressed a groan from the back, reminding me of his own injuries. Guilt gnawed at me. I should’ve anticipated something would happen, should’ve protected them better.

As I climbed out, the smell of freshly cut grass mixed with jet fuel assaulted my nostrils. The sprawling Mediterranean-style villa I’d inherited from my grandpa—much to my father’s contempt—stretched before us.

I hadn’t been here often these last couple of months and rarely had been this grateful for the fort-like construction and remote location in rural Connecticut.

I closed the door, then turned to the back to assist Peaches but stopped mid-turn.

Jemma was sprinting toward us, her face a mix of relief and anger.

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of her even as I braced for the inevitable storm.

She was angry, really angry.

She didn’t even take the time to stop but instead ran straight into me at full speed.

I angled myself to protect my injured shoulder and took the brunt of the impact with my good side. “Uff.” Who would’ve thought someone with her lean stature could develop so much force and impact?

“You idiot!” she yelled, punching my chest. “I thought you were dead!”

I caught her fist, then slung my good arm around her, pulled her close, and hugged her against my chest. “Takes more than that to get rid of me, Punk,” I whispered against her temple, inhaling her fresh scent.

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