Page 101 of Consequences

Brock leans forward as Beckett pops his eyes open. “Wait, you broke into my stash of stuff and actually figured out how to use shit?”

“Barely,” Colt says with a laugh. “Had to have Kent and Gavin help us, and even then, we couldn’t keep them around to help as we fumbled to remember what they taught us.”

Beckett closes his eyes again, torn between wanting to attack Ramsey and climbing into his bed to start the healing process. His body isn’t as accustomed to the physical demands he’s put itthrough the past few months, and while it’s not the worst beating he’s ever taken, he’s not able to bounce back as quickly as he used to.

“You good, Beckett?” Brock asks. “That beating do more harm than we can see?”

“I’m fine. Just out of practice. Normally, I get to fight back.”

He opens his eyes to see a line of motorcycles waiting along the street. Ramsey’s street.

“What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly very alert.

“Well, since you’re out, we figured we work on getting your girl back,” Colt says and parks the SUV. “And if we’re gonna do that, we thought it might be worthwhile to have you here for that.”

All but jumping out of the SUV, he walks towards Ramsey’s house. All pain disappears as he watches Ramsey step outside holding Shannon as a human shield with a gun pressed to her head.

“What the fuck are you two doing out?” Ramsey shouts, his grip on Shannon’s hair tightening as he yanks her with him. “Anything happens to me, and everyone fucking goes down. You’ll have bounties on your head!”

Shannon whimpers in pain, and Beckett clenches his fists at his sides. She wears only a T-shirt and panties, and she’s covered in red marks where he’s smacked her around already. The closer he looks, the more injuries he spots. Small cuts and swelling on her face. Bruising on her wrists and ankles. Marks on her inner thighs.

I want to kill this motherfucker.

“You didn’t get a heads-upfrom your buddy? John Nance?” Brock asks. “Huh, wonder why.”

“Who’s John Nance?” Beckett asks.

“The judge on our case.”

Ramsey narrows his eyes at them. “What are you talking about?”

“Your reign of terror is over, asshole.”

“The hell it is.”

“Well,” Brock says and steps forward, “I find it to be very difficult to blackmail people when you have nothing to hold against them.”

The gun lowers, and Ramsey laughs as he still uses Shannon as a shield. “You think you can get into my files? It’s impossible.”

“You wanna hear something funny? That program Sebastian implemented weeks ago to track money movement was a program I created and sold ten years ago.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nine-thousand-five-hundred-forty-two dollars and twenty-three cents.”

His eyes widen as he gapes at Brock, as does Beckett. “What did you do?”

“Got my ass out of prison by taking all of your files and wiping your network clean. Power’s shifted, motherfucker.”

“You’re a dead man. My men—”

“Are a little tied up at the moment,” Undertaker’s deep voice says from behind Ramsey.

A large shadow falls over him, and Ramsey squeals in surprise when Undertaker grabs his wrist and twists until he disarms him. “Where are they?”

“He told you,” Colt said. “Your men are a little tied up at the moment. And I think your house has a gas leak. It might be a little dangerous for them to stay inside.”

Forced to release Shannon, Beckett holds out his arms as she runs to him, grunting only slightly as her body slams into his.

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