Page 83 of Damned
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Hurry,” Kruze begged. His gut was killing him, and not because of that damned screwdriver. But because he knew Bree was in trouble. Call it osmosis or premonition or, oh hell, call it magic. He just knew, gawddamnit.
“Touchdown. You’re home,” Chance barked, as he jumped to the ground and dragged one end of the stretcher to the chopper’s side door. Pagan managed the other end while the rotors whirred overhead. They’d landed between Eagle Lake and his place, but not at the tiny airfield.
Kruze blinked at the one and only Sinclair jetpack stuffed inside the helo. That had to be how Pagan had shown up out of nowhere. Kruze meant to tell him thanks, but by then, Jared was on the ground, ordering Chance and Pagan to carry Kruze through the forest to his house. Or cabin. Whatever you wanted to call it. It wasn’t as large as Chance’s lodge in Montana, but Kruze had built it on the same concept. Safety first. Even if you had to dig tunnels in bedrock to ensure the people you loved the most lived. But Bree hadn’t known about any of those fail-safes. Pagan probably hadn’t had time to tell her.
“I can walk,” Kruze insisted. But no one listened. He found himself bumping along like a halfwit while his brothers carried him through the trees. Every step forward jostled, but Kruze was beyond caring about himself. They could carry him, but he was damned if he’d let Chance and Pagan fight his battle for him. This time he’d end the bastard who’d thought he could torture and kill Bree. That he could sell her to some asshole from Turkey! The feral need to rip Lantz apart and dig his worthless heart out of his ribcage—with his bare hands!—was a strong motherfucker to restrain.
But Kruze had to get home first, and for that, he had to rely on his brothers.
“Hang on. Almost there,” Pagan huffed.
“I need my pistols,” Kruze growled from beneath that damned oxygen mask. What the holy fuck? He tore the thing off and shoved it out of his way.
“Figured you would.” One by one, Chance pulled both Kruze’s Glock 17s out of his inner jacket pocket and handed them over, grips first.
Thank God for brothers. Kruze never thought he’d feel that way again. But there he was, being carried into battle by the men who’d only ever loved him. Who’d always had his back. Who knew that what he was doing was damned stupid and could end him, but who were helping him do it anyway. All because of a woman. His woman.
“She’s the one,” he told Chance, his throat and lips so dry he could hardly get the words out. Inadvertently, he’d crossed both pistols over his chest. The pose of murdered lawmen from the Old West. Kinda fitting...
Chance and Pagan lowered the stretcher a few feet short of his front porch. “I know,” Chance wheezed. “I can tell.”
“Take it easy getting up, brother,” Pagan warned. “Your front door’s blown apart. Someone’s inside.”
BOOM!
“Bree!” Dying or not, Kruze rolled off the stretcher, scrambled to his feet, and took off staggering. Up the steps. Through his blasted front door. He’d reverted into a primitive man, needing to lick the blood of his enemy off his fingers. Just as he cleared the entry, some asshat down the hall to his right screamed, “Or so help me, I’ll kill you right here!”
Harvey Lantz...
“Like fuckin’ hell,” Kruze growled, the Neanderthal inside unleashed, the deadly hunter on track. Chance and Pagan were on his six, breathing hard.
“As opposed to taking me somewhere else to kill me?” All three Sin Boys froze at Bree’s vehement reply. She was taking on Lantz by herself? “If you’re so ready to see me die, then do it. Now! Right here! Kill me while the cameras are running, Lantz. Or didn’t you know that? Kruze Sinclair isn’t as dumb as you. This place is full of video and listening devices. You’re being taped, Mr. Harvey Lantz. You’re live and broadcasting!”
Clever. Intelligent. Brave. “Fuck, I love that woman,” Kruze growled. He’d never been so steady or focused as when he kicked through what was left of his office door and ran smack into Lantz’s rear-end.
First mistake: Failure to maintain complete operational awareness. Lantz assumed Bree was the only threat. Guess again.
“Honey, I’m home,” Kruze growled, his voice gone lethal.
Lantz swung his rifle around. Like he stood a fuckin’ chance. Second mistake: Never bring a long gun to close-quarters combat.
The bastard got a shot off, but he never stood a chance of aiming, not with Kruze already in his face. The round went wild. Kruze didn’t hesitate, just lifted his hand and bludgeoned one side of Lantz’s head with his Glock, then coldcocked the bastard with his other pistol. The son of a bitch went down on all fours. His rifle skittered across the floor.
Kruze glared at Bree on the other side of his desk. She was a quivering, shuddering mess. The subcompact Ruger LCP in her hands was shaking plenty, too. Kee-rist, she was so damned beautiful.
Bree set the weapon on the desk, the barrel pointing at the wall, and ran to him. “Kruze!”
He opened his arms, ready to catch her. Until that rat-bastard Lantz rolled over and bellowed, “She’s got to be with Berfende! You can’t have her! She’s mine!”
Kruze saw the knife and acted instinctively. Grabbing Bree’s wrist, he spun her back into his chest and turned to his bookshelves. His entire body curled protectively over her. His arms sheltered her one last time. Robin needed her mom more than she needed him. Hell, she didn’t even know who he really was yet.
“I love you, sugar,” Kruze whispered, prepared to die that they might live.
“And I love you,” she cried as she burrowed deeper into him, her head bumping his chin. It hurt so good.
Instead of a stabbing slice to his kidneys, a deafeningBOOM!exploded behind Kruze. He hoped to God he wasn’t so hyped-up on adrenaline that he wasn’t feeling the bullet with his name on it, ending him. He’d totally expected Lantz’s stabbing blade until—
“You son of a bitchin’ pig!” Pagan bellowed. “Get your ugly ass up, so I can kill you again, you motherfucker!”
“It’s over, Pagan,” Chance said, his voice the only steady one in the room. “It’s done. Let’s get Bree out of here, brothers.”
Kruze glanced over his shoulder. The barest smile tweaked the corners of Pagan’s mouth. Baby Brother’s chest heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows, and his brows were knitted like a line of thunderclouds over killer-green eyes. His glare was as deadly as fuck, and both pistols still aimed at what was left of Lantz on the floor. Baby Brother had just saved Bree.
And me...
It was a new day. A time to let the past go and to remember that his brothers had always had his back. The monster was dead. The war was over. Bree could go home. She and Robin would live in peace.
Inhaling one last breath of the sweet, nervous scent of the woman in his arms, Kruze went down to one knee with her. At least, he thought she went with him.
