Page 17 of Chaos & Carnage

Shaking his head, Cain drops the topic, and we all move around the room in silence, picking out weapons. Since I have no experience with rifles, I stick to the handguns, repeatedly lifting one up and weighing it in my hand before either setting it back down or holding on to it.

During my perusal, I find two thigh straps with holsters, which I wrap around my legs. Once I’ve filled the cartridges of the guns I’ve chosen, I strap two into my thighs and tuck the third into the waistband of my jeans while keeping the final one in my hand. I miss the comfort of knowing my blades are within reach. They are always a quiet reassurance when I’m in dangerous situations, but ideally, I won’t be getting close enough to any Antonelli bastards to need a blade, so for today, guns are best.

When we’re all armed to the teeth and everyone is sporting bulletproof vests, each of my men with a rifle thrown over their shoulders and handguns within easy reach—Cain even has a couple of grenades strapped to a belt at his waist—we leave the safety of the room and continue on our path toward the roof.

The sounds of battle rage on the other side of the building, yet back here, everything is eerily calm as we reach the staircase and climb, ensuring we keep our footsteps light against the metal.

Cain and Dante are in front of me, Enzo and Oliver behind. Cain signals for us to stop as we reach the second-floor landing, all of us crouching low so as not to be seen. I can’t see past Dante’s broad frame in front of me, but after a moment, he moves forward and I follow.

I jump at the loud rat-tat-tat of gunfire, far closer than anything we’ve heard since we left the bar.

“Fuck,” Dante hisses before he disappears from in front of me, quickly moving to cover Cain’s back and firing off round after round toward a small group of rugged-looking men who had just emerged from a room further down the landing. They must have been searching the rooms one by one, slowly making their way toward the roof hoping to pick off our shooters.

At the sound of gunshots, Cain immediately turns toward the threat, his weapon raised as he shoots alongside Dante while the rest of us remain hidden in the stairwell. Only when both of them lower their weapons to their sides, do I step up onto the landing beside them and turn to take in the men piled up, their limbs a tangled mess from where they fell after taking their final breath.

“Bastards,” I state, my voice void of all emotion.LiteralBastards.

“Should have known those assholes wouldn’t pass up a chance to witness our demise,” Cain growls, his breaths coming in anger-filled pants. His gaze flicks up to Dante’s, the two sharing a loaded glance. I don’t think any of us missed the fact that Dante just saved Cain’s life, although, in true Cain fashion, he doesn’t offer a thank you, only grunts for us to keep moving.

Dante’s expression gives nothing away as he moves forward to follow Cain up the next stairwell, but when he looks my way, I give him a soft smile of thanks. I don’t even want to think about how that could have ended if he hadn’t caught the threat and stepped in to help, and I firmly believe the main reason he did is because of me, because he knows how much Cain means to me.

His steps falter, and I love how he looks at me whenever I do something as simple as smile at him. It’s as though he’s trying to figure out what he did to deserve it and process whatever feelings that smile elicits. The way it frequently does when I stump him, his hand lifts to his chest, his fingers brushing over the Kevlar above his heart before a softness enters his gaze. It only lasts a split second, the same as always, but those split seconds are starting to add up. I snatch up those moments like a bandit, hoarding every single one of them, because it’s in those seconds that I see what Dante is capable of—loving someone.

It’s in my soft smiles and freely given affection that Dante will uncover his true potential. He may have been born to torture and murder men, but he was also made to love and be loved. He deserves to know what that feels like, to see how he can flourish under that love. Fear and pain may be excellent motivators, but love is by far the strongest. You can overcomeanythingfor love, face down your greatest fear, step up to the toughest challenge. I’ve heard stories of women lifting cars to save their children and couples overcoming overwhelming odds to remain together. It’s stories like that that give me hope that my four contrasting men can learn to get along.

I know I would do whatever it took to keep the people that I love alive. Just as I know they would do the same for me. Because that’s what love is. It’s overwhelming strength in the face of impossible odds. It’s putting someone else’s needs above your own. It’s knowing that your life means nothing without them in it. I think Dante is beginning to see that, but he’s only scratched the surface. I intend to show him just how powerful love can be.

Chapter 6

Cain manages to make it to the roof without me having to save his ass for a second time. Although, given the way Sawyer looked at me—as though I’d just savedher—I’d happily shove his stupidly large frame in front of a gun just so I could push him out of the way and claim to be a hero. Because the tightness in my chest, the uptick of my heart, and the sudden urge to slam my lips against hers made the fact that I risked my own life to ensure he continues breathing completely worthwhile.

“Stay here,” Cain orders when we’re at the top of the stairs. There’s a short ladder attached to the wall that takes you the remainder of the way to the roof, but from here, we’re just out of sight of his men and out of view of the front of the building. “I don’t need my men seeing you and opening fire.”

“Do you think you can manage to not get shot at when your back’s turned?” I jest with a smirk that makes his nostrils flare.

“This is me repaying the favor, asshole,” is all he snarls before turning his back on me and stepping onto the first rung. He makes quick work of climbing the ladder before he disappears and we’re left to twiddle our thumbs.

I keep an ear out for the back-and-forth rhythm of gunfire. It’s eased off since we first stepped out of the clubhouse, coming in intermittent spurts rather than a continuous stream. I’m unsure whether that’s because the Rejects are winning or my father. I don’t feel like I can refer to either side asusorthemas technically I’m no longer either. Or maybe I’m both. I don’t know what I am anymore.

Fucked. That’s what I am. Completely fucked over a leggy redhead who owns me body, mind, and soul. She could ask anything of me, and I’d do everything within my willpower to give it to her—even saving these sorry assholes. Even believing in something I never thought possible. I never thought I was capable of feeling. Certainly not feeling anything positive, and least of all, love. But for her, I want to. I want to give her my love. A feeling that I don’t even remotely understand or know how to feel, but I want to feel it… for her.

It helps that she makes it so goddamn easy. She just has to look at me with that easy smile, those eyes softened only for me, and I feel it. I feel what I figure can only be love, because she’s the only one who makes me feel it—that churning mixture of carnal desire,I will kill you if you touch herpossessiveness, and something so much sweeter.

It’s that sweetness that softens my edges and brings a rare smile to my lips.

It’s that sweetness that draws me to her like a bee to honey.

It’s that sweetness that tells me I can feel more than I think I can.

That sweetness is Sawyer. That sweetness is love.

Cain’s ugly mug appears over the rim of the roof, smashing through any pleasant feelings I had and bringing a glower to my face.

“Come up. Stay low.”

“How are things looking?” Oliver asks as he hurries up the ladder.

“Better than I expected. We’ve picked off most of their men. Looks like it was mostly Bastards, with only a few Antonellis.”

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