Page 17 of Room Nine: Masters of Control

Dem growls. “That could take months, and you know he’ll be out on bond. He’s not high enough on the food chain to warrant lock down.”

Victor puts his hands up, effectively silencing our complaints. He’s not only the CEO of Townsend Agency, he’s our old commander, and a trained PsySpecOps officer himself. “The Feds are going to want to prosecute him. However, Bobby Lash has criminal tendencies, and if he gets himself killed while perpetrating a crime—well, there’s nothing we can do about that.”

In our job, both military and civilian, there are orders explicitly given and orders that are never issued out loud. This would be one of the latter.

“You’re off the clock for the rest of the week.” Victor raps his knuckles on the heavy wood table. “Probably next week too. I suggest you enjoy your time off. You guys deserve it.”

He stands up and slaps Kerr’s shoulder on his way out, chuckling, “That is one hell of a shiner. I can’t wait to meet the woman who gave it to you.”

I wait for the door to close again, wheeling my chair back so the three of us can huddle up and face each other. “What do you think?”

Kerr grins. “We have trackers on him. I say we pick him up, drive him into the boonies, and slit his throat. We’ll make it look like the DiFallos did it.”

Dem shakes his head. “We can’t do that.”

“Yes, we can. We happen to be very good at it,” Kerr growls.

“Making him disappear won’t be very satisfying for Kyra. If we tell hertrust us, he’s gone,she’s now an accessory if shit ever hits the fan. Besides, she wouldn’t appreciate us cleaning up her problem. Not at this stage in our relationship. If we want something more with her, we have to do this right.” I keep my voice calm, a technique I learned in interrogations overseas.

“So, what then?” Kerr is usually the most excited out of the three of us. Our big, tall, and lean hothead. The man has passion in everything he does, whether it’s fighting or fucking.

“Two choices.” I lean back in my chair. “We either scoop him up, take him somewhere private, and let Kyra decide what she wants to do with him, or we make sure we’re within reach and give him a crack at fucking up.”

“You want to use her as bait? Are you fucking crazy?” Kerr jumps out of his chair and paces the length of the table.

Dem and I watch him for thirty seconds, letting him work out some of his frustration on the carpet. I arch my brow at Dem, who only shakes his head in response.

“Look, muthafucker,” I bark to get his attention. “You want her. I get that. We all do. But you know better than both of us she can hold her own, and taking him down herself will be a hell of a lot more satisfying for her. She needs this win. She needs to know that we trust her to kick ass, while at the same time know we have her back. We can’t take her control from her. She has to give it to us, and this is how we convince her we’re the men for her. The ones she can trust to give her what she needs.”

Kerr stops his pacing, closing his eyes and tilting his head to the ceiling with his hands on his hips. He knows I’m right. The painful part is admitting it out loud. “Fine, but we do this tonight. One way or another, this ends tonight. I don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary.”

Dem holds up his phone. “I’ve been watching Bobby all morning. He’s been darting around the city running errands, to include going to the bank. Soren’s flagged his account and he pulled out ten grand in cash. I’m thinking he knows about the house and probably has a meeting with DiFallo in the next day or two, which is why he’s jackrabbiting around town now. He’ll move on her tonight. If not, tomorrow.”

“Great. Let’s fucking do this and claim our woman.” Kerr looks both of us in the eye.

Yeah, I guess it’s definite now.

Kyra is our woman.

I hope she’s on board.

7

KYRA

Iwake up somewhere around noon, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. My head is pounding. Not from the blast yesterday—although that does explain every other ache and pain—but from the crying fit I had last night.

Good God. I can’t remember the last time I let myself bawl.

Once I was safe in my apartment, the reality of the day sunk in. I could have died yesterday, and it would have been my own damn fault. If O’Dell and Kerr hadn’t chased me out of that house, I know I would’ve been inside when the heater kicked on, because I had had every intention of ransacking the place.

I’m so fucking stupid… and so damn lucky.

I’m also embarrassed about throwing myself at Kerr last night. If I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t want him to leave. Not because I was scared Bobby would break in, but because I was terrified to be alone with my thoughts—and rightfully so, considering I cried in the shower until the water ran cold.

When I caught Kerr tailing me down the streets of Chicago last night, I felt a wave of relief wash over me—not that I would ever admit that to him. And yes, I would’ve loved having him in my bed. He would have been a welcomed distraction, because let’s face it, he’s hot.

They all are.

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