Page 18 of Guardian's Touch

“You shouldn’t go straight in,” Frank insists. “You have soldiers for a reason.”

“This is my job.” I stare unblinking at him, daring him to challenge me. “The way it would be yours if that was Fiona in there.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters before turning to the guys waiting for instructions. “We go in first. You cover our backs.” Soon all three cars are headed for the warehouse with ours in the lead.

I can’t pry my eyes from the building. Two stories, darkened windows on a Sunday afternoon. I wish we had the cover of darkness on our side, but I’m not about to wait for sunset, either. Every minute counts. She’s already been away from me for too long.

“I’m going to kill O’Grady for this,” I tell Frank while staring out the windshield. “You know that, right?”

“She’s more than just a kid you’re taking care of, isn’t she?” he counters. There’s no judgment in the question. “More than a daughter.”

I let my silence answer the question since my fevered brain can’t put thoughts to words now. Yes, she’s more than a daughter. She’s more than the girl I’m obsessed with. She’s my reason for living, my everything.

“You can’t go off half-cocked here,” he reminds me. “Get her back. But that might have to be enough for now. You have the entire family to think about. All our guys. Their families.”

I can’t hear this. Not now, not until I have her in my arms. “Talk diplomacy to me once we’re home.” He grunts but is smart enough to say no more.

Besides, there’s no time for it. We’re already approaching the black truck, flanked by our men. They pull up ahead of us to get in position before Frank pulls in, and I open my door.

The warehouse door opens a crack, and my heart stops. Time stretches out like taffy, on and on, while I wait to see who emerges.

Instead of using Camilla as a human shield, a kid who can’t be much older than her steps out with his hands in the air. “We don’t want any trouble from you,” he calls out, grinning affably, while I unfold my body and emerge from the car.

“Bring her out and give her to me,” I reply, my right hand around the butt of my Glock.

He sees it and shakes his head. “No weapons. There’s no need for this.”

“Like hell there isn’t. Your boss drew first blood.” Raising the gun, I take aim at the center of his forehead. “Bring her to me, or I come in to get her.” One thing I’m not going to do is let them hold me here in some bullshit standoff while the rest of them swarm around here like wasps prepared to attack.

“She’s fine. Untouched,” he assures me.

“I’m counting to three.” My aim is unwavering. I want so much for him to give me a reason to pull the trigger. “One. Two.”

His right hand disappears behind his back, but he doesn’t have the chance to aim the gun concealed in his waistband before a bullet pierces his skull and he falls to the ground.

The fuck did he think that would accomplish? I charge up to the door and kick his body aside before going in. The clock is ticking. I have no doubt his partner alerted O’Grady to our arrival.

That’s what this is about. It isn’t enough to get inside my head and take what’s mine. He wants to keep me here, bargaining for her, unwilling to take a risk that might end up getting her hurt. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.

Something buzzes close to my ear and I realize almost too late it was a bullet. There’s a scream from somewhere deeper inside—high-pitched, female—before another shot rings out. My guys pour in behind me, and the shooter drops his weapon when he realizes he’s outnumbered.

It’s the scream that keeps me moving. Her scream. She’s in an office on the other side of the warehouse floor. My Camilla in this filthy place, screaming for help. “Camilla?” I shout, my voice ringing out in the cavernous space.

“Dane? Dane!” The voice comes from behind a closed door I soon realize is locked. One carefully-placed kick and it swings open to reveal her in a folding chair, ankles tied to the legs, her arms behind her back.

At first all I can do is kneel in front of her and clutch her to my chest. Alive. She’s alive and in one piece and sobbing against my shoulder. My Camilla, in my arms. The world can keep spinning.

“I have to get you out of here.” I crush her lips under mine in a brief, hard kiss before pulling a switchblade from my pocket to cut her restraints. “We need to get home before they send reinforcements.”

She’s shaky when I help her to her feet, leaning against me for support. There’s a bruise along the left side of her face and dried blood on the back of her head. The sight of it tears at me. “What did they do to you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. “I just want to go home now.”

Frank meets us in the doorway to the dingy office and sizes up the situation in a single glance. “I’ll take you to the car,” he offers, reaching for her. Our eyes meet in a silent understanding.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I offer with a nod before turning my attention to the man pinned in place by four gunmen. He’s sweating, practically pissing himself, eyes darting all around.

He took her from me. He violated the sanctity of my home and took her. One of the only rules men in our world abide by: you don’t touch our women. Yet here we are, and my woman’s been bruised and bloodied.

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