Roman quickly grows impatient with the lamp and tears the whole fucking thing right out of the ground before holding it up and letting the cuff fall off the bottom. He throws what’s left of the lamp across the room, taking his anger out on the cheap metal before trying his luck at squeezing his hand through the cuff on his wrist.
I scoff. Every fucking idiot in cuffs always tries that shit. He should know better.
Quickly realizing his attempts are useless, he strides over to the small double bed and scans the headboard with a keen eye, trying to figure out how the fuck to get me out of here. I’m not gonna lie, it’s not the first time Roman has had to save me from some crazy chick who handcuffed me to a bed, but it’s the first time he’s not been laughing about it.
“I should have fucking known,” he grunts, gripping on to the headboard and pulling it away from the wall, pressing his whole weight over the narrow bars that keep me bound and grunting as he forces them down. “She accepted it too easily. Back at the warehouse. It didn’t feel right.”
The bars give way under his weight but not enough to free me. “I know,” I mutter, recalling the moment we cornered her in the tech room only for her to agree too quickly. Roman and I had questioned it between ourselves, but ultimately, we decided that she understood the risks. “She could be fucking …”
I cut myself off, not wanting to imagine what could be happening to her right now.
“She couldn’t have been gone for more than an hour, maybe two at the absolute most,” Roman says, prompting me to turn to the old digital clock bolted to the bedside table. It’s just after midnight, but that’s far too late. If she’s already made it back to Gia’s home, then the scene we turn up to could be something none of us could possibly move on from.
As if that same thought circles Roman’s head, he presses all his weight down on the metal bar once more and it caves again, snapping under the pressure. Without skipping a beat, I slide the cuff from the bar and grab my fucking shirt. I yank it over my head and have my gear in my hands before the hem has even fallen to my waist.
It’s a shitload earlier than when we’d planned to do this, but when the hell have our plans ever gone right? Hell, I don’t think we’ve ever seen a plan through. In our world, we’re all too used to shit blowing up in our faces, but when it comes to Shayne Mariano—or Shayne Fucking DeAngelis as she’s legally known as of now—we can’t fucking handle it. She has us all wrapped around her pinky, and as much as we hate to admit it, she’s the one pulling the strings here.
We’re out the door in two fucking seconds, and I let out a breath after finding the Escalade right where we left it. My brows furrow as I tear the door open and fly up into the passenger seat. “Why would she leave the car?” I bite out as Roman climbs in beside me and slams his door with a heavy thump.
He shakes his head as he backs out of the parking space and takes off like a fucking rocket, tires screeching against the asphalt, leaving thick black lines of rubber in his wake. “My guess is that whatever fucked-up plan is going through her head, she still needs us to come and save her ass.”
“She would have had to steal a ride,” I muse out loud, unable to focus on the road in front of us. “That could buy us some time.”
“Maybe,” he says, an edge in his voice that tells me he doesn’t feel good about this, a feeling that’s all too mutual. “We can only hope that she was listening to the plan and knows where to get in. If she’s beaten us there and goes in gun blazing through the front fucking gates …”
“She’s not suicidal,” I remind him. “A fucking brat with a death wish, but not suicidal. She’ll play it safe. At least until she’s got Levi right where she wants him. After that, there’s no telling what she’ll do to try and get them out.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, clenching his jaw. “Then we better make sure we’re there when this shit goes south. I can’t fucking lose her. Not like this.”
The thought to console him filters through my head. I should tell him we’re going to get her back, that we’re going to save them both and somehow come out of this unscathed. But that’s not the relationship I share with my brothers. Never has been. To sit here and discuss how our hearts are breaking at the idea of Shayne falling captive to the Moretti family feels weak, feels wrong. Roman knows where my head is just as I know where his fucked-up one is. We’re both ready, and that’s all that counts.
I shake my head, the disbelief clouding my mind and making it hard to focus. I turn to Roman and an involuntary grin tears across my face. “She fucking cuffed us, man,” I say with a breathy scoff, lightening the mood in the cab, trying to pull him out of the hole his mind is dragging him into. “How the fuck did we let her get away with that?”
His eyes sparkle for just a moment before he schools his features. “More like how the fuck did she manage to find two sets of handcuffs and smuggle them out of the warehouse?” He laughs to himself before letting it fade away. “If she somehow survives this, then she’s definitely got a career in smuggling if she wants one. Clearly, she’s got talent.”
“No shit,” I mutter, the words choking me up.
She’s going to be okay. If she felt out of her league, she would have waited with us.
Fucking hell. I can’t even lie to myself. She wouldn’t have waited for us. Her mind is set on getting to Levi no matter what. I should have known the second we had a firm location, she would have been out the fucking door, and that’s on us.
Shayne is the type of chick to fall hard, and that’s exactly what she did with each of us. She loves fiercely and proudly, without question or hesitation. She’s accepted what we are, what we’ve done, and for that, she’s the whole fucking world to me. She would do anything for us, and any other time, I’d worship her for that very thought. But right now, her hero complex is really pissing me off.
If Shayne wants to survive in this world and wants to thrive at our sides, then she’s going to have to learn how to look out for herself, and she’s going to have to learn it fast.
A moment passes when Roman is clear-headed enough to pull his phone from the center console. He presses a few buttons before the call picks up over the Bluetooth and Mick’s deep voice fills the cab. “What do you need?” he questions.
“Get your boys ready,” Roman tells him. “Plans have changed.”
“We’re ready,” he says, and without another word, Roman ends the call and presses harder on the gas.
The hour drive out of the city feels like it drags on forever. Roman hasn’t said a word since ending the call, and I haven’t bothered to either. My mind is focused. Set and ready. I’m craving the bloodshed like never before, and the sooner I get in there and find my girl, the better.
My chest aches for her, screams for her, and I can only hope that she knows what she’s doing.
The Escalade pulls to a stop a few streets away from the entrance of the gated community where a black Dodge RAM stands out like dog’s balls. We have no clue what the gate code is, nor do we feel it’s a good idea to play guessing games with that one and set off every alarm system in the area.
Guns are loaded, earpieces inserted, and knives strapped to every available inch of skin. I hear Mick in my ear testing the earpiece while Roman straps a bulletproof vest to his chest. Can’t say we’ve ever worn them before, but tonight is a fucking war. It’s Roman and me up against the fucking Moretti army, and with that thought circling my mind, I reach for the other vest and strap it on.