The Sunset Job (The Rainbow's Seven 1)

“We did it, Salt.”

“We did it.”

“I love you. More than anything in this world. You’re my everything, my fucking everything.”

And then they’d devour each other as the waves gently rocked the behemoth boat, the stars only growing brighter and brighter as their sex lit the world on fire.

These weren’t the stars he’d dreamed up. Far from it. This was a nightmare come to life.

There was still a chance for him to make it out, though. That was all he had to do. Reach the exit. The police shouted from somewhere behind him, the four of them taking a cautious approach in entering the room. It gave Roman some much-needed time. He continued to run, his reflections appearing to be racing him, a sick game of outrunning yourself, the loser getting a life sentence behind bars.

Roman had no doubt that was what waited for him if he allowed the police to catch him. Leonidas had made sure to paint their hands red, fabricating evidence and planting those bombs to make it seem like the Rainbow’s Seven were some kind of domestic terrorists.

And the world would believe it. It wasn’t like Roman’s long criminal track record inspired much confidence. He’d be fighting an uphill battle when it came to proving their innocence, but he’d make sure to fight tooth and fucking nail. If things came down to it, he wasn’t going to allow the Rainbow’s Seven to be looked at like they were some kind of monsters. He deliberately kept their hands as clean as possible, making sure that they tiptoed on the line between legal and illegal. Yes, they crossed over that line a couple of times but never far enough to get their names written on FBI’s most-wanted list.

There! Directly ahead of him was a door, easy to spot since it stuck out against the walls of mirrors. He grabbed the handle, twisted, threw it open. Sunlight beamed into his face through a large window. He was in another room, sans mirror, this one covered in flowers. There were vases overgrown with ivy, columns choked with the same, roses falling from the ceiling. The sweet smell of blossoms filled the air, doing nothing to calm Roman’s pounding pulse.

He turned to the door marked as an emergency exit. He’d done it. He made it. Mustang would hopefully be waiting for him on the other side.

Roman bolted toward the exit just as the police officers burst into the room from behind him. More shouting, more gunshots. One of them grazed Roman’s shoulder, miraculously only taking with it the fabric of his suit. He didn’t want to keep testing his luck. One of these cops was going to land a shot, and they weren’t shooting to subdue him anymore. They were aiming to kill.

He banged against the door with his shoulder, hitting the bar that opened it.

Fresh air smacked him in the face, mixing with the rancid scent of warming garbage. He was in an alleyway—no sign of Mustang. One way led him to a solid brick wall, and the other appeared to dump him out onto the streets.

There was only once choice to be made. He ran toward the opening, not even daring to look over his shoulder. Roman could practically taste freedom. He could feel the sparks on his skin once he had Wyatt back in his arms. That’s all he wanted. To hold him again, to forget about this botched job, to put all his efforts into breaking Bang Bang out of prison.

He’d get to do none of that.

Roman ran out of the alley, out onto a side street lined with tall palm trees and police cars parked under each one of them. He had made a mistake. Had run directly into their hands. It was an army of them, all with their guns drawn, taking cover behind their cars. One of them spoke into the car’s speaker, her voice booming.

“Put the gun down.”

Roman had no choice but to listen. There was no running from this. The realization of that was heavy but quick, making him accept his immediate fate even though inside he felt like a caged animal, left with no food or water, banging its body bloody against the bars.

He set the gun down on the ground, moving slowly.

“Boss, everything okay? Where are you?”

“No, everything isn’t okay,” he said under his breath, mouth as dry as an ashtray. “I’m about to be arrested.”

The officer stood up from behind her car, about a dozen others following suit. A trio of bomb squad vehicles pulled up, looking like tiny armored tanks. “Hands behind your head. Get down on your knees, or we will shoot. Don’t you dare take another step.”

The concrete was hard against his knees, a dirty puddle underneath him soaking into the soft fabric of his pants. He lifted his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky before being surrounded by a mass of officers. The cold steel of the handcuffs cut into his wrists as he was dragged up onto his feet and escorted into the back of the nearest cop car.