The Romeo Arrangement

I’m touched but also afraid for these men who are risking their asses to help save mine.

One thing’s for sure: we’ll have every base covered.

Lost in my thoughts over prep, it dawns on me that I hear a horn blaring outside. It’s distant yet getting louder.

I glance out the window as Jackie Owens’ car comes flying up the driveway.

She mentioned taking Nelson into town for new shoes or something, I can’t say I was fully listening with everything else on my mind.

Tobin went to Dallas earlier, too. Starch for my tuxedo. He’d been fussing that I hadn’t dug it out sooner so he could have it sent out to be pressed.

I exit my office, walk to the front door, and open it just as the car comes to a screaming halt near the garage.

What the hell?

“Help me get him inside, Ridge!” Nelson roars, throwing open the passenger door.

I jog down the steps, concerned and confused, until I get a look at what’s behind the door hanging open.

Tobin is a tangled mess in the back seat, holding a bloody rag to his head. His glasses are bent, one lens completely blown out, his green eyes so empty it scares the shit out of me.

“What the fuck happened?” I grind out, elbowing Nelson aside and reaching in to help Tobin out.

“Broken ribs. Possible concussion, I think,” Jackie says, “but we need to get the bleeding stopped right now. Help him inside.”

“They…they ran me off the road,” Tobin says, his voice this dry, faint rattle. “I…I saw them coming. Tried to veer b-but…the truck. It rolled.”

“Who?” I snap my mouth shut.

Dumb question. I already know.

And I feel like the world’s biggest jackass for underestimating them, thinking they’d just walk right into our trap.

He’s got more than a few broken ribs. One glance at Tobin’s busted face tells me they aimed to kill him, running him off the road.

My heart shoots lightning through my chest.

It’s pure hell, seeing him like this.

The man who’s always been a rock through every storm of my life.

The man who practically raised me, an unbreakable soul.

The man who protested with his heart and soul when I went off to destroy Linus Hammond, but who sees so much ruthlessness in Clay Grendal, he helped me with the poison.

And it’s looking a hell of a lot more likely that we’ll have to use it.

It isn’t fucking fair.

Tobin deserves better than winding up the sacrificial lamb.

Swallowing the fire in my throat, I grab under Tobin’s arm and help him as he limps pitifully toward the house.

Holy shit.

So much for having all my bases covered.

The flaw in our plan was assuming that maniac would play ball just long enough to wander into a swarm of cops and federal agents.

Now, it looks like we’re the ones who were baited.

“They’d have killed me. They slowed down, threw open their doors…I saw guns,” Tobin whispers, trying to ground himself in his storytelling. “But traffic came…people stopped. Then Nelson and Jackie arrived with these kids…”

“You just rest, buddy,” I say, putting him gently on the couch, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. “You’re safe now. I’m going to get you a doctor.”

“Ridge!” His eyes bulge, suddenly full of energy. He grabs at my shirt. “You…you have to finish them. Be smart. Be devious. The toast…”

I know exactly what he means.

Leaning near his ear, I whisper, “I won’t let you down.”

Jackie comes up then, barking orders at everyone, including me to get out of the way so she can do her thing.

While she takes over, I pull out my phone and send a message to the guys.

Change of plans. I need cover here. Everybody come over, pronto, I text.

When I look up, I catch the look on Grace’s face as she hurries into the room with a bowl of water and towels.

She’s ashen, shaking her head at me, the guilt already eating her up inside.

Dammit all.

I reach for her arm, but she flinches and pulls away.

Setting the bowl on the coffee table, she starts taking off Tobin’s bloodied shoes and gives me one more reason why I’m going to annihilate the entire Grendal syndicate.

21

No Trust Undone (Grace)

Appalling guilt churns in my belly like a washing machine flushed with acid as I remove Tobin’s shoes and cut slits up his trouser legs to expose his shins.

Oh, God.

His bleeding shins.

They look like they’ve gone through a shredder, a spinning walkway of knives that slashed up his skin without tearing deep into muscle. Small comfort.

“You’re both fussing too much,” Tobin says in his staunch, righteous way, despite his voice being no louder than a rustling leaf.

I’m slightly relieved he still has some fight left in him after the brutal beatdown he took from the accident.

“Hush. Let me see if we need a doctor or not,” Jackie tells him sternly.

“No, no doctor. The airbags went off,” Tobin says. “They kept me from…from truly getting hurt.”