My phone pings. A message from Seb.

It just says, ‘Trap. Don’t come.’

What the fuck? I stare at the words until my brain can process them. Shit.

‘Where are you?’ I type, my fingers uncoordinated, so that I have to fucking delete and rewrite everything twice.

But nothing more comes back from Seb. I stand in the cold wind, gazing at the fucking warehouses, my heart hammering.

Of course I’m not staying away. I have to find him, get him out.

Move it, Jarett.

So I start searching, try the warehouses doors one by one, circling them and looking for ways in. One is locked up. One opens, but only rats scuttle around. Another is locked, but I look through a broken window and see only darkness inside.

I’m making progress, though. I can do this. I’ll find him.

And then several bangs make me jump. Gunshots? The rat-tat-tat that follows sounds more like machine guns.

No fucking way. It has to be something else, I tell myself, as I run from warehouse to warehouse, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I’ll find him. I can still get him out.

More machine gun fire. Windows smash. Someone screams, not far from where I’m standing.

Jesus fucking Christ.

A figure runs in the dark, almost crashing into me. Pumped with adrenaline, I charge him and tackle him to the ground, sit on top of him.

“Get off me, fuck, get off me,” he babbles, “God fuck…”

It’s Jorge. “Where are the others? Where’s Seb?”

“Always with Seb, Jesus, let me up, I have to go…”

“Go where? Where are the others?”

“It was a goddamn trap. They had a vendetta with Mav, wanted us out of their way. Gunned us down—”

“Where?” My breath is frozen in my chest. “Where’s Seb? Jorge, where’s Seb?”

“You go in there, you die.”

I don’t wanna be here. I wanna be with Gigi, in her arms, in her bed.

But I can’t just leave my brother behind.

I grab Jorge’s hair, lift his head. “Just tell me where!”

He points with a shaky finger. I let go of his hair, and his head flops down to the concrete. Getting up, my knee so stiff it’s a miracle it holds me, I limp over to the warehouse he indicated, drawing my Glock from the back of my jeans as I go, and point it down as I push the back door open and enter.

The smell assaults me the moment I step foot inside. Something real fucking bad. Blood, and urine, and shit.

Christ. Where the hell are they? What do I hope to do? Would I kill for Seb?

Could I do it?

Cold sweat runs down my back, sticking my T-shirt to my skin under my jacket. My knee twinges. My shoulders ache. The gun is heavy in my hand.

I inch inside two more steps, and then I hear the wailing of sirens.

Tags: Jo Raven Wild Men Romance
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