8
Brandon
Iblastedmyhornwhile strangling the steering wheel in a death grip.
“Move, goddammit!” I yelled at the flustered Uber driver while keeping my truck all over his ass. Luckily, he got out of the way before I rammed him off the road.
Sage was in danger. I had to get to her fast.
While on the other side of the city buying computer parts, my phone had pinged, alerting me to a security breach at the apartment. The facial-recognition software I’d installed picked up Dante Moretti and Maxim Orlov entering my building. Except they hadn’t gone to my door. They’d gone to Sage’s. My heart had pounded against my rib cage when I’d watched them break in.
Two influential members of the Wolf Street Mafia—the same organization responsible for Janie’s disappearance—were inside Sage’s apartment. What if they took her, too? No, I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t fail again. I stomped the gas pedal to the floor. Every second mattered.
I didn’t have Sage’s phone number to warn her of the danger, and I needed my gear at home to find it.
Calling the cops was pointless. They were so deep in Dante’s pocket they’d probably stand guard at Sage’s door while he did whatever he wanted inside.
Was she home? What did they want with her, anyway? It had to be a mistake. Surely they were after me and had gone to the wrong door. Except how had they found me? Not even the best military intelligence experts could track me down.
I had to get back to our building. If they hurt Sage because of me, I’d never forgive myself, and the only path to redemption would be to unleash a special kind of hell upon the Wolf Street Mafia.
There was something about this woman that called to my protective side. I wasn’t sure what had happened in Sage’s past to make her build such an impenetrable wall around herself. Whatever it was, she’d been hurt bad. Had some douchebag broken her heart? Or worse. Physical abuse? The thought of her suffering that way made me want to hunt the asshole down and snap his bones.
With my concentration split between the busy road and the camera image on my phone, my chest clenched as I watched Sage return home.
No!
There was a scuffle as Maxim attacked her. Dante closed the door and my view was lost.
What the hell was happening in there? Dammit, if they hurt her, that was it. I’d go after them all. Screw the consequences.
I drove through the busy city streets like a madman possessed, swapping into oncoming traffic and mounting the curb where I had to. If the cops saw me, they’d give chase. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t stopping for the police or anyone.
Ten minutes later, Dante and Maxim left the apartment. They didn’t take Sage with them.Wait.Was that blood smeared across the Russian’s face?
By the time I pulled into the underground parking lot of our building, my hands cramped from how tight I gripped the steering wheel. None of this extreme behavior was like me. I was usually cool under pressure. Today, I’d well and truly lost my shit.
I pulled my pistol from the glove box, shoved it into the back of my jeans, and raced up the stairs.
I pounded on Sage’s door. “Sage? It’s Brandon. Open up.”
No answer.
I tried the handle. Locked.
Shit.
The door rattled on its hinges as I banged on it again. Was she unconscious or too scared to open it? I didn’t want to think about anything worse.
My lock-picking tool sat somewhere in an unpacked box. There wasn’t time to find it.
Screw it.
Taking a step back, I put all my weight into a front kick that busted the door open. Splinters flew. The door swung wide and rebounded against the wall with a thud. Sage could tear me a new one later if she was still alive.
I stormed inside but pulled up short when I caught movement from the hallway.
“What are you doing in here?” She spoke through clenched teeth.