He had to stop her. He hadn’t waited all this time to not get to talk to her. Merc suddenly blocked his path.
“Move, John.” He kept his voice low, level. Mercury loved her, maybe in a different way from Brad, maybe more—maybe he could let her go. Brad was done with letting it go, though. His brothers had already cock-blocked him once, John wasn’t going to do it now.
“What the fuck,Brad?” The gravel in his voice dragged his name over hard rocks. The ruin of his face—hell, he hadn’t been pretty before, but the fire and chemical burns were worse. Brad had seen him after, even watched Copper beat the shit out of him. He hadn’t forgotten. “How the hell do you do this to her?”
Fair question. Wrong person asking. “I’ll answer to her. I oweher. Get the fuck out of my way.” Gabriel was already past the hangar’s bay door, and Copper was out of sight. Not waiting for John’s response, Brad cut around him and strode for the door. Someone called his name, but he ignored them.
Did he need to talk to them? At some point, yes. Confessions made. Apologies given. What the fuck ever. Nothing mattered if he didn’t talk to her first. Gabriel was on the ground—blood dripped from his nose, and he wore a stunned expression. Swiveling his gaze, Brad saw her going for her bike. He stepped out in front of her, but she swerved around him and kept going.
No. Fucking. Way.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a phone and flipped it to the app he never turned off. Her tracker showed a strong signal. Satisfied he could follow, he turned and found himself face to face with Gabriel Danvers. The man who went to sleep next to her every night. The man who’d taken his place. Taken what was his. Brad could pull his gun and put a bullet right between the other man’s frosty blue eyes to eradicate the obstacle.
Sachi would never forgive him if he killed her lover. She might never forgive him anyway. If he killed Gabriel, however, he might as well turn the gun on himself before Sachi did it.
His girl was a stone-cold killer when crossed. She would defend into death what was hers.
So would he.
Gabriel wiped the blood from his lip, then said, “So, you’re the guy.”
“I was.” He clenched the phone tighter. “Now I’m the ghost.”Still talking to the wrong person. He wanted to swear. The one he wanted to talk to,neededto have a conversation with, continued to get farther and farther away. Merc stood in the doorway to the hangar, his gaze on the two of them—guarding her guy, are we?
Ignoring them both, he headed for his bike. He switched apps long enough to open the side garage where his Bandit waited. The 1995 wasn’t a looker, nor was it his favorite kind of bike—but what it had was a 1200 cc engine and the ability to go from zero to eighty in a few seconds. He needed speed.
Copper hadn’t worn a helmet, and she hadn’t been firing on all cylinders when she tore out of the compound. If he had to fucking pluck her off her bike and wreck hers, he would. Aware of his audience, he pulled on his black helmet before he set the phone in the holster in front where he could see the display still ticking her increasing distance.
Son of a bitch. She wasn’t paying attention to her speed as she tore away from him. Firing up the bike, he hit the gate control and accelerated with a scream of rubber against the concrete. Gabriel hadn’t remained rooted to the spot. Instead, a black car slid out of its parking space and followed him.
Well, he’d give the bastard credit. He might have let Copper go, but he wasn’t letting Brad go after her alone.Good luck, man.Not giving the car time to keep up with him, he increased his speed and leaned into the bike. She rode a Triumph—a nice, powerful bike with good speed and an excellent safety rating. When they’d brought it in and retrofitted it, he’d taken it for two test rides to make sure the brakes and handling were in perfect balance.
He knew her. He knew her bike.
His was a metric fuckton faster.
She was almost to US-80. Was she heading to Bone Daddy’s? Dallas proper? The airport? Accelerating, he split his attention between her tracker and the road. The compound was hell and gone from major traffic, but a tractor trailer could still kill him at his current speed. The black car trailing him kept pace though, once they hit the highway, Gabriel would be at a disadvantage.
On US-80, she angled north and west.Where are you going?He concentrated on the road, on gaining ground. When he hit one hundred on the speedometer, he was in the zone. The highway ramp blurred past him, and he used the bike’s size to zip in and around the cars, using the shoulder if he had to.
The gap between him and his target narrowed as she left US-80 on a northern trajectory.
Lake Ray Hubbard.
Water.She was heading to water, or at least, somewhere remote. He took a different exit, trusting his instinct. It came from the same place that told him she’d run before she did it. There were plenty of places along the lake where she could park, walk, hike, run—whatever she wanted to do. But at this angle, she’d hit the first one she came to, and he knew exactly where that was. If he timed it right, he could get there ahead of her.
Be waiting when she got off the bike.
Fifteen minutes later, he watched her pull off the road. The Triumph wobbled a little before she dropped the kickstand to park the bike. The southern ridge sat on some pretty overgrown land, being one of the few areas not developed for lake front property because it was marshy as hell.
Her hair was a wild profusion of curls and tangles, and her eyes were puffy, red, and bruised. Whether from her tears or the lack of a helmet, it didn’t matter. The rawness crushed him. Worse, her shutdown seemed to have narrowed her focus. Either she didn’t see him standing there, or she was ignoring him.
Lack of attention could get her killed. Anger zipped through his grief. She did not fucking get to let herself be killed. He’d already gone through hell when she’d let a building fall on herself.
“Sachi.” His voice sounded sharper than he’d intended. She jerked as though struck. Raw fury kindled in those sad, mad eyes of hers, and he strode toward her.
“No.” The word came out low and choked. She turned for the bike and he ran, slamming into her with a tackle that took her off her feet. If he had to fucking pin her, he would.
She flailed, but her reaction time was off and the blow, which might have crushed his nose, slammed into his shoulder. Her knuckle cracked, and he knew he’d feel the bruise. Feeling bruises was all right though. It meant he was alive. Pinning her arms, he tried to keep her to the ground, but she slammed her knee into his thigh.Another miss.