“You won’t admit it, but I know you’re frustrated. Worried. You’ll find something,” Vincent says.
His words are almost meaningless. This bastard politician has taken so many precautions over the years, and nothing I’ve found so far is big enough to take him down. Even killing him isn’t an easy solution, because his absence would be noticeable. Plus, he could have set contingencies in place, directing authorities to us in the event of his death.
“Carter?” Maddox asks.
“I’m fine. And yes, I will find him, if only—” My phone rings, interrupting me.
It’s Scarlet.
But she never calls, only texts.
I swipe the screen to answer. “Hello—”
“Midnight! Open the front door!” she screams over the phone. “Nooow!”
There’s a lot of shuffling and commotion in the background. A woman’s anxious scream. I break into a sprint toward the door and just as I unlock it, a crash sounds on the other side. A split second later, Scarlet and Katya burst in.
“Incoming!”
“There’s at least five of them!” Katya shouts as she hurries toward the back of the barroom.
None of us have time for questions as six men storm in, ready for a fight.
I catch one in a headlock and slam his head against the wall, repeating the action three more times until he passes out. Then I rush to Scarlet, seeing red when a man goes to attack her. Finnigan, Vincent, and Maddox are all busy with their own targets, but someone grabs me before I can reach her.
The man’s grip on my shoulder is iron. He yanks me backward, and I stumble behind the bar. Bottles rattle and glass clinks as my spine collides with the bar’s polished edge, but I don’t have time to process the sting of pain. His fist flies toward my face, and I jerk my head to the side, just missing the punch. He grunts when I retaliate with an elbow to his ribs, but he doesn’t let up. I’m rewarded with a jab to my side, a sharp pain bursting behind my ribs, but I shove through it with gritted teeth.
I pick up the bottle to my left—a thick, dark glass, nearly full. I seize it and swing it into his temple. The man staggers, dazed, his hands slipping from me. Not enough. I bring the bottle down on his head again, and the glass shatters on impact. Shards slice into his scalp. Blood mixes with the amber liquid dripping down his face, but the bald bastard won’t go down.
He lunges at me, and we’re grappling, fists colliding, breaths harsh and ragged. With my back bent against the bar, I reach behind me and fumble around with blind fingers until my hand lands on a short-bladed knife. It’s flimsy, but I twist it in my hand and ram it upward, jamming it beneath his ribs. He gasps, eyes wide, pain flashing across his face. Twisting the blade deeper, I feel it hit flesh and muscle as I drive it upward with every ounce of strength I have.
The asshole jerks, chokes, and his body slackens as his grip loosens. Stepping back, I let him fall to the floor and whip around to find Scarlet.
The sounds of chaos begin to dim, and I see her, her expression hard but fierce as she wrestles her attacker. I rush to her at the same time as my brothers, also done with their own attackers.
But we all stall; it doesn’t look like Scarlet needs any help at all. The man she’s fighting falls to his knees as she breaks a chair over his head, already looking like he drew the short end of the stick with my mad kitten. She’s not satisfied, though. She grabs a broken chair leg and slams it against his ear in an unhinged rush.
She looks lost in the flow of violence and pain. Utterly in her element as she breaks that chair leg in half. She raises another chair, continuing the job as she practically scolds the guy.
“This will teach you!”
Crack!
“Not to attack!”
Crack!
“Women!”
Crack!
“You fucking asshole!” She punctuates the last sentence with a violent, final swing of the wood across his temple, and the man falls motionless to the ground.
“Jesus Christ,” Maddox says next to me. “She’s—”
“Exquisite,” I finish for him, utterly mesmerized and fascinated by the savagely sexy creature before me.
“Umm . . . sure. Let’s go with that,” he mutters.
