She tumbled back, her knife dropping.
All the guns that had pulled on Trace were now aimed right at him.
Trace screamed as she rounded into the next garage bay.
Cole used the distraction and quickly plucked up the knife and sliced through the ropes binding his legs.
Trace jumped in her car, the engine revving as it started beautifully, the garage door opening behind her.
When his legs were free enough, he ran for the door, pathetically trying to block the exit. The door wasn’t even fully open, and Trace gunned it out of there, tires squealing. The car slammed against the opening door, but she made it out.
Relief washed over him, knowing she’d be safe. All eyes were on him. The one with the knowledge they needed. No more strings. Only he could get them what they wanted.
The chair arms were still duct taped to his arms, broken slats of wood stuck to his forearms. He held his hands up, the knife limp in his hand.
Fuck. He saw it before the warning shot was even fired. He jumped to the side and fell into the mess of tools he’d left out that afternoon. Too fucking late, the bullet burned the edge of his leg. Fucking flesh wound, too close.
He grabbed a hammer from the ground and launched it at the asshole who shot him. And Jeremy had thought it was the stress that made him leave such a mess in the garage. He knew he’d either get tortured with this shit, or use it to his advantage. He was really glad it was the latter, so far.
Before he made it to his feet, he was surrounded.
Furious and twice Cole’s size, one of Ursula’s goons lumbered toward him, and Cole knew this wasn’t going to end well. He kept one hand tight on Ursula’s knife and quickly grabbed the big ass plumbing wrench he’d never used in his life, but thought it might come in handy. He popped up to his feet and smashed it in the guy’s face.
On the move, he launched at Ursula before anyone could shoot him again. He tackled her, got her in a headlock and dragged them both back to stand.
Every gun in the room was trained on him.
He held her own knife to her throat and used her as a shield. “Try me,” he hissed.
Instead of fading, the sound of Trace’s engine grew closer.
Fuck. Cole moved fast, dragging Ursula with him.
The garage door lifted. Slowly.
No choice but to get the hell out of there. Cole jabbed the knife into Ursula’s inner thigh, nonfatal but only if she got medical care fast.
He dropped her and ran out Ellen’s garage bay, the garage door dented where Trace had floored it out of there. Full throttle, the practical sedan barreled toward them.
A barrage of bullets followed him out. He juked, running wildly to avoid another hit. As he looked back, the three bound and gagged were struggling to stand in the far corner. Out of the way. Thank fucking christ, he didn’t need more blood on his hands.
Trace’s car slammed into the garage. No driver. Way to go Trace. She must have jammed the pedal down.
The engine revved as it slammed into the wall of the garage, wheels spinning. Dammit, the bookshelf was toast. So much for adding the antique hardware that still hadn’t arrived.
He barreled out under Ellen’s broken garage bay door.
Fifteen guns drew on him all at once, some coming out from Jeremy’s garage bay, plus some who had come out of the house at the commotion.
Cole froze, arms up.
One from the shadows behind the tree next to the house, the other dropping down from the roof, Asher and Zane were in full tactical gear, armed and attacking the second they dropped.
His ex-Navy SEAL friends closed in, taking out Ursula’s crew and Janessa’s guards before they could escape.
Cole came in from the other side. Chair arms strapped to his forearms, he used it and slammed into the first.
Janessa roared as she ran for him. Fast, no mercy, she wasn’t going down without a fight. Cole didn’t fucking care. He dodged a fist to the cheek, flinched, and nailed his knee into her abdomen and slammed a quick knockout punch to her nose.
