Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(61)

The attacker slammed Greg on the shoulder and took out a gun. Greg dropped to one knee and looked up, pure rage across his young face. His muscles bunched to move, but the attacker cocked the gun and pointed it at his forehead.

“No!” Zara jumped up, grabbed a cast-iron skillet, and swung with all her strength. It hit the guy in the shoulder, and he partially turned toward her.

Greg swept out his leg, hitting the guy in the knee, and he fell.

Zara swung the skillet again at the guy’s head. The edge hit mid-temple, and the man’s head jerked back, he hit the floor, and bounced. His eyes fluttered shut, and his entire body went limp.

Ryker came flying over the kitchen island, landed hard, and rolled, a gun in his hand. He leaped up, firing into the living room. One guy bellowed in pain, and his buddy grabbed him, yanking him through the door. They ran out into the night.

Zara sucked in air, her head still spinning. She grabbed the counter to keep from going down.

Ryker reached her in seconds. Blood flowed from a cut on his chin, dripping to his bare chest. “You okay?”

She nodded and rubbed her aching jaw. “Yeah. Just got kicked.”

He leaned in and studied her jaw. Tension emanated from him, and with the gun in his hand, he looked like the badass vigilante he was.

The screech of tires outside filled the night.

Greg shoved to his feet and kicked the downed man in the kitchen. The guy didn’t even groan.

Zara hurried through the mess to the boy and tilted his head back. “Oh, sweetie. You’re gonna have a black eye.” The poor kid. Her heart lurched and continued its hammering.

“Not my first.” Greg smiled through bloodied lips, nudging a pot away from his foot. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” The kid could really fight.

Sadness whipped through her. The poor kid must’ve had to know how to fight. As did Ryker. Lost, wounded males all but surrounded her. She reached for a paper towel to press to Greg’s lip. She looked down at the unconscious man. “He duct-taped my mouth.”

Greg gingerly fingered a bruise forming by his cheek. “Was he here for you or me?” He looked at Ryker. “Or you?”

Ryker leaned down and ripped off the face mask. Thick black hair covered the guy’s head along with a matching beard. He had a strong jaw that went with his powerhouse of a body. “Anybody recognize this guy?”

Greg peered closer. “Nope.”

Zara shook her head. “No.” Her knees went weak.

“Whoa.” Ryker tugged her against him for a moment. “Take a deep breath, baby.”

She did so, and her lungs seized. Shuddering, she burrowed into the warm safety he provided. Then she looked into the living room. A chair lay in pieces next to her shattered lamps. One painting hung haphazardly from a corner, and blood marred the throw rug. The front door remained open with the damaged lock half out of the frame. “Should we call the police?”

Ryker studied the guy on the ground. “Not yet.” He crouched and grabbed the duct tape. “Zara? Go pack a bag for a week’s stay. Greg? Get your stuff.” Her grabbed the guy’s arm and started winding the tape around his hairy wrists.

Zara stumbled. “What are you doing?”

Ryker looked up, giving her his full attention.

She took a step back.

Cold intent filled his eyes, which lacked any warmth. Blood dotted his chest, and a couple of purple bruises had begun to form along his muscled arms. Danger cascaded from him along with an untenable tension. “Do as I’ve said, Zara. Now.”

She didn’t know him like this. Not at all. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned and all but ran for the bedroom to pack a bag.

What had she gotten involved in?

*



Ryker finished binding the guy’s wrists and ankles with the duct tape, and then for good measure, he slapped a piece across the guy’s mouth. With that beard and mustache, it’d hurt like hell when pulled off.

Greg returned to the kitchen with his backpack over one shoulder. A lump marred the skin above his left eye. “I told you to cut her loose, man.”

Ryker stood. “What if this was about her, not you?”

“Think it was?” Greg asked.

“We’re gonna find out. He duct-taped her mouth, which might mean he wanted to take her. Or maybe he just wanted her quiet while he killed you. Or me.” Ryker stretched his aching jaw, adrenaline pushing him to hurry it up. He had to cover Zara and now. “Either way, we need to get her out of here.”

“Okay.”

Ryker studied the kid. “You okay with what’s going to happen?”

Greg lifted a dark eyebrow, his lips curving in a smirk. “If you don’t have the stomach for it, I do. Give me five minutes with the guy, and he’ll tell us everything we want to know and then some.”

Great. Ryker ignored the warnings clamoring in his head even as his heart hurt for the kid. Man, he saw himself in Greg—another lost kid just trying to survive and build a family with his brothers—and Ryker would protect him no matter the cost.

What a shit-storm. He had a woman in the other room now frightened of him and probably in more danger than she understood, and he had a boy in front of him who was well versed in torture at only about twelve years old. Plus, the past was breathing down his neck and about to explode again—he just knew it. “We’re f*cked,” he muttered.