Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(55)
I had to move quickly. I didn’t know how long people stayed knocked out for since I didn’t have much experience in that department. My hands reached under the pillows for the ripped up sheets I had stashed there. As quick as I could I fastened Rafe’s hands to the headboard. I hoped they held for long enough. Just to be safe I wadded up some sheet and stuffed it in his mouth. I deduced he could just spit it out. My eyes moved to his belt and I had an idea. I quickly whipped it off, fastening it around his head so it kept the fabric in place. Even if he did wake up he couldn’t yell for help. I mentally patted myself on the back. Just call me MacGyver.
I jumped off the bed. I felt something warm trickling down my leg and glanced down to see blood seeping out of my bandage. The pain in my thighs was excruciating, I gritted my teeth and willed myself not to black out. This was it, my only chance. I would crawl out of here if I had to.
Holding the gun to my side I crept out the door, poking my head out. I half expected to see armed men storming toward me but all I saw was an empty hallway. I took a deep breath and tiptoed out. My bare feet were another hitch in the plan, but Clark had only provided me with heels. Although I didn’t doubt my abilities to carry out any task while wearing heels, I didn’t think they would couple too well with stealth and marble floors. I hurried down the hallway as fast as I could with my injured legs, ignoring the blood trickling down in a steady stream. I paused just before rounding the corner to the staircase.
“Shit,” I whispered, hearing soft footfalls. I clamped my hand over my mouth realizing being silent was an integral part of a stealth escape.
Trying to ignore the dread pooling in the bottom of my stomach I raised my gun with a steady hand. Was I ready to shoot someone? Hell no. But I wasn’t ready to give up on freedom either.
A figure rounded the corner and I took a deep breath, hand on the trigger.
“Amy?” Brock whispered in disbelief as he rounded the corner, lowering the gun he had pointed at me.
Holy shit. Relief flooded through me, but I was in shock so I didn’t think about lowering my gun. I was blinking furiously, praying this wasn’t a hallucination.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him, looking him up and down. He looked as good as ever. In hindsight this may have not been the time for me to check him out.
“I’m here for a tea party...what the f*ck do you think? I’m here to rescue you. What are you doing? Lower the gun, Sparky, I’m not fond of getting shot,” he said dryly, but I could see the tension in his features.
“I’m rescuing myself—I couldn’t wait around for you. I’m not fond of how they treat their guests here,” I replied, lowering the gun to my side.
Brock’s gaze moved down my body and he stilled when he focused on my legs.
“Jesus Christ. You’re bleeding.” I glanced down, seeing a red line staining my bare thighs.
“I’m aware,” I replied, feeling lightheaded. “My stitches ripped when I was tying Rafe to the bed.”
Brock’s face turned to stone. His eyes were haunted. “Stitches?” he finally bit out. “Where the f*ck is this Rafe?” he added, looking ready to kill someone.
“Can we maybe have this conversation when we are away from a big mansion full of gun toting psychopaths?” I asked mildly.
Brock looked like he was about to answer when we both heard movement from the direction he came from. He moved quickly, pushing me behind him and raising his gun. I noticed it had a long attachment on it and realized it was a silencer. Nifty.
To my amazement Lucky appeared in front of us, his own gun raised. Both men quickly lowered their weapons.
“Jesus Christ, Lucky, I almost shot you.”
Lucky grinned. “Ditto, brother, we need a f*cking bird call or something.”
He lost his grin when he locked eyes with mine. “Can’t tell you how glad I am to see your beautiful face, darlin’. Things have been mighty boring without you around.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad I could put some excitement back into your life, Luck, but for now can we blow this joint?” I asked, swaying slightly. I was feeling a little lightheaded. I chalked it up to the fact I hadn’t eaten in twenty four hours.
“I think we’ve outstayed our welcome anyway,” Lucky stated as I heard the faint sound of gunshots. “Boys are downstairs with the wheels. Let’s go.”
Brock turned to me, his eyes hard and determined. A concerned glance flicked to my legs. “You going to be able to walk?”
I puffed up my chest, trying to garner some strength. I had to ignore the pain, let Brock focus on not getting shot. “I’ll be fine, lead the way.”
“Stay behind me, Abrams. If anyone starts shooting get down,” he ordered. His eyes moved to the gun in my hand. “And don’t point that at me again.”
Despite the circumstances irritation bloomed in me. “I can’t make any promises,” I snapped.
“I hate it when Mom and Dad fight,” Lucky whined. “Can we save the domestic squabble for when the probability of us getting shot is considerably lower?” he called over his shoulder.
Brock stared at me for a second, then he grasped my head, pulling my mouth to his. It was a quick kiss, closed mouthed and urgent. His forehead dropped to mine for a moment and he turned. “Stay behind me,” he repeated over his shoulder as he started walking.