Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(81)

“I let her think you killed him, and that you don’t want her anymore.”

My fist connects with his face, and suddenly I’m on top of him, hitting him.

“I’m sorry, man,” he gasps out, trying to shield himself. He can’t—I’m too full of rage and pain. And he won’t hit back. He knows he’s done wrong. It’s Calder who pulls me off and pins me to the wall.

“He’s sorry!” Calder says.

“You’re my f*cking brother!” I say as Stone pulls himself up, spitting blood.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s all I’ve got.” He wipes his mouth with his arm. “That, and a truly badass plan to take down a transport.”

“Fuck.” I pull on my holster and grab a sawed-off. “She doesn’t like closed spaces. She’ll be scared. She’ll hate to be locked up. What’s the time?”

“Transport leaves in thirty,” Calder says.

I get up nose to nose with Stone. I want to smash his face in some more, and I want to kiss him for pulling the gang into this. Getting us on board. He probably orchestrated it all with the guys. “Nobody touches her except me.”

Stone nods.

I get down to the main floor, and the guys are there, six of us, suited up—all except Nate; he’s back at his farm. “Could be a trick,” Calder says. “Wanting to smoke us out.”

“Probably is a trick,” Stone says.

“We’ll make them sorry they played it,” I say.

Calder laughs. Then a couple of the other guys laugh. Yeah, it probably is a trick.

*

The highway is dark and not hugely busy. The transport is a modified van. Black. Tinted windows up front, none in back. They chose an eight p.m. transport, hoping to avoid rush hour. I sit in the passenger seat next to Stone, who drives the stolen Jeep Cherokee with determination. We’re in four vehicles.

The wind through the open windows whips my hair. Can she feel me out here? Does she know I’m coming for her?

Compared to taking down an armored car, taking down a prison transport is a piece of cake. We get a stolen car in front of them with a scrambler to block their radio. It’s a big f*cking machine in the trunk and it only works at a range of twenty feet, but it blots out all communication.

We spot the unmarked cars right away, and the guys go to work.

A few shots. A few tires out. They drop back.

After that, the transport is a sitting duck, there to be picked off, but we have to be fast to avoid a chase.

Stone forces it off the road. The key is to get the vehicle disabled right away. He and Cruz jump out and run around to the sides, shooting wild for shock value, pulling the guards out and roughing them up. But all I can think about is Abby, frightened, not knowing what’s going on.

Once the drivers are handled, Stone torches the rear door and I sledgehammer it open. And there she is. Alone. Hands cuffed. Prison orange.

I get in. “Baby.”

She stands. “Grayson,” she says, a sob in her voice. “You came.”

“Of course I came.” I grab her face and kiss her wild, like the starving man that I am. “I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were home.”

“No time,” Stone says.

“Abby,” I say. “Do you want this? Do you want to come with me?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Look where I am.”

“No, I don’t want to be a better choice than prison. We can find a way to get you out, baby—I’ll go down for Dorman before I let you serve. What I’m asking is, do you want to come with me? Be with me? Like we were.”

“Yes,” she says, sounding happy, almost laughing. “Yes!”

Sirens in the distance. Cruz jingles a fistful of keys. I pull her into my arms and jump down. Stone has the door open. I carry her into the backseat and belt us in, with her on my lap still, because I’m not letting her go. Stone’s driving, and Cruz’s riding shotgun.

“Shit’s gonna get rough,” I say.

She looks into my eyes. She trusts me to protect her, and I will. She clings to my shirt with her cuffed hands as Stone peels out, fast as f*ck.

“Three minutes,” Cruz says. “We might be good.” Meaning, we might have avoided a chase.

“That’s called motherf*cking planning, brother,” Stone says.

Abby’s not listening. “I couldn’t call you,” she says. She’s babbling, crying.

“I know, baby.” I brush aside her hair.

“They were tapping my phone, following me. But I knew you didn’t do it.”

I set my forehead against hers, feeling like shit for not trusting her. “I gotcha now,” I say.





Chapter Forty-Three




Abigail


I’m sitting in the turret room. Grayson pulled down the boards and put in a screen window so that the summer breeze can blow through.

From here, I can see blocks and blocks of boarded-up ruins across the neighborhood, some looking decayed, others like an angry god smashed a fist through them. Greenery pokes out in unexpected places, nature trying to reclaim this space but turning it into something else instead. The beauty here is wild and dark. And it’s ours.

At first it seemed so strange that such an outwardly ruined place as the Bradford could feel cozy inside, but after four months, it no longer seems strange at all. It just feels like home.