Into the Lair (Falcon Mercenary Group #2)(11)

This was turning into one long-ass mission. Goddamn Gabe. Why the hell had he kept Katie a secret, and what the hell kind of mess had he dumped Ian and Braden into by asking them to protect her?

This was supposed to be easy. He’d thought it no less than a dozen times since this shitstorm had started.

“They’re slowing down, Ian,” Braden said.

Ian checked his rearview mirror to see that, sure enough, they were putting more distance between them and their pursuers. He frowned. Why were they giving up?

Katie cautiously rose and glanced back at the fading vehicles. Evidently satisfied that it was safe to sit up, she reclined rigidly against the seat. Ian watched her in the rearview mirror out of the corner of his eye as she gave a weary sigh and closed her eyes.

She looked exhausted. It was obvious she was in a great deal of pain. Unexpectedly, his gut clenched. What had the little bastard done to her?

If he’d expected her to be an easy acquisition—and he had—he’d never been more wrong in his life. She wasn’t a shrinking violet. She had courage—and a spine made of steel. Some of his earlier annoyance faded. He admired guts, especially in a woman who looked way too small to ever fend for herself.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She opened one eye and stared back at him. “Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“No. But I’ll get there.”

His lips quirked upward in a smile.

Braden turned in his seat to stare at Katie. “What the hell did you do to Ricardo de la Cruz, lady?”

“The name is Katie. Use it.”

He gave her a lazy grin. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” she muttered.

Ian chuckled under his breath. Braden the babe magnet was failing in the charm department.

“Look, can you just pull over and let me out?” she asked. “It’s obvious neither of you understand the seriousness of the situation. Maybe you have time to sit around and make stupid remarks and laugh at your own lame-ass humor, but I really need to put as much distance between me and Ricardo de la Cruz as possible.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Keep your panties on. Braden’s way of dealing with any tense situation is with lameness. What can I say? He’s a lame guy.”

“Hey, f**k you,” Braden said. “And good God, don’t tell me you’re getting a sense of humor in the middle of a mission gone to shit.”

Ian ignored his brother. “We hauled your pretty ass out of Ricardo’s grasp, so the least you can do is show a little gratitude.”

Her mouth gaped open. It was a pretty mouth too. One he could easily fantasize about. He blinked as the absurdity of his thoughts hit him.

“You pompous, dumb-as-shit moron. If it weren’t for you, Ricardo would have never caught me. I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’d be halfway across the country with money and means of transportation.”

She heaved a breath, and he saw her wince, but her face was mottled with anger, and her eyes glittered.

“And as for hauling my ass anywhere, I had already taken Ricardo down and escaped through a window, thank you very much. I’d gotten over the wall and would have escaped the grounds on my own. Where the hell do you get off thinking you’re some kind of goddamn hero when all you’ve done is cause me endless pain and grief at that ass**le’s hands?”

“This would probably be a good time for you to shut up, dude,” Braden said out of the corner of his mouth as he surveyed Katie with an amused expression.

Suddenly Braden’s head snapped back as Katie decked him. All amusement vanished, replaced by astonishment.

“She hit me!”

“Let. Me. Out. Now.” Fury glinted in her eyes as she gave her dictate through gritted teeth.

Ian didn’t know whether to throw back his head and laugh his ass off—and he probably would if he wasn’t sure she’d deck him next—or gag her. He was seriously leaning toward the latter.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with us.” He stared at her in the rearview mirror. “Gabe asked us to come,” he said quietly.

Raw grief swamped her eyes. “Is he alive?”

Ian hesitated a moment too long. He watched her fold inward, hunching her body into a ball. She turned her face away, pressed her cheek into the seat and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he doubted she heard him.

He exchanged uneasy glances with Braden then returned his attention to the road. He listened for the sounds of her weeping, but she didn’t make a single peep.

Every once in a while he glanced back at her, but she remained huddled against the seat, her expression one of deep pain.

Something in his chest softened. She was prickly as hell, but then who could blame her? She was right. He and Braden had likely been the cause of her falling into de la Cruz’s hands, and she’d suffered a lot at those hands.

His jaw tightened as his gaze flickered over the bruises on her face and neck. He’d like to meet up with Ricardo. Severing the ass**le’s dick with a rusty knife held a certain appeal.

At some point she drifted off to sleep. Her body language changed from the tense, defensive don’t f**king touch me stance to a more relaxed posture. Her eyelashes rested on her cheeks, but even in sleep, there was such an expression of sorrow that it formed a knot in his throat.