shouted.
“Kill Chale!” the male voice yelled, from what sounded like the front door. Shit! That was Lucian all right. What the hell was he doing here? And what the hell was Lara involved with?
Damion hunched into a squatting position, ready to launch himself into action to save Chale, when he heard a female grunt and a moan of pain.
“I got the bitch!” Chale said. “Save the girl.”
Relief washed over Damion, and he almost smiled as he realized Chale had just put his free assets, his booted feet and long legs, to good use. But it was relief blasted away with the sound of a gun firing.
“Chale!” Damion yelled, his heart jackknifing, certain Chale’s attempts to fight back had gotten him killed.
“I said I got the bitch!” Chale shouted back, followed by the sound of something scraping the floor. A second later a gun hit Damion’s hand.
This time Damion did smile as he snatched up the weapon and shoved it awkwardly into his rear waistband with the Glock that was already there. Still squatting, he followed the sounds of the whimpering female until he was at her side.
“Shhh,” he whispered, leaning in close to her ear, placing a hand on her back and leaving it there a moment, to allow her to get used to his touch, before he scooped her up and charged through the smoke-filled room, toward what were thankfully still the open elevator doors.
Once he had her inside the compartment, he set her on the floor—leaving her gagged to prevent a telltale scream, while he keyed the security code. Holding the car open with his booted foot, he cut the ties on her arms and legs. “When you get to the next level, get out, and send it back to me.” He moved out of the doorway, let the steel panels seal shut, and stepped right into a gust of wind so powerful he swayed.
The wind funneled out the front door as if sucked from a pipe, the room clearing almost instantly. Michael stood in the cabin’s entrance, his long black hair rushing around his shoulders. His unique GTECH skill allowed him to control and communicate with the wind. Michael wouldn’t know to be here if someone—Lara—hadn’t told him there was trouble. Lucian and Sabrina were nowhere in sight. Too bad they’d been smart enough to get the hell out of Dodge. Damion had been looking forward to killing them both.
Even more so when he realized Chale wasn’t moving, nor was his loud mouth spewing smart-ass attitude. Still tied to the chair, he lay on his back, blood spilling to the floor from his gut, darkening the bandages that had been used to help keep him alive until they didn’t need him anymore—like now. Damion’s and Michael’s eyes met from across the room, all their differences cast aside in a rare moment of understanding, in what, at its core, was brotherhood. Neither wanted to know Chale was dead.
“How about… untying me?” Chale grumbled, with a squirm of discomfort that had him hissing in pain.
Michael and Damion both smiled, and in unison wind-walked to Chale’s side. “I’ll take him to Sunrise right away,” Michael said, cutting the restraints around Chale’s arms. “He needs immediate medical attention.”
“How about not talking about me like I’m already dead,” Chale complained. “I’m not, in case you didn’t notice.” He eyed Damion, sucking in a wheezy breath, before adding, “I kicked that witch’s hot, little ass, even with my hands tied.”
“How do you still have attitude?” Damion asked, as he and Michael each grabbed one of Chale’s arms and helped him stand up.
“It’s a gift,” Chale whispered. “One that really pissed Lucian off.” He wheezed. “Ate… that shit… up.”
A tight ball formed in Damion’s chest. “For once, no jokes.” He didn’t even try to keep the snap out of the order. War was serious, deadly, and joking got you killed. Damion had learned that the hard way, the day his baby brother had died. His brother had been just like Chale, a smart-ass, even as he’d
“Kill Chale!” the male voice yelled, from what sounded like the front door. Shit! That was Lucian all right. What the hell was he doing here? And what the hell was Lara involved with?
Damion hunched into a squatting position, ready to launch himself into action to save Chale, when he heard a female grunt and a moan of pain.
“I got the bitch!” Chale said. “Save the girl.”
Relief washed over Damion, and he almost smiled as he realized Chale had just put his free assets, his booted feet and long legs, to good use. But it was relief blasted away with the sound of a gun firing.
“Chale!” Damion yelled, his heart jackknifing, certain Chale’s attempts to fight back had gotten him killed.
“I said I got the bitch!” Chale shouted back, followed by the sound of something scraping the floor. A second later a gun hit Damion’s hand.
This time Damion did smile as he snatched up the weapon and shoved it awkwardly into his rear waistband with the Glock that was already there. Still squatting, he followed the sounds of the whimpering female until he was at her side.
“Shhh,” he whispered, leaning in close to her ear, placing a hand on her back and leaving it there a moment, to allow her to get used to his touch, before he scooped her up and charged through the smoke-filled room, toward what were thankfully still the open elevator doors.
Once he had her inside the compartment, he set her on the floor—leaving her gagged to prevent a telltale scream, while he keyed the security code. Holding the car open with his booted foot, he cut the ties on her arms and legs. “When you get to the next level, get out, and send it back to me.” He moved out of the doorway, let the steel panels seal shut, and stepped right into a gust of wind so powerful he swayed.
The wind funneled out the front door as if sucked from a pipe, the room clearing almost instantly. Michael stood in the cabin’s entrance, his long black hair rushing around his shoulders. His unique GTECH skill allowed him to control and communicate with the wind. Michael wouldn’t know to be here if someone—Lara—hadn’t told him there was trouble. Lucian and Sabrina were nowhere in sight. Too bad they’d been smart enough to get the hell out of Dodge. Damion had been looking forward to killing them both.
Even more so when he realized Chale wasn’t moving, nor was his loud mouth spewing smart-ass attitude. Still tied to the chair, he lay on his back, blood spilling to the floor from his gut, darkening the bandages that had been used to help keep him alive until they didn’t need him anymore—like now. Damion’s and Michael’s eyes met from across the room, all their differences cast aside in a rare moment of understanding, in what, at its core, was brotherhood. Neither wanted to know Chale was dead.
“How about… untying me?” Chale grumbled, with a squirm of discomfort that had him hissing in pain.
Michael and Damion both smiled, and in unison wind-walked to Chale’s side. “I’ll take him to Sunrise right away,” Michael said, cutting the restraints around Chale’s arms. “He needs immediate medical attention.”
“How about not talking about me like I’m already dead,” Chale complained. “I’m not, in case you didn’t notice.” He eyed Damion, sucking in a wheezy breath, before adding, “I kicked that witch’s hot, little ass, even with my hands tied.”
“How do you still have attitude?” Damion asked, as he and Michael each grabbed one of Chale’s arms and helped him stand up.
“It’s a gift,” Chale whispered. “One that really pissed Lucian off.” He wheezed. “Ate… that shit… up.”
A tight ball formed in Damion’s chest. “For once, no jokes.” He didn’t even try to keep the snap out of the order. War was serious, deadly, and joking got you killed. Damion had learned that the hard way, the day his baby brother had died. His brother had been just like Chale, a smart-ass, even as he’d
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