Devlin (Dirty Aces MC #2) - Lane Hart Page 0,53

in the corner is a woman with bright, red hair that forms a mane around her young face. For an instant, I think it’s really her, but her crying eyes aren’t brown.

“Is this her? Is this Jetta?” Silas asks.

“No. Fuck,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “And this one probably brought everyone left in the house our way!”

“Should I kill her?” Silas asks coolly.

“No, you shouldn’t kill her!” I tell him, placing my hand on the top of his gun to lower the muzzle to the floor. “Who are you? Do you work for Harry?” I ask the terrified woman who just nearly had her head blown off by my twisted-ass brother. “Well? Answer me!” I demand when she doesn’t say a word and I have to keep checking over my shoulder toward Nash to see if there are more guards coming.

“I’m-I’m just a-a chef,” the woman finally stammers. “He-he forced me to c-come here and cook for him! I swear! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Shh, calm down,” I tell her. “We’re not going to hurt you,” I promise her while also warning Silas, who is a little too trigger happy. “I’m looking for a girl with red hair who was with Harry. Did you see her?”

The woman shakes her head no. “He was with a woman earlier at dinner, but her hair wasn’t red.”

“What color was it?” I ask, holding my breath.

“I can’t remember.”

“Try!” I demand.

“I only saw her for a second! I think…I think her hair was a lot of colors, okay? Maybe blue, green and purple all mixed together, but I’m not sure!”

“That’s Jetta. It has to be,” I say since she’s always changing her hair. I just didn’t know she would do it after I left tonight. Was she trying to impress her “date”? No. That’s impossible. There’s no way she would even think about being with anyone but me, especially not some sick fatso like Harry, right?

I tell myself that I know Jetta and she didn’t want any part of this “date” tonight but only agreed to it because her idiot brother pressured her into it. She loves me too, whether she wants to admit it or not. The crazy woman thinks that I’m the one who isn’t ready to settle down when I’m blowing holes in people to try and find her. If that doesn’t say committed, then I don’t know what the hell does.

“Jetta’s still here,” I tell Silas. “She has to be. We need to keep searching.”

“Fine. What do you want to do with her?” he asks, pointing his gun at the woman on the floor.

“Leave her. She’s safer in the pantry,” I tell him. Then to her I say, “Stay here and don’t come out until we tell you to. Got it?”

“Y-yes,” she answers with a nod, her teeth chattering from shock as she wraps her arms around her knees that are pulled up to her chest. God, she reminds me so much of Jetta. Why couldn’t it be her here safe and sound in the fucking pantry?

“Let’s go,” I say to Silas. I start to shut the pantry door when Nash yells, “Incoming!”

“It’s us! Hold your fucking fire,” Malcolm calls back before him, Fiasco and Wirth slip past Nash to join us in the kitchen, still wearing their helmets.

“Everyone whole?” I ask in concern since I don’t know what the hell I would do if one of my brothers gets hurt and it’s my fault for dragging them into this mess.

“We’re good,” Malcolm says. “Took out three guards around the side yard and back. You all have any trouble?”

“Three guards at the front too, but we got the jump on them before they knew we were there.”

“Good,” Fiasco says before he peeks in the closet. “Who is she?”

“Chef apparently,” I tell him, right before a gun blast goes off. The woman screams bloody murder while the rest of us hit the floor on our stomachs instinctively. Well, all of us except for Nash.

“What the fuck, Nash?” Fiasco grumbles.

“It was another guard,” Nash responds. “We need to get out of here and spread out before more come and trap us inside.”

“He’s right. Let’s move,” Malcolm agrees.

“We’ll come back for you soon,” I tell the frazzled chef before I shut the pantry door on her.

As a group, we make our way around the lower level of the house that’s empty. We’re about to head up to the second floor when there’s a loud creaking like footsteps from the ceiling above us. The reason for