Cherish Me (Stark Ever After #6.5) - J. Kenner Page 0,19

question was how many men were inside the building. He’d turned off the radio, but if he turned it on again, he could listen to their conversation and try to make a tally. Ron was dead, he knew that. Barclay was alive, and presumably one of the two men who’d walked down the hall. At least one man must be in the bar, probably two. That meant a minimum of four alive in the building and at least the eight he counted on the sidewalk, probably more.

He turned on the radio, keeping the volume as low as possible.

“—fucking dead. There’s some prick on the loose and he killed Ron.”

“Must’ve gone down. Want me to check?”

“No. Barclay, you handle that. Search the floors, search the reception area. Deake, you go up. Check the roof. Kill the fucker.”

“Don’t worry. I see him, I’m putting a bullet in his brain.”

“But don’t we want to know who—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass. I want him dead. Go. We’re on a timetable, and I still need to get the goddamn vault code.”

The roof.

And there was the opportunity he was looking for. He hurried toward the main entrance to the roof, thinking about the vault and the gemstone and the thug who was going to be bursting through that door any minute.

He waited, the radio on silent as his pulse pounded. He heard Deake’s footsteps first, then saw the door ease open.

Deake led with the barrel of the rifle, and Damien didn’t hesitate. He got off a roundhouse kick against the door, sending Deake tumbling to the ground. Damien dove for the rifle and sent it flying out of Deake’s hand.

With the other, Deake aimed his own handgun, but Damien had gone low and it was too late. Damien got his shots off, emptying two rounds into the bastard, chest and head.

He stood back, breathing hard. He would have preferred to have caught the guy and broken his neck. Or drowned him in the pool. The odds that those shots had gone unnoticed by the boys on the sidewalk was slim. Which meant he had to figure a way off the roof other than the stairwell.

And he had to hurry. This was clearly a heist, but he didn’t know their exact plan. If they decided to kill the hostages and blow the safe—hell, blow the hotel—then Nikki had no chance other than him.

As much as the possibility terrified him, he knew he had to keep the worst case scenario in mind.

She was relying on him, and he was going to get to her. But how, goddammit? How?

And then he remembered. God, he was an idiot.

He scrambled to one of the sofas in the cabana area, giving him a view of the stairwell in case anyone was on their way up.

And then, from that point of relative safety, he dialed his brother and prayed that Jackson answered his phone.

Chapter Eleven

Damien conferenced Ryan and Jackson in together, and though the line crackled and reception was terrible, at least he could hear them both. And the sound of their voices gave him comfort. His brother, who had designed the hotel, and Ryan, one of the best operatives in the world of security and paramilitary operations.

“Contact whoever you think best,” Damien said to Ryan. He’d already given them a quick rundown of the situation. “It sounds like a heist, but you can never be too sure. Apparently, they’ve already killed a woman in the bar.”

He heard his voice break and Ryan’s soft, “It wasn’t Nikki. You have to keep believing that it wasn’t Nikki.”

“I know. That’s part of why I called you two instead of 911. I want someone I trust taking charge. I don’t want any hero tactics that might put her at risk.”

“We’ve got this, little brother. You and Nikki will walk out of that hotel. No other outcome is acceptable.” That was Jackson’s voice, and Damien almost smiled. He hadn’t known Jackson his whole life, but there was something about his older brother telling him it would be okay that cut straight to Damien’s soul.

Even with everything he’d accomplished over his life and career, Damien had never faced a situation like this before. At the same time, he’d never been one to flounder in the face of a challenge. He had this. He was going to find his wife. He was going to save his wife. And he was going to nail to the wall the bastards who had done this.

“If this is a heist,” Jackson said,