Donnchadh - Lynn Hagen Page 0,28

but vicious.

They made the way Bimbo dressed look saintly. Their skirts barely covered their lady parts, and their boobs were bursting out of their tiny shirts. They looked as though they could kick Getty’s ass without breaking a nail.

“I’m Rocco.” The guy held out his hand covered in silver rings with skulls and crossbones, and Getty was too terrified to take it. But he was even more afraid not to. That beefy hand could curl into a fist and smash his face in.

Rocco pulled Getty up from the floor and guided him to a table.

“Can I leave?” Getty wished like hell Donnchadh was there. He was bigger than anyone in the room and would kick all their asses if they laid a hand on him.

Please don’t lay a hand on me.

“Someone get Gettysburg something to drink,” Rocco said to the group.

“No, really. I’m fine.” Getty held up his hands. He didn’t want anyone getting him anything. For all he knew, the bartender would grab the dirtiest glass and use it because he’d invaded their little clubhouse. He looked at Rocco. “How do you know my name?”

With an intense stare, Rocco shrugged. “Getty could only be short for one thing.”

Getty wasn’t going to argue any point with Rocco. The guy scared the crap out of him. If Rocco wanted to call him Bergy, Getty wouldn’t object, though he would hate that version of his name.

Someone plopped a huge mug in front of Getty. The beer sloshed around, some spilling on the stained table.

Rocco kicked his booted feet up onto an empty chair beside him. He slouched and scratched at the thick beard around his jaw. “Did your mother finally tell you about me?”

Getty had no clue what Rocco was talking about. He lifted the mug and sucked down some of the beer. He didn’t want to be rude and leave the beer untouched. Besides, he wanted to wet his dry throat. “How do you know my mom?”

A smile curved the side of Rocco’s lips, making his blue eyes sparkle. “I know your mom because we slept together twenty-eight years ago.” He leaned forward, and Getty leaned back, refusing to believe anything this nutjob had to say. “I’m your old man, Getty.”

Chapter Eight

Donny lifted himself up to the large beam that held the chains. They might not be able to get the chains off Cadeym, but he would try to break the beam. That way they could at least carry the warrior out of there.

Hondo saw what he was doing and jumped up, grabbing the beam as if he were about to do pull-ups. The others joined them, and the wood groaned under the tremendous weight before cracking and finally giving way.

Panahasi caught Cadeym before the warrior hit the floor. Now all they had to do was figure a way out of the building. Donny was dying to get back to Getty, to make sure his mate was still safe and secure.

He also wanted to curl into Getty’s arms and wash away the terror that had taken hold when he’d spotted the hellhounds. Not too many things crippled Donny, and he’d never had anyone to take comfort in, but right now fear was riding him hard.

“Stay between us,” Donny said to Panahasi. “We’ll make a wall of protection around you while we figure out how to get out of here.”

They filed out of the room with Donny near the front of their group. He stopped dead when he saw the hellhounds gathered at the east stairwell.

Donny had been overconfident in Fever’s Edge, taking risks he shouldn’t have taken, and had nearly paid the ultimate price. Now he had something to fight for, a mate he desperately wanted to get back to, a life he wanted to build with his shorty, and he wasn’t going to let those mutts take that away from him.

Donny grabbed the knives in the sheaths that were strapped around his thighs then rolled his shoulders.

“We kill them all,” Hondo snarled.

“Wonder Twin rings?” Donny winked at him.

Hondo grinned. “Activate.”

“Watch their bite,” Panahasi shouted as he handed Cadeym off to Phoenyx and joined them. They’d all armed themselves with blades before they’d gone to the Black River.

Donny had been too paralyzed with fear to use them earlier. He’d been consumed by terror and had allowed it to nearly swallow him whole.

But he kept thinking about his mate, keeping Getty in the forefront of his thoughts. He used that thought to fuel his rage as he snarled and barreled forward when