Silver Bastard(104)

“It’s clear,” Ruger said, nodding at Boonie. “They’re in the office.”

Boonie started down the hall as I turned back toward the main floor.

“How clear are we?” I asked, moving on to the next phase.

“Double-check the bar, then hit the champagne rooms,” Gage said. “We’ve kept count—nobody’s back there but Becca, unless someone’s been hiding since before the club opened. Clear the rooms then come back to help with the hostages.”

All according to plan.

I ran back into the hallway and started opening doors. There were six of them, and the first four were empty. Then I opened the fifth. I almost missed Becca at first—she’d tucked herself into the corner behind the door. When she saw me her face turned white.

“I can explain,” she whispered. The sight of her—half naked—should’ve set me off. Instead I went totally cold. Five years. Five fucking years I’d waited for this woman, treated her like she was glass. Held back. Now she was waving her tits in a fucking strip club. How long had she been coming here? Had she ever been in school at all?

No, she couldn’t have worked here long—someone would have seen her. None of it made sense—not that it mattered right now. I had to get her out of here and finish clearing the rooms. I’d figure out what the hell was really going on after we finished up.

Fucking bitch.

“Get out of here,” I said, grabbing her arm and jerking her into the hallway. “Go out the back door. You’ll see a van there—get inside and wait for me.”

She nodded quickly, stumbling as she ran toward the emergency exit.

I turned to the final door.

That’s when shit got real.





FOURTEEN


BECCA

I’ll never forget the look on Puck’s face when he found me hiding in the champagne room. Not disgust, or anger . . . Not even betrayal.

Much worse.

He’d looked right through me, eyes as dead as Painter’s. Up to that point I’d managed not to think about him, not to consider the consequences of my actions on our relationship. It wasn’t that I’d expected to take off for California and then come back to pick things up where we left them.

I really hadn’t been thinking at all.

Now—as I reached for the bar on the exit door—reality struck. I’d destroyed us. Whatever “us” there had been, I’d killed it because I was fucked in the head.

More evidence that everything I’d fought for in Callup was a lie. Girls like me didn’t get happily ever afters. We got dark strip clubs and men with guns, right up to the point where it all ended in an orgy of violence. If we got very lucky, we got to be the murderers and not the victims.

From the look in Puck’s eyes, I might’ve landed on the wrong side of that equation.

I turned to look at him one last time—no way I planned to go sit quietly in that van and wait for him. The MC had a job to do here, and it didn’t include chasing me down. If I could reach my car, I still had a fighting chance.

Puck was reaching for the final door when it slammed open between us. Crouse came out swinging, catching Puck under the chin and knocking him across the hallway. The gun flew and then it was in Crouse’s hand. He pointed it at Puck, holding him pinned to the floor.

Holy. Shit.

What the hell should I do now?

“Get outside, girlie,” Crouse said over his shoulder, his words a growl. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you. Get out and run away before shit gets worse.”

My eyes darted between him and Puck. This was it. Crouse had given me a shot and I should take it. I couldn’t do anything for Puck anyway.

Push through the door and run for the car. You don’t have any choice.

Shouting came from the main room, then Painter appeared at the end of the hallway. He had his gun out, pointing at Crouse. The big man kept his own weapon on Puck, hands steady.

Standoff.

“The girl can go,” Crouse said, jerking his head toward me. “She’s not part of this.”

Painter’s eyes caught mine, and he nodded sharply. Britney Spears’s voice burst out through the sound system, perky and happy and so out of place I wanted to smash my head against the wall.

Smash my head . . .

In brackets right next to the door was a nice big, shiny red fire extinguisher. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do. I reached for it, popping it free as I held Painter’s gaze. His eyes stayed blank, revealing nothing. I slid out of my heels silently, lifted the metal canister over my head and raised it high.

The noise it made when I cracked Crouse over the head was loud enough that not even the music drowned it out. Puck exploded into motion, rolling to the side and jumping to his feet. Damned good thing, too, because Crouse’s gun went off, punching a hole right where he’d been only seconds earlier.