Chapter THIRTY-TWO

THE INSIDE of the warehouse was cold and cavernous. The building itself was two stories high and constructed of sheet metal, huge steel beams spanning its width. Each side was lined with steel shelves from floor to ceiling, each shelf stacked with crates and what looked like industrial plumbing parts—oversized pipes and heavy-duty joints. The limited light came from windows high up near the ceiling and highlighted dust motes that hung in the dank air. The wide roller doors were shut, and the whole place stank of oil and dirt.

About twenty men stood and faced off in the open space between the shelving units: Rocky and his guys on one side, Slider and his Brutes on the other. Negotiations had been underway for the last twenty minutes, but it seemed to be mostly posturing and accusations, the sounds of the heated discussion echoing in the enormous building.

Mitch’s muscles ached with the effort to hold himself still. He was trying to keep as invisible as possible, standing at the back, figuring the less attention he drew to himself, the better. Plus from the back he could keep an eye on all the activity and wouldn’t be surprised by anyone sneaking up on him. He was actually surprised Rocky had allowed him to hang back, thinking Rocky would have dragged him up the front. He’d need to be near Rocky if he was to receive a signal.

Or perhaps Rocky was bullshitting when he said Mitch would be the one to pull the trigger? He didn’t even have a gun, for Christ’s sake—and that very thought made him supremely uneasy. No gun and no way to contact his team, not unless he wanted to risk everything by pulling out his phone, a phone Rocky hadn’t even thought to take from him because who’d be stupid enough to call the cops and dob themselves in as part of an illegal operation? But those were the risks he knew he’d be taking when he took on this job. It still didn’t stop Mitch wishing he’d had a bit more warning this meeting was taking place. He also would’ve preferred not to have Stack glued to his side from the time he stepped out of Finn’s office until they arrived at the warehouse.

The door at the rear of the building opened, a tiny rectangle next to the huge closed roller doors. A lone figure was momentarily silhouetted in the bright space before the door was shut again. No one paid much attention, Rocky and Slider obviously trusting the guys they left on duty outside would do their jobs and not let in anyone who shouldn’t be there.

Boots echoed on the concrete floor as the man approached—just what he needed, more bloody people. His nerves amped higher. It was only when the newcomer got close enough that Mitch realized it was Finn. His breath caught. Jesus Christ, what’s he doing here?

Rocky must have seen who it was at the same time. “Well, well. Look what the cat’s dragged in. I wasn’t expecting you. I’ve got to admit, you’ve got guts.”

“I guess I must be a Soldier and a Cummings after all.”

Mitch’s stomach fell as he took in the sight of Finn’s face. A dark shadow graced his jaw and up to his cheekbone. What the fuck? But Finn’s voice was strong, showing no signs of the fear Mitch felt. Pride swelled at the bravery, but at the same time, Mitch said a silent prayer Finn wouldn’t push his brother too far. Rocky was operating on a hair trigger, periods of lucidity interspersed with moments of sheer craziness. Even now he was rounding on Finn with fire in his eyes.

“What the fuck’s going on?”

Slider Popov, the president of the Brutes, stopped Rocky’s progress with a question. Slider, all six feet four inches of solid man dressed head to toe in black leather, glanced warily between Rocky and Finn. He scowled, and the semicircle of men behind him stepped forward.

Jesus, they’re getting antsy. This doesn’t look good.

The last thing Mitch wanted was for things to get out of control before he had time to properly formulate a plan. Fuck! This whole thing is turning into a clusterfuck. He looked back at Finn, who stood his ground. In fact, Finn appeared cool as a cucumber as he stepped forward, turning his back to his brother, straightening his shoulders, and addressing Slider and his men.

“Finn Cummings. Rocky’s brother. You must be Slider Popov.” He held out his hand.

Slider narrowed his eyes and scowled at Finn. After a moment or two, he nodded, then turned his attention back to Rocky. Obviously Finn didn’t rate more than a minute of his time. Arsehole. Finn dropped his hand, but his expression didn’t change.

“Now that the family reunion is complete, can we get down to business?” Slider said. “Time is money, and I’m fucking hemorrhaging dollars here. You said you wanted to talk terms, but you’re just wasting my bloody time. If you don’t bring something to the table—and I mean something goddamn worthwhile—then I think this conversation is over.”

Slider looked over his shoulder to the men at his rear, and they bobbed their heads in unison as an uneasy murmur rose. Two of Slider’s men opened their jackets to expose the previously hidden weapons. Rocky’s men advanced in response, crowding closer around the man they were there to protect.

The hairs on the back of Mitch’s neck rose. He met Finn’s eyes and finally saw a spark of fear. Finn lowered his eyes, and he swallowed heavily before turning to address his brother.

“What have I missed?”

“None of your fucking business,” Rocky growled, much to Mitch’s surprise. Even after the events in the office, he didn’t expect Rocky to turn on Finn, and he most definitely didn’t think Rocky would show there was any rift, especially in front of the Brutes.

“You meet with what?—Ten? Fifteen?—Soldiers, and just as many Brutes. You face off with our biggest enemy, Slider Popov, and it’s none of my business?” Finn’s voice rose. “I’d say it’s very much my business, even more so when you’re negotiating over Soldiers’ territory, and the people you are so-called negotiating with are armed up to their fucking eyeballs.”

Rocky rounded on Finn. “Shut the fuck up.”

“What’s going on? Are we doing business or not?” Slider looked between Rocky and Finn, eyes darting back and forth. He looked just as confused as Mitch felt.

Rocky swung around to face Slider, causing Slider to take a half step back at the unexpected move. Mitch could see the vein pounding at Rocky’s temple. “Business. But probably not the kind you thought,” he snarled.

The sound of a dozen pairs of boots scuffling on the hard concrete accompanied the sudden movement as all the men in the warehouse went on alert. Mitch’s gaze flitted around as he tried to catalogue who was where and what weapons were in sight. Handguns, knives. And more important, how he could arm himself. He felt naked without some way of protecting Finn. Fuck!

“What kind of crap are you pulling?” Slider’s voice was low and menacing. He narrowed his eyes as he directed the question at Rocky.

Rocky’s hysterical bark of laughter showed just how off the rails he’d finally fallen. A gun practically materialized in his hand, and he waved it in the direction of the Brutes as his own men fell in line behind him.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Slider’s voice was surprisingly calm, but the Brutes behind him formed a barrier.

“Don’t anyone move. If I so much as see a fucking weapon, Slider’s dead. You hear me? Stay exactly where you are.” Rocky waved the gun erratically in the direction of the stunned-looking Brutes.

Jesus Christ!

Mitch stepped forward, getting close enough to Stack to bump arms. Stack flinched at the touch but relaxed when he saw it was Mitch at his side. This whole thing had everyone on edge. At the same time as Mitch moved, Finn stepped close to Rocky, hand on Rocky’s forearm to push the gun he held toward the floor. Mitch’s throat closed up when he saw Finn so close to a weapon.

Rocky elbowed Finn away, focusing on Slider. “Put your hand out and tell your goons to step back.”

“No fucking way!”

“Rocky, this isn’t the way to handle this. Put the gun away,” Finn said.

“Stay back.” Rocky shoved him, causing Finn to take a step forward. In the commotion, one of the Brutes pulled a gun on Finn while Slider faced off against Rocky, arms extended. The other half dozen or so men held their ground, the tension in the warehouse palpable.

Bile rose in Mitch’s throat as he saw the gun pointed at the man he loved. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Finn was an accountant, for Christ’s sake. He worked in an office. He shouldn’t be in a situation where his life was at risk.

Mitch inched closer to Rocky. He kept his voice low. “You don’t want to do this, Rocky. Not this way, anyway.”

“Don’t tell me what I fucking want.” The hand holding the gun trembled. It wouldn’t take much to get it from Rocky’s grip, but the risk of the gun going off was too high, and God only knew what would happen then.

“Let me do it. You said you wanted me to do it,” Mitch pleaded.

“I’ve got it under control.”

“The fuck you do.” Slider’s second-in-command stepped forward, gun trained on Finn, arm steady and focused, the complete opposite of Rocky’s. Finn cringed, and Mitch’s breath caught.

“Drop the gun, Rocky,” Slider said. “If you want your brother to live, then drop your fucking weapon.”

Rocky’s answering bark of laugher caused the hair to rise on the back of Mitch’s neck. Finn blanched. Mitch forced his gaze away and back on Rocky. The man was insane.

“Rocky, you need to drop the gun,” Mitch pleaded, hoping he would see reason. “You fire, and they’ll retaliate. This isn’t going to go down the way you want it. There’s no way you can come out a winner. No one can come out a winner.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Rocky answered.

There was no bloody way he knew what he was doing. His eyes were moving from left to right, the hand holding the gun was shaking, and sweat had beaded on his forehead. It was hard to tell if it was the effects of the drugs, but, regardless of the cause, Rocky was on edge and not listening. In that instant Mitch knew they were in trouble. Deep trouble.

“Move over here.” Slider gestured to the guy at his side, who took one large step and wrapped an arm about Finn’s biceps. He hauled him forward despite Finn’s attempts to stay where he was.

“No!” Mitch yelled and lunged for Finn to hold him back, but Rocky pointed the gun at him.

“Get back.”

“Put the gun down, or your brother will get a bullet,” Slider said.

Mitch looked at Rocky, horror dawning as Rocky grinned. It was finally clear that Rocky didn’t really give a shit whether Finn was killed or not. Any love or family loyalty he’d had for his brother was long gone. He was a complete sociopath. Rocky’s laugh echoed throughout the warehouse, and even the other Soldiers looked uneasy, clearly not understanding what the hell was going down. Mitch wanted to yell at them, to tell them their leader was completely crazy, but he had no idea what their reaction would be.

The sudden sound of gunfire caused adrenaline to surge. Mitch’s hands tingled, and his heart was in his throat at the shock of the noise. Commotion broke out in the warehouse, and men—Brutes and Soldiers—all reached for their weapons. Rocky aimed at Slider and pulled the trigger. Mitch watched, as if in slow motion, as he turned the gun on the guy who held Finn. Or maybe he was aiming at Finn. Who the fuck knew what Rocky was thinking?

“No!” Mitch yelled a warning as he threw himself at Rocky, grabbing his arm and wresting away the weapon. The gun went off, the sound joining the other gunshots echoing in the building, the shot loud and jarring. Rocky fell to the ground. Mitch snatched up the gun and turned to see the guy who held Finn point his weapon at Mitch. Jesus. He must have shot Rocky.

Mitch’s immediate reaction was to level the gun at the son of a bitch, but all he could see was horror etched on Finn’s beautiful face. There was no way he could hit the guy without putting Finn’s life at risk.

Before Mitch could even fathom his next move, the guy pulled the trigger, and searing pain in his chest forced Mitch to drop his weapon. His legs gave out at the sudden and intense flash of excruciating agony, and he dropped to his knees. He looked up in time to see Finn wrench himself from the guy’s hold and throw himself onto Mitch, sending them both toppling to the floor.

“I’ve got you.” Finn’s breath was hot against his ear, the words hardly audible over the crack of gunfire. “I’ve got you.”

“Police. Drop your weapons!”

The relief was instantaneous. Thank God. Finn will be all right.

The sounds faded, and cold stole up Mitch’s body. He focused on Finn’s warm arms and his repeated words, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” until finally he gave in to the darkness.