Grant

“She’s asleep.”

Grant nodded at the paramedic who’d treated Blaire at the scene. He flinched as he remembered the sobs that ripped from her chest. She had fought him, screamed at him, and called him names, but he held onto her until she collapsed in his arms, exhausted.

His own body shook with anger. The sight of Blaire, beaten and broken, was like a knife through his heart. Her anguished cries twisted that knife and he bled with her, but he had to hold on to his control even as the desire to empty his gun into an already-dead Orlov was overwhelming.

Liam was dead, and it was up to Grant to face the authorities. The storage facility had cameras, but Blaire’s friend had a plan and Grant himself had already set things in motion, knowing that things could go FUBAR in a heartbeat. And they had. Liam’s backup team got ambushed by Orlov’s men. Jake was tasked as the sniper, but after taking out the guy with the carbine, his position had been exposed and he had to find another vantage point. At that time, hearing that Liam had been shot and they were pinned down in the storage unit, Grant decided to move in with Tyler. They were in communication with Jake, who managed to shoot the last of the Russian goons before taking out Orlov himself. Grant now knew he had shot Stefan. At that time, all he saw was a man pointing a gun at Blaire and Grant fired his gun at him twice. Unlike in the alley where he aimed to disarm, this time he unleashed kill shots with no hesitation.

“Mr. Thorne?”

Grant turned to face the fed in charge of the case. It was fortunate that with pre-planning, the Miami PD had been tasked with only assisting the FBI, because, from what Jake had told him, several of the cops were on the take from the ROC. Since Blaire’s abduction had crossed state lines, it had become a federal case.

“I’m Agent Wilkes,” the man flashed his badge. “I believe you mentioned this was a case of kidnap and extortion?”

“Yes,” Grant replied. “They kidnapped Ms. Callahan and asked for a two-million dollar ransom.”

“I see,” the fed said. “And you decided to pay it instead of contacting the authorities?”

“I hired K and R professionals hoping to get her back without paying the ransom,” Grant replied scratching his jaw. “I didn’t trust the local police.”

“Your actions resulted in the deaths of thirteen people, Mr. Thorne.”

“And three of them are mine,” he gritted through his teeth. “Have you seen Ms. Callahan? What they did to her?” If it weren’t a felony to assault a federal officer, Grant would love nothing more than to wipe the floor with this asshole. Maybe he was in the ROC’s pocket as well. Tyler called his attention that the ambulance was ready to leave. “Look, I need to get to the hospital.”

“We may have more questions. Don’t leave town.”

Grant gave a mirthless laugh. He rarely used his connections to intimidate people. “Look, Agent Wilkes. You know who I am.” He didn’t need to say that he was the son of the senator who controlled the Intelligence budget. “You know I’m not from Miami. I’m taking Ms. Callahan to Boston as soon as she’s cleared to travel. So it may be this evening. Or it may be tomorrow morning. I will be unavailable at that time. My girlfriend needs me. You want to talk to me, set an appointment with my PA.”

“Now, look here, Mr. Thorne—”

“No, you look here,” Grant snapped, losing all patience. He didn’t have time for this shit. “These are criminals. Thugs. They kidnapped my woman and may have planted the bomb that nearly killed my mother. This might not even be your case tomorrow. I get you need to do your job, but the way I see it,” he swept his arm at the carnage around them. “We just did it for you.”

“You can’t take the law into your own hands, Mr. Thorne.”

Grant was already walking away from the fed. “Then do your job.”

* * *

Grant pounded away on his laptop, catching up with work. In the time since the Gulfstream had left Miami, he’d had several panicked voicemails to return. His dad had called, having caught wind of what happened to the Orlov Bratva. With the death of their Vor, the organization was in disarray and its effect was felt all the way to Russia. There was enough of the inner circle left to run the ROC, but with the evidence Grant was bringing back with him, their days were numbered. His father made a comment that even if this Bratva collapsed, another would rise to take its place. Grant didn’t care, that was the problem for the FBI. All he cared about was the threat against Blaire.

A sound from the bed grabbed his attention. He put his laptop aside and crawled under the covers with his woman. He was glad he brought the Gulfstream because it had a sleeping cabin and Blaire would have a comfortable journey home. She had a sprained wrist and two broken ribs. She had cuts on her lips and brows but no facial fractures. It had been a miracle. The swelling and bruising on her face made her features unrecognizable, but her eyes remained quintessentially Blaire. He’d know them anywhere. A tightness in his chest and burn behind his eyes reminded him of how he’d lost it at the Miami-Dade hospital the previous night.

When they took the gurney carrying Blaire away, a noise that suspiciously sounded like a sob rose in his throat. Tyler was startled and didn’t know what to do. Grant took a deep breath, excused himself, and headed for the stairwell. He pushed the door open and went down a flight, and then leaned against the wall and simply lost it, letting emotions bleed down his face. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees. His poor Angel. That someone would hurt and brutalize the woman he loved gutted him. He didn’t know how long he stayed in that stairwell, but in the end, after he’d regained his composure, fury against the people who’d hurt her dominated every fiber of his being. He wished Orlov was alive, so he could kill the bastard himself. Grant had crossed that line and he could say, without a doubt, that he’d kill for Blaire. He’d annihilate anyone who’d try to harm her.

Liam, my man, wherever you are, I promise I’m going to take care of her.

He stared at her now, wanting to kiss away all her bruises. He wanted to put his ear against her heart and listen to it beat. He wanted to tuck her into his arms and never let her go.

Her eyes fluttered open.

“Blaire,” Grant whispered.

At first he saw joy in her eyes, but, when she blinked, grief ripped it away and tears rolled down her cheeks. She turned her head and stared at the wall of the plane.

“Blaire, look at me,” Grant pleaded.

“Where am I?” Her voice was flat.

“You’re on the Gulfstream. I’m taking you home, Blaire.”

“To Colorado?”

Fear pierced his chest. “No. To Boston, then to Manhattan with me.”

Still not looking at him, she said, “I’m not going back to you, Grant.”

“Baby, let’s not talk about this right now.” He wasn’t giving her a choice. This might end up being a kidnapping, but he’d be damned before he let her out of his sight.

Her gaze shifted to the ceiling. “How’s Amelia?”

“She’s fine, Blaire,” Grant said. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off and then finally looked at him with glassy eyes. “Amelia got hurt because you chose to be with me.”

“Blaire—”

“And when I chose to be with you”—the tears flowed freely as she inhaled a ragged sob—“Liam got killed.”

“No, dammit! What kind of reasoning is that?”

“Your words, Grant,” she said softly. “You told me your family was falling apart. You didn’t have to say it was because of me.”

“I told you I say shit when I’m angry and that’s why I choose to keep my mouth shut when I am.”

“You were angry at me.”

“No. I was angry at the situation.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Liam is still dead.”

“Listen, Blaire—”

“I’m tired, Grant.” Her words, said in a gentle tone, made him more anxious. “I want to be alone.”

“Okay, you need your rest,” Grant forced himself to say, and then forced himself to move from the bed. He picked up his laptop, looked back at Blaire longingly, but she had already closed her eyes.

He could be patient, he told himself.