TWENTY-TWO

The tension between Dorne and Carmina was only thickening now. Anger filled her face, and icy contempt filled his as he glanced at her.

“What does he mean by that?” Carmina shifted, staring up at Dorne now, ignoring Lyrica.

Graham chuckled then.

“I mean, he’s here for the two and a half million in stolen Taliban diamonds that disappeared when Betts was killed,” Graham answered for him. “He’s not here to gain vengeance for Betts, and he’s not here for you.”

“Where are they?” Dorne asked softly, a triumphant smile curling at the corners of his lips. “The only way to keep that pretty little thing behind you from being raped in front of your eyes is to tell me where they are.”

Graham shook his head. “You know better than that, Dorne. Haven’t you heard about my ‘flavors’ yet? Doing a friend a favor by protecting his baby sister doesn’t mean I have a damned thing you can take from me.”

Lyrica knew better, though. She knew he would give his life for her, just as he would for Zoey, Piper, or Eve. They were friends. She was more than a flavor—just not enough more.

The hiss of the link activated again.

“Basement door is open and we’re taking them out,” Tracker reported. “Give me two minutes and they’ll be clear. I’ll be in place with one of my men as you come down.”

Two minutes.

“There were no diamonds.” Carmina was watching Dorne suspiciously now. “Tell them, Jimmy. You weren’t able to retrieve them.”

“Is that what he told you?” Graham clucked his tongue at Dorne. “He got away with half of them. He thinks I have the other half. Two and a half mil. Don’t tell me he’s not sharing with you.”

A tense, heavy silence emanated from the woman now. She wasn’t looking happy at all.

“You said there were no diamonds retrieved,” she reminded Dorne.

He flicked a hard look in her direction. “I was going to surprise you once I found the rest. How do you think we funded this little venture? It’s not like you had any money to put into it.”

“I think, when this is over, you and I will discuss this,” she stated softly. “Until then, vengeance is what I came for.”

She turned back to them, waving them toward the end of the foyer. “If you’ll accompany us to the basement, we’ll get you settled in with the others, then I’ll get to the business of exacting my revenge.” She smiled mockingly. “Unless you want to watch your whore die here, in the foyer.” She flicked Lyrica a cold look before turning back to Graham. “Jimmy may believe she means nothing to you, but you forget, Betts was my sister. And there was much she did know of you, Graham. Did you think that getting my sister killed would go unpunished?”

Graham’s expression was icy as he reached back as though reaching for Lyrica, but Lyrica glimpsed his fingers curling around the butt of the weapon. “I think Betts got herself killed. She was more concerned with her feelings for Dorne than she was for herself. She went chasing after him when that fuel truck went up in flames, believing he was dead. I didn’t get her killed. Your lover did. And he did it deliberately.”

Before they could react, before they could stop her, Carmina jumped back, her weapon aiming for Dorne as she read the satisfaction on his face correctly.

She wasn’t fast enough though, and Dorne was evidently ready for her.

The report of his weapon sent several bullets slamming into her body, throwing her into the door frame before she bounced forward and toppled to the floor.

Before Graham, Dawg, Natches, or Kevin Davis could jump for him, Dorne had the weapon aimed in their direction once again.

Lyrica couldn’t take her eyes off Carmina’s body or the blood slowly pooling beneath her. Just like that, she thought, a sickening rush of realization roiling in her stomach. The man had killed his lover just that easily. Had used her just that cruelly.

And Carmina had paid the price for her need for vengeance. A price Lyrica was certain she hadn’t expected.

“Now that we have all that nasty personal business out of the way,” Dorne breathed out with a smile as he stared back at Lyrica. “Step out here, little girl, before I start putting bullets in all these brave bodies trying to shelter you.”

“No.” Graham did reach for her now. His fingers snapped around her wrist, holding her to him.

“It will only take a second to put a bullet through her, Graham,” Dorne snapped. “Now let her go, before I start shooting.”

Lyrica stared up at Graham, seeing the torment, the fury lashing at his eyes as the gold in them seemed to flame.

God, she loved him. So desperately.

Twisting her arm out of his grip, she moved away from him, pushing between Dawg and Natches as she stared at the bastard watching her with a mixture of triumph and evil intent.

She stopped just in front of Dawg, some sense, some warning halting her in her tracks as she felt Graham easing closer behind her.

Dorne tilted his head slowly. “Do you think he’ll tell me where the diamonds are to save you?” he asked her curiously.

Lyrica swallowed tightly before shaking her head. “I don’t mean enough to him for him to even consider remaining with me after this is over, so I doubt it.”

His expression turned doubtful. “Really?”

“Why do you think I was here?” She couldn’t stop the trembling of her voice. “I left when I found out my deadline was whenever I was dead or you were caught. So, yeah. Really.”

He breathed out heavily, his gaze flickering to Dawg and Natches.

“Let’s join the others in the basement.” He gave Graham a hard look. “Then you’ll tell me where the diamonds are, or you’ll watch me hurt your little whore anyway. And then I’ll finish what I started with that little girl down there. Maybe her brother can make you tell me. She does handle pain well, but her mother and stepfather aren’t holding up so well watching it.”

Terror gripped Lyrica, dragging a gasp from her lips at the thought of Zoey being hurt. Her little sister didn’t handle pain well—she simply retreated further from the world whenever it was inflicted. And god help them all if Zoey retreated any further.

“You’re dead.” The tone in Dawg’s voice sent a chill racing up Lyrica’s spine then. Even more frightening was the fact that Natches didn’t say a damned word.

“Yeah, yeah, so little Zoey told me,” Dorne laughed. “But as Carmina said, you’re not so young anymore. And you’re not armed. So I’m really not worried about you.” He waved his hand toward the basement door. “Let’s go now, before I have to put a bullet in her knee or something to make you hurry the fuck up. I’d like to get this little job done and head out for a beautiful beach with lots and lots of pretty girls.”

“Like hell,” Natches said then.

It was his tone that warned them.

It was the voice of the killer Dawg had described to her once, the one Natches had once been.

Chaos erupted suddenly.

The sound of glass shattering came at the same time that Dorne stepped into the foyer, freezing him in his tracks. His finger twitched on the trigger of his weapon, firing in a string of death as he went to the floor.

Lyrica was only barely aware of Graham throwing her to the ground as she watched the second death of the day.

Dorne went down, half of his face simply gone from the sniper’s bullet that took him out. One side of his face was slack with surprise; the other side, just gone.

She blinked, the realization that it was over slamming into her senses like a sledgehammer.

“Stand down!” Natches was snapping into the link. “The shooter’s mine. I repeat, the shooter’s mine.” He said it again, snarling, just to be certain he was heard. “I repeat, the shooter’s mine. It was his shot, by god. Stand down.”

The shooter was his? Since when did he have a shooter?

“Yours?” Dawg screamed. “Who the fuck is out there, Natches?”

Natches stared back at him, his expression filled with irritated self-disgust. “Well, it wasn’t me. Who’s the only fucking protégé I’ve ever had? The only man on the face of the earth that could have made that shot?”

No, it couldn’t be Harley, she thought—Harley was gone. He’d been gone since the night Zoey’s fragile heart had been broken.

Poor Zoey. She knew how her sister felt now.

Turning to Graham, the sense of unreality grew so strong inside her it was frightening. It soon became terrifying.

“No . . .” The word slipped past her lips as the arguments around her and through the link receded. “No. Please, god . . .”

She couldn’t scream.

She wanted to scream, to wail, to release the building agony burning inside her.

“Graham . . .” She reached for him, realizing he had done exactly as she had been terrified he would.

He’d taken a bullet for her.

“Shhh.” He reached up for her, his hand shaking, his face ghostly white as blood stained his shirt and the floor beneath him. A slow, oozing trail of blood. “It’s okay, baby.”

“No. No.” Her gaze became blurry, tears falling from her eyes as she felt the sobs tearing from her chest. “Please, Graham . . .”

“Shhh.” Her hand covered his, holding it to her cheek as Dawg and Natches were suddenly rushing to them. “Don’t cry. Don’t let Kye cry . . .”

“Don’t you die on me!” Fury lashed at her now. “Damn you, Graham. You bastard! Don’t you dare leave me like this where I can’t even torture you for breaking my fucking heart!”

Sobs mixed with the fury pouring from her as she watched his eyes, watched the regret, watched emotion fill them.

“I want to tell you . . .”

“Dawg!” She was being pulled away from him, hard arms tearing her from him as her brother and cousin were suddenly hiding him from her. “Let me go!” She fought, clawed, kicked out at whoever, whatever was dragging her away from the man she loved.

“Stop it, Lyrica.” Timothy was holding her, pulling her into his arms as she collapsed, sobbing, holding on to him as sirens could be heard screaming into the parking lot outside.

“I have to stay with him!” she cried, desperate to get back to him as the front door was flung open and EMTs rushed inside. “I have to stay . . .”

“Lyrica.” The brutal, hoarse snap in his tone had her stilling, staring up at him, and seeing the tracks of tears staining his face.

“Tim?” she whispered his name, the agony lancing her, tearing ragged holes into her soul.

“Come on, Lyrica.” He drew her to the door. “Let the EMTs take care of him. You can’t be with him now.”

“No, I can’t leave him.”

Tim was pulling at her, trying to pull her from the house.

“No!” The word was torn from her throat in a scream of rage as she broke from him, turning back to Graham as he was being loaded onto the gurney, the techs working frantically to stem the flow of blood.

“Come on!” Natches’s arm went around her shoulder, his hands stained with Graham’s blood, his expression dark with concern. “Let’s get in the ambulance. You can ride with him.”

“Natches . . .”

“It’s bad, Lyrie,” he whispered, his voice ragged, his eyes darkening as she shuddered, another sob ripping from her. “Come on, I’ll get you in the ambulance with him, but just . . .” He swallowed tightly. “Come on,” he repeated.

It was killing her.

She was dying inside as she realized what he was trying to tell her. Graham could die en route to the hospital, and she had to be prepared for it.

She couldn’t survive losing him like that.

If she had to do without him . . . god, don’t force her to do without him this way. Not like this. Not where she couldn’t at least see him, at least know he was there.

She prayed.

She’d always tried hard not to pray for herself, and other than when she was in danger of dying, she’d kept that rule. But she prayed now, for Graham. For herself.

God help her, how was she supposed to survive if he was gone? If he was no longer a part of her life?

She couldn’t survive.

If Graham died, she may breathe, she may walk, but Lyrica knew, inside where it counted, she, too, would die.