Chapter 34

Juliana

 

 

My teeth sank into my lower lip to keep a whimper from escaping. I was trying to worm my way out of my bonds again, convinced that if I could do it once, I could do it again. I had to, but since my wrists were already raw and the ropes were tighter than before, it was so sore that it was all I could do not to cry out in pain.

Suddenly, there was a commotion on the other side of the door, with some yelling and loud banging and then my door burst open, and Dreadlocks came barreling through it. He was holding a knife in one hand and blinking rapidly, looking vaguely disorientated.

My breath caught in my lungs when he came at me with the knife, and I tried to shrink away, but there was nothing I could do. Nowhere that I could go. No way to protect myself. I sucked in a deep breath and let my eyes fall closed, waiting for the sharpened knife to sink into my flesh.

It never came. The next second, the restraints around my wrists were cut and my arms fell limply to my sides. My ankles were next. When I was freed from the chair, Dreadlocks yanked me up into a standing position and wrapped his arm around my collarbones, holding my back to his front.

Like a shield. What the hell was going on now?

“Walk,” he commanded, kicking my feet. I would’ve fallen over, but he was holding me against him in a tight grip. My legs forgot how to move as my mind raced, unable to comprehend what was happening, or to accept that something was.

There was a sharp bite of the knife against my throat, and I gasped when I realized he had turned the knife on me. “I said move, bitch.”

Terror. That was the only way to describe what I was feeling as he walked me out, down the staircase I’d seen earlier and into the living room at the bottom. I didn’t think that I’d ever been truly terrified before that moment. I didn’t even think that I’d ever known the true meaning of the word until I felt it.

Terror morphed with confusion when I took in the scene that was playing out in front of me. The guys who’d been lounging around when I’d looked out earlier were engaged in some kind of fight with two huge guys wearing what looked like military-grade gear.

The big guys moved so fast that they nearly blurred before my tired eyes. They were fighting, but the way they moved made the whole thing look more like a well-choreographed dance. They ducked and rolled, lashed out, and retreated like they’d rehearsed it.

I only watched for a few seconds, but I was mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of my eyes. There was no doubt as to who was winning the fight, six against two or not. The big guys were kicking ass and taking names.

Until Dreadlocks yelled out, that was. “Stop! If either of you move another muscle, I’ll slit her throat.”

The fighting ceased instantly as every man in the room spun to face us. I only had eyes for one of them, though. My jaw dropped, and tears welled in my eyes.

Pacey.

Of course it was him. I should’ve known the second I heard the commotion that my big, strong SEAL had come to get me. Damn, Dreadlocks must have already been on his way up the stairs to me when Pacey had gotten here and the fighting started, otherwise I was sure they’d have gotten him too.

The guy standing next to Pacey, his eyes burning with an equal hatred as Pacey’s as they glared at Dreadlocks, was the guy from the website. His friend and business partner. Tugger.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, they made an intimidating sight. Add the weapons and protective gear strapped to their chests, and the combat boots on their feet, and they were fucking terrifying. I felt Dreadlocks flinch under the weight of their collective scowling eyes, but he pressed the knife a little closer to my throat.

One of the other guys had recovered enough from the beating he’d been getting to pull a gun from somewhere. As he aimed it straight at Pacey’s head, I stopped breathing. A cry met my ears, and I only knew it was my own because every pair of eyes in the room flicked over to me before the stand-off continued.

“Put down your weapons,” Dreadlocks ordered Pacey and Tugger. “Very fucking slowly, put them on the floor. All of them.”

Pacey bent down at the exact same time as Tugger, their movement still seemingly synchronized. I’d heard as much about the SEALs and their training as the next person, but I’d never seen any in action. It was awe-inspiring.

Slowly, carefully, they started pulling weapons from just about everywhere. Knives joined the guns on the floor. Followed by funny-looking tube things that looked like binoculars split in half and a couple of other things that I couldn’t name. Finally, two grenades joined each pile.

Grenades. Real-life grenades. Fucking hell…

He shrugged as he met my gaze, but his eyes were wilder than I’d ever seen them, scanning my body, searching for injury. They dropped to my wrists, and I saw his chest expand with a quick, sucked-in breath when he spotted the red bands around them.

His eyes were like a caress when they made their way back up to mine, then he snapped them to Dreadlocks, and they went cold as ice. Deathly, even. The planes of his face became all sharp edges until it looked like he’d been tempered in steel.

“If you hurt so much as another hair on her head,” Pacey said, his voice even and measured, but with an undercurrent so menacing that I felt Dreadlocks tremble slightly, “you’re signing your own death warrant.”

“Fair warning,” Tugger added, his tone matching Pacey’s. He spoke in a deep baritone befitting a man of his size, with black hair and blacker eyes. Eyes lined with small wrinkles told me that he laughed a lot, but there was no laughter now.

If not for the lines, I wouldn’t have thought he even knew how to laugh. I saw the guy holding the gun to Pacey’s head waver before strengthening his resolve and gripping the gun tighter.

“Fair warning?” Dreadlocks laughed disbelievingly from behind me, his acrid breath drifting to my nostrils. My stomach rolled, and nausea rose again. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I have a knife to the girl’s throat, and Warner has a gun to his head, and you’re issuing warnings? Go fuck yourself.”

Tugger’s eyes darted to Pacey, and I swore I saw them roll as he muttered just loudly enough for me to make out what he was saying, “What is it with the men in this town?”

Pacey shrugged as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Only those wild eyes, meeting mine every other second, gave away to me how tightly wound he was. “Dunno. They think their balls are a hell of a lot bigger than they are.”

Dreadlocks stiffened as he barked out the order to his men. “Enough of this shit. Shoot them.”

As if time itself slowed down, I saw Pacey and Tugger share a look before they spun into action. None of the other men had so much as moved a muscle before the SEALs were on them. Just then, four more guys burst through the door and Tugger used the distraction to disarm the guy closest to him, who happened to be the one holding the gun to Pacey’s head, before I could even blink.

Not knowing who these new guys were, my heart nearly stopped for a second when I didn’t know whose team they were on, but then it registered that they were dressed much the same as Pacey and Tugger and seemed to be fighting with them, not against them.

Their dance from before continued, but it was a brutal one set to a soundtrack of shouts, grunts, cracking bones, and general mayhem. I could only pray that none of the shouts of pain or cracking bones belonged to Pacey, but he and Tugger were moving too fast for me to keep track of them. So were the others. 

Dreadlocks froze behind me, muttering curses as he watched the fight play out. Soon, all of his men were disarmed and either unconscious or bleeding on the ground, their weapons far out of their reach.

Pacey straightened out and collected one of his guns from the floor. He didn’t even look like he was out of breath. Tugger wasn’t breathing heavily either. Who were these guys?

If I didn’t know that Pacey had a heart of gold and a fierce protective streak that ran a mile wide, especially when it came to me, I would’ve been horrified when he raised the gun in our direction, but I did know that.

The strangest feeling of peace and calm came over me. I was still being held close to Dreadlocks’s chest, but I knew that I was saved. Safe already.

Pacey cocked his head and pointed the gun confidently. “You should know, Jeremiah, that I’m an impeccable shot. Release her right now, or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

His eyes found mine, and he added. “You might want to close your mouth, love.”

I realized then that I was still gaping, so I snapped my mouth shut and kept my eyes on Pacey.

When his gaze flicked back to Dreadlocks, he must’ve seen that Pacey was 100 percent dead serious and supremely confident in his abilities, because not a second later, he released me and shoved me roughly toward Pacey.

In one move, Pacey grabbed my arm gently and thrust me behind him, out of harm’s way. He advanced on Dreadlocks, or Jeremiah, from what he’d called him earlier, and caught up to the coward who was trying to dash out through the kitchen.

He grabbed Jeremiah’s arm with no sign of the gentility that was present when he’d done the same to me; he lifted his arm, gun still in hand. In a split second, he had pistol-whipped Jeremiah.

The drug dealer collapsed in a dazed heap at Pacey’s feet. He glanced down at him, produced cable ties from his pocket and zipped them around Jeremiah’s wrists. It was then that I realized Tugger and the guys who’d arrived during the fight were doing the same to the other men.

They made short work of Jeremiah’s cronies, some of whom were just starting to wake up, groaning or grumbling when they came to in restraints.

Take that, losers, I felt like cheering, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I started shaking again, as badly as before, but this time out of relief instead of fear. Pacey noticed right around the time that he was finishing up with the last guy.

“Call the police,” he told Tugger, closing the distance between us. Wordlessly, he opened his arms and swept me up in them, crushing me to his broad chest and holding on tight.

The dam that had been building since I’d first opened my door to find Jeremiah on my porch finally burst and the sobs broke free, hot tears rolling over my cheeks and onto Pacey’s protective vest, where they pooled between us.

“You’re okay, love,” Pacey’s whispered soothingly, one hand stroking my back while the other tunneled into my hair. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He repeated his words like they were a mantra, adding something new in between as he held me. “The police will be here soon; they’re on their way. It’s all over now.” And then, “You scared me, love. You scared me so fucking bad.”

My arms went around his waist, hugging him as close to me as I could possibly get him. His heartbeat was steady under my ear and his body hard and warm, and most of all, safe. I tried to calm down, to thank him for coming for me, but every time I tried to speak I choked up.

“Shhh, love. It’s okay. You’re okay.” I breathed in his earthy scent and desperately tried to make it erase the memory of the musty, stale smell of the room I’d been held captive in.

As if he was breathing life into me, I felt my nerves subside and my trembling quiet, but I still hung onto Pacey, and he let me. It took some time, and I was still crying, but I finally managed to speak.

“Thank you, Pacey. Thank you for saving me.”

“You rescued me first,” he whispered, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head. “Cry it out, love. I’m right here.”

And that was exactly what I did.