Warrior Enchanted: The Sons of the Zodiac (7 page)

But no matter where the memory lived, it held her back. Taunted her with the knowledge her mother had abandoned her. Had abandoned all of them.

The pit of despair opened once again and threatened to swallow her whole.

D
rake heard the low whistle and saw Grey motion for him on the opposite end of the warehouse they staked out. With a quick port, he arrived next to the Aries. “You find something?”

“There’s a good-sized storage closet on the far side of the warehouse. I saw it when I went around the back. Door’s closed and it looks empty from what I can see. Lucky for us, they likely checked it when they entered and would never assume anyone could get past them to get inside.”

“And you think the apple’s definitely here at the meet?”

“No doubt about it.” Grey gave a short nod toward the building. “What I got from Legs, as you’ve dubbed her, is that the crime boss we want has been sporting a new lapel pin as of late.”

“Let me guess. It’s in the shape of an apple?”

“You got it. The godfather of the Gavelli family looks
like he’s a huge supporter of New York, but we both know otherwise.”

“Is the godfather inside?”

“Yep. Surrounded by his men, but at least he’s here.”

“Just as we’d hoped.” Adrenaline spiked as Drake mapped their plan of attack out in his head.

They’d worked out their strategy on their walk from the car. The apple was the goal, but they needed to keep the peace long enough to get what they came for.

Drake kept his gaze focused on the far end of the dock. By his calculation, the few guards the thugs had posted were scanning the area every ten minutes, so he and Grey had a bit of breathing room.

“You still want us to each take one of the bosses?”

“Yep. Get them outside. Whoever’s got the pin, snag it and we port out.”

“And the inevitable cameras that will capture our sudden arrival in the room?”

Grey shoved his phone back into his pocket after a quick scan. “Quinn’s already done some prep work and erased some previous feeds so he knows he can do it. Their high-tech system wasn’t any match for him and he’s watching from his office.”

“Let’s do this.”

The ram nodded his agreement. “In and out.”

Drake followed Grey around the far side of the dock to get visual on the storage room. The grimy window didn’t offer much in the way of a view, but he got enough of a hazy outline to know where he was going and avoid falling over anything. With an ease that defied his preference for water, he pushed himself into the port.

After materializing in the storage closet, he moved toward the door to listen to the activities going down in the main warehouse. The phone on his belt started buzzing with a text, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on what was going down in the main room as Grey’s form took shape behind him.

Drake cracked the door slightly as a burst of shouts erupted inside the warehouse. A muttered “Oh shit” from the ram had Drake shifting his attention. “What?”

Grey held his phone aloft, his face ashen and his mouth a grim line. “They’ve got Finley.”

“How?”

“Quinn just texted me. He saw it all on the cameras.”

Drake reached for his phone but already knew what the text would say.

THEY’VE GOT GREY’S LAWYER. TREAD CAREFULLY.

Well fuck, Drake thought with no small measure of disgust.

There went in and out.

Now you’ve done it, Finley Jane. You’ve officially ended both your career and your life by acting like a Lifetime Movie of the Week victim.

Blood pumped through Finley McCrae’s body in heavy, leaden waves, the sensation amplified by the pounding in her ears. She was oddly aware of all her senses.

The feel of expensive silk under her chin where the large asshole with the gun held her in place.

The garlicky smell of his breath.

Even the dark hues of the back end of the warehouse shimmered in heavy blacks and grays, the absence of
color a stark reminder of the people who operated in the shadowy recesses of human depravity.

They were going to kill her.

Refusing to give in to the wellspring of despair that waited in the wings of her mind, she focused again on the information she’d learned earlier from her colleague Melanie.

A meeting had been planned for over a week between two of the city’s biggest crime families, with their respective bosses most assuredly in attendance. Her gaze drifted around the room, confirming the information had been one hundred percent accurate.

Some sort of secret deal was in the works to amass more power between them. Again, she processed what she’d managed to hear before she’d been caught in the basement, just underneath where she now stood captive. Melanie’s information had been spot on.

So how had the thug currently holding her and his partner found her, hidden away in a dark corner behind a row of moldering boxes?

Wincing as Garlic Breath tightened his grip on her neck, she fought to keep her calm.

Fought to use the rational mind she prided herself on to figure it out.

Was it a bad tip?

She’d always been obsessively diligent in checking tips, no matter the source. Even the most trusted adviser could give bad information or be set up to give bad information. Worse, she knew even those with the best motivations could be lured with the temptation of something more rewarding.

But Melanie?

Any way she looked at it, Finley couldn’t make the facts add up. Melanie was a trust fund baby who had a passion for the law and the justice she and her fellow attorneys brought to the city. She was Ivy League and
magna cum laude
all the way.

It just didn’t add up.

Which means, if it wasn’t Melanie, who set her up?

The grip on her neck tightened once more, the lack of air instantly pulling her from her thoughts to the pressing matter of her life.

Cold, lifeless hazel eyes bored into hers as one of the mobsters stood over her. “Ms. McCrae, I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me what you were doing in the basement of this building.”

Right
. Like she’d tell
them
. The last time she checked, crime investigation wasn’t in her job description. And while she usually avoided overt behavior that screamed she was too stupid to keep her job—or live, for that matter—she hadn’t been able to resist investigating this tip.

Something
big
was going on.

Finley took in the mobster’s gaze and abstractly remembered that her grandfather had had hazel eyes. With small flecks of gold and a dark rim around the irises. He’d been warm and fun, with a perpetual smile on his face whenever she was in his presence.

“Now, Ms. McCrae!” A gun jabbed into her stomach and the warm memory of her grandfather faded away as cold, harsh reality replaced it.

She was going to die.

Grey’s stomach clenched as he pushed past Drake toward the door. How had she gotten in there?

And how in fucking hell had she gotten past him? She’d been perched on her favorite bar stool in Equinox half an hour ago.

With steady patience and a calm he didn’t feel, Grey cracked the door a fraction of an inch and peered into the common area of the warehouse, taking stock of the players.

Although everyone was dressed in matching silk suits and expensive Italian loafers, the sides were clear, almost like an invisible line ran down the center of the room. And while the two sides might be enemies, all the players were aligned in their focus as one of the lower-level goons held Finley in his arms, a gun against her side.

She was dressed in running clothes—what Grey could only assume was her disguise for getting close to the warehouse. The long legs he’d admired in her fitted pencil skirts were even more impressive in runner’s shorts, but the skimpy attire made her look even more vulnerable.

Another wave of anger torpedoed his system and Grey took in the stark terror that covered her face like a mask. Her porcelain skin was paler than usual and her bright blue eyes were huge round saucers in her face, telegraphing her terror.

He never should have talked to her tonight. Never should have given her an indication of what he suspected. He’d known the meet was going down and he shouldn’t have created the pretense of discussing it with her.

So, damn it, why had he?

Because the moments you spend with her are the sweetest in your day.

“How do you want to play this?”

At the sound of Drake’s hushed voice, Grey moved away from the door. “She’s the priority.”

“Absolutely.” Drake nodded

“I want to get her and get out. We can come back for the apple later.”

“Where are you going to take her? After you get her out, do you think you can get her mind wiped?”

“Fuck.” Grey gripped his hair and tugged. “She’s not very susceptible. I already tested it out on her a few months ago, in case I needed to use the Mind Meld.”

“Didn’t work?”

“Nope. Not in the slightest.”

She hadn’t bought it, he remembered, as he’d tried wiping the conversation they’d just had. Instead, she’d looked at him with a small smile playing the edges of her lush lips as those bright blue eyes stayed steady as a rock on his.

No hazing, no clouding, no loss of memory. Nothing.

She’d forgotten nothing.

“Let’s play it like the Artemis affair.”

Drake’s laughter was a low rumble between them. “Hurt as many as possible before we port out.”

“Exactly.”

“And if I can snag the apple?”

“It’s secondary, but take the opportunity if you can get it.”

“Let’s do it. You head for Finley, I’ll come in right
behind the guy who’s holding her.” At his nod, Drake added, “I’ll count us off.”

“See you back at the ranch.”

“On my mark,” Drake began. “Three, two, one. Now!”

Both disappeared in a rush, the outer room their destination.

In the blink of an eye, Grey had his hands on Finley’s shoulders as Drake disarmed the goon holding her with a swift, downward chop of his hand. The gun at her side clattered to the floor as shouts erupted around them.

The tight troop of men moved forward in a rush and Grey kicked out, satisfied when he heard the crunch of bone as his foot connected with a kneecap.

“Get out of here, Grey!” Drake shouted at him as he dropped the man who’d been holding Finley, then launched himself into a throng of thugs advancing on them. “I see the target; then I’m right behind you.”

Grey wanted to argue, wanted to tell his Warrior brother to get the hell out and they’d come back later, but he was distracted by the trembling woman in his arms.

“You?” Finley stared up at him as her mouth dropped open on an
O
of surprise.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Tightening his grip on Finley, he threw them both into the port. As their bodies left the warehouse, Grey heard the gunshot.

Drake saw the apple lapel pin the moment they ported into the warehouse. The two sides had clearly
demarcated themselves in the room, with the bosses of each family surrounded. The setup was so clear it was almost laughable in its simplicity.

Circle of thugs, kingpin in the middle.

The smug look on Franco Gavelli’s face gave him a momentary flash of Magnus earlier that evening and Drake made his decision.

He wasn’t leaving without the apple.

Wise? Probably not. Satisfying? Abso-fucking-lutely.

It also hadn’t escaped his notice the thug holding Finley was operating under the influence of the Gavelli family. With the capture of a public official, it was clear the apple had done significant harm in a short period of time.

The fact that he’d feel good bashing the self-satisfied look off the guy’s face in the process was only a small side benefit.

The whirl of air that accompanied Grey and Finley’s departure gave him the opening he needed. Throwing himself into another port as gunfire erupted in a loud burst, Drake heard the resounding confusion in stereo as he reappeared and fell into the center of the circle of thugs. The port was near perfect, landing him within an inch of Gavelli.

The man’s eyes widened in his doughy face as Drake reached for his lapels. Hand on the apple, Drake nearly had it when the guys protecting their boss picked up on his intent. The goon to Gavelli’s immediate right lifted his gun and from his peripheral Drake could see it was aimed straight at his midsection.

Drake pressed one hand on the boss’s shoulder for balance and executed a sharp tug on the pin, satisfied
when the silky material of Gavelli’s suit gave way in his hands. As his fingers closed over the Golden Apple, he pushed himself into his port.

And as the air whirled around him, the unmistakable sound of gunfire swelled once again in his ear. Drake felt the searing fire in his rib cage as his body floated into the ether.

Emerson paced her room, unable to calm down after the fireworks with Magnus. Four years gone and nothing had changed. In fact, it seemed as if things had gotten worse.

What was it with the whole power play about how shitty her life was?

Her life was fine, thank you very much. She lived a vibrant, interesting life and she liked it that way. She was satisfied.