“No, babe.” His voice was not slow and calm. It was harsh and hard, and full of the same serious intent she felt in his body. He wanted out of there, too, and he was taking her with him.
“He’s not dead,” Bleak said, and nodded at Dovey, who immediately trotted down the aisle to the beast and took hold of her father’s head, tilting it back so she could see that his eyes were open- and filled with agony. “Not yet.”
“What have you done to him?” she demanded.
“Go see for yourself,” Bleak said, but when she and Johnny started forward, he held up his hand. “Just the girl. No one else.”
“No,” Johnny said immediately.
“Let me go. I have to see if he’s okay. I have to help him.” She lifted his hands away, peeling them off from around her waist, feeling his reluctance to let her go, and when she was free, she started forward, her gaze riveted to her father.
He was breathing, with each breath costing him in pain, and every step she took closer to him took her another step away from the safety of Johnny’s arms, from the safety of Dax and the Locos.
A hospital, that’s all she could think. She had to get her dad to a hospital. When she was within twenty feet, Bleak’s beast dropped him and headed back toward the rear of the warehouse, letting her father crumple into a pile on the concrete. A terrible cry of pain came out of her father, an expulsion of air edged in acute distress, and she ran the last few feet, before dropping to her knees by his side.
“We’re done here,” she heard Bleak say behind her.
Her father’s skin was pale and clammy, his every breath coming ragged and hard. She didn’t know where to touch him, hardly dared to touch him.
“Dad, Dad…” She lightly smoothed his hair back off his brow. “It’s Esme, Dad. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you, get you to a hospital.”
“Your friends can take him,” Bleak said, appearing at her side. “You’re coming with me.”
She looked up, her gaze drawn by a sickening awareness, to find him standing between her and the rest of the men in the warehouse, blocking her view, blocking her from their view. A wave of dread sluiced down through her body. He was crazy. She wasn’t going anywhere with him, and she had enough guys on her side to enforce that plan. She could overpower him herself, if it came to that.
He was close enough to touch, mere inches from her, the duffel bag in his right hand. With his left, he handed her something small, a piece of hard plastic, a quick exchange accompanied by a dire warning.
“Come with me, or my man Eliot will snap her neck.”
The words were so cruel, so unexpected, it took a second for them to sink in, and she still didn’t understand, until she looked at the small thing he’d given her.
Beth Alden, R.N.-that’s what it said, the blue letters printed on a white base. Her mother’s name tag, her identification badge.
Behind him, she heard the commotion of Johnny moving forward and being blocked by Bleak’s other men.
Eliot, she thought. Bleak’s beast was named Eliot, and he had her mother.
“Bleak!” She heard Dax call the guy’s name, but she was watching the bookie, watching him limp his way to a set of stairs crawling up the side of the warehouse and leading to a door one floor above the door where Eliot had disappeared again.
She looked over her shoulder at Johnny and Dax, the small name tag grasped in her hand.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got everything under control. I’ll be back in a moment.” Then she turned to her dad and let the name tag drop to the floor as she rose to her feet.
Suddenly, she wasn’t afraid.
Johnny was terrified, his blood running cold, watching her follow Franklin Bleak up the stairs. The only thing keeping him in place was Dax.
“Leave her be, Ranger.” The guy’s voice was right behind him, a softly spoken command of unmistakable authority, but it wasn’t the command keeping him from starting World War III in this damn warehouse and going after her. It was knowing Dax wouldn’t take an unnecessary risk with her life. It was knowing Dax understood her skill levels better than he did, knew her internal resources. And it was knowing how she’d drawn down on Mitch Hardon in the Gas-N-Go, with absolute precision, and absolute certainty.
It was knowing she had a Para-Ordnance.45 caliber pistol tucked into a shoulder holster and that she most definitely knew how to use it.
Not even Patsy could save this goatfuck.
Dax let his breath out, slow and easy, watching his bad girl climb those damn stairs, which more than likely led to Bleak’s office. Of all the possibilities of what could happen in that room, he was sure of only one-the guy was unlikely to come out ahead of Easy.
But something was up.
She’d strayed from the plan, big time.
“Do you mind?” he said to Dovey, gesturing at the pile of crumpled humanity on the floor.
Dovey gave him the go-ahead with a short nod, and Dax walked over and knelt down by his uncle.
Damn Burt-he’d really gotten into it this time.
Dax lightly pressed his fingers to the side of the guy’s neck, feeling his pulse.
Fluttery, he decided, which was just so damn bad.
He picked up a small piece of plastic lying next to his uncle and turned and looked back at Baby Duce.
“He needs a hospital. Can you send him with your boys?”
The shot caller for the Locos gave a nod, and the two Arañas and Johnny moved forward to pick up a very limp Burt Alden, leaving just him and Duce to face off Bleak’s remaining five guys. Duce, Dax figured, could at least be counted on not to accidentally shoot him, and Dax had certainly been up against worse odds than five to one, hence those stories that had made his name in Afghanistan. As far as Johnny, Dax hadn’t always had a partner who so instinctively understood a good plan when it was thrown out on the stage without any explanation.
Getting the Ranger out of the warehouse, where he could scout the building and find Esme, was precisely what they needed. Getting Burt out of the warehouse was simply the best Dax could do for his uncle under the current circumstances. There was no calling an ambulance down into this mess. He wasn’t too concerned about losing the two gang members. If anything started to happen, he would just as soon not have two unknown shooters at his back. And if anything started to happen, there was going to be shooting.
Bleak had his Aunt Beth.
It was her name tag Easy had left on the floor.
Dax was guessing Beth was being held in the warehouse somewhere, probably through the door where that big guy had gone to get Uncle Burt, and that real big guy was undoubtedly still with her, and that was the threat Bleak had used to get Easy to go up those stairs with him.
His bad girl could take Bleak. The problem was his sweet Aunt Beth. She couldn’t take anybody, and Dax didn’t know what kind of shape she might be in after a night of Bleak’s hospitality. Judging by Uncle Burt, his hopes weren’t too high.
This was bad.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
This was horrifying, Esme thought, looking down into Bleak’s betting room from his office and seeing her mother handcuffed and taped to a chair. She’d been hurt, and it was all Esme could do to keep from pounding on the window and yelling that she’d be okay, her girl was here to save her.
But Esme was currently frozen in place, and she needed just a second to pull herself together.
Franklin Bleak had his hand on her ass.
There they were, the two of them standing at the window, and Bleak opening up the blinds to show her his big surprise, and in her first moment of shock at seeing her mother so poorly mistreated, the bastard had grabbed her ass.
He was still grabbing it. She could feel all five of his fingers and his palm pressing into her. It was his fourth mistake, and the whole thing was just lose, lose, lose for him from here on out.