Voices carry from downstairs, giving me a slight twinge of relief that everyone may still be okay.
That Marty may still be alive.
I shouldn't have let him come alone, but Mills and I had to scoop up Wade and his son, Huck, before anyone else did. However, things never go well when it's one against multiple.
A female suddenly screams, and my feet give out mid-stride before big hands catch me, pulling me into a hard chest before I crash into the hardwood floors.
"Calm down, Lou Boo," Mills whispers gently in my hair. "We got this shit." I'm not sure if he's trying to convince himself or me because his voice cracks.
That sounded like…
"Mills…I think that was Reagan," I mutter, reaching for his hand on my shoulder. I'm on the brink of a nervous breakdown; I can feel it. Marty and I fight a lot, but I love him. He's a piece of me.
They all are—Mills, Marty, Kyson, Bishop, and Blue. The last person is debatable, but that’s another story. We’re all part of the most elite, secretive, and dangerous group in the country—B723.
We’re assassins.
We kill the bad guys.
We keep the American people safe, sound, and protected from outside and inside threats.
We’re family.
"Call Lockwood," Mills orders, giving my palm a squeeze before rounding me to take the lead out the long hallway.
Plucking my cell out of the pocket of my leggings, I shakily speed dial his phone, and he picks up on the first ring.
"I'm moving in," he answers gruffly.
"Hold on," I scold. "Not—"
"He shot my fucking wife, Em. I know her screams, trust me."
Ew.
"You'd hear more if she was hit somewhere vital because Marty would've already killed someone."
"Emmy," Wade fumes lowly. "Get in position...because, in one minute, I'm moving."
I snap my fingers once, getting Mills's attention before covering the mouthpiece to my phone. "He's about to move."
Mills twists his face. "Tell him no."
I suppress a scoff because you don't just tell Wade Lockwood no and expect him not to argue about it. Especially if he's really adamant about something.
Trust me, I’d know because he was one of my assignments before he became my friend.
Wade and I worked hard and tirelessly to get him into the Oval Office and become the next President of the United States.
He was elected first by B723. My commander, Ledger, carefully watched him for years. Studied his personality and policies while other politicians attempted to gain office.
I got him there. I worked with him in the big white house on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C, and the rest is history.
I still work for him here and there—he can’t live without me—and we still argue as much as we do since day one. When he gets an idea, it’s hard to crack through it.
And I'd say he's exceptionally adamant about saving his wife, Reagan, right now while making himself a moving target.
And it’s not just her.
She’s pregnant with their second child.
"Wade," I croon as softly as I can through every anxiety emotion known to man. "Please don't until I know what we're dealing with. Trust me, I promise I won't let anything happen to Reagan."
"I do, but—"
"The less talking, the better." Mills and I approach the end of the hall and the top of the stairs. "Stand by."
Mills crouches down to look downstairs. "Two guys, AK-47s."
"Where's Marty?" My heart is beating so hard in my chest that I think it's going to break a rib. I can hear the mumbling of male voices but nothing more unless we get closer.
"I think in front of them."
"Can we get down without them seeing us?"
"Ask Lockwood if these stairs squeak." I open my mouth, but he already answers me.
"No, you shouldn't have a problem."
I nod for Mills, giving him the green light, and he returns it, rising to his full height before holding up a hand.
"How good is your long shot, Em?"
"Fine."
"We're not getting far down these stairs. We'll need to pick them off."
"Wade, do you have a clear shot?"
"Emmy... it's fucking Eli Montgomery."
My whole body numbs as I grip the railing and force myself to keep up with Mills.
This is all my fault.
About two weeks ago, I thought I had helped solve the mystery of who was behind Reagan's attempted murder. The evidence was black and white—Mayor Holden Montgomery was dead, shanked sixty-two times in prison in the chest, back, and legs.
A sentence served up by the man on the other side of the phone.
Long story short, Wade pulled the plug and got the Feds on his ass. Holden owed Wade money. He also stole funds from the city to gamble, buy prostitutes, the whole nine. I believe there were more charges brought against him, but I don't remember.
But I did this.
Eli Montgomery was his son; why wouldn't he avenge his father? Why wouldn't he be involved in the first place?
Now Marty is in there, rescuing Reagan, his sister, and the love of his life, Stormi.
This is revenge—plain and simple.
I fucking hate politicians and rich pricks.
"Forever, asshole." The remnants of Reagan's voice flows up the stairs, giving me some relief that she's still okay. "You tried to rape me!”
My eyes tightly clamp shut.
Reagan doesn't know it, but she isn't helping me keep her husband at bay from doing something really fucking stupid right now.
"Em." Wade's impatience hits the other end, and the stress I've been trying to keep calm, it's starting to bubble to the surface. “Did you just hear—“
"Hold," I leer, squeezing the phone and imagining it's Wade's throat.
"Fuck this, you tried to touch my sister, motherfucker?!"
And here goes Marty.
My co-worker is as insane and impulsive as they come. Not only did he just hear his sister claim that Eli attempted to rape her—this is news to me—but Marty will gladly give his life for Reagan.
Their sibling bond is like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Mills peers over his shoulder at me, jaw taut with fury. "When we hit the bottom of the stairs, we'll make a sharp left."
I give him
