Brent scowled. Too bad if Carstairs didn’t like what he’d done. Brent had friends in those businesses and didn’t want them injured or killed because these five men couldn’t be trusted and had zero discipline. A bad combination in this business, one guaranteed to get someone killed.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he stalked closer to his target. Something inside Brent warned him to get back to Rowan, that she needed his protection. As he skirted a large fallen limb, he reminded himself that Lily was one of the best he’d ever worked with. Beyond that, the woman was as fierce as they came. She would fight like a tiger to protect the woman Brent loved.
Ah, man. His breath stalled in his lungs. Fine time to realize the truth, that he was all the way, head-over-heels in love with Rowan Scott. And the possibility that Carstairs might capture her made a cold sweat dot Brent’s skin. No telling what the former operative might do to Rowan. Brent didn’t doubt that Carstairs would go through whoever or whatever stood in his way to obtain his objective.
He longed to race to the house and defend Rowan against an all-out assault. Couldn’t without leaving Remy vulnerable.
A grim smile curled his lip. He and Remy would have to take down the targets fast. He wanted to know Rowan’s plans for him. Sounded intriguing.
A rustling sound to his right tipped him off to his target’s exact location. Another frown. How could this guy not realize he was making enough racket to alert anyone in the vicinity to his location and making himself a target even a child would spot?
From the shadows, Brent watched as his target fidgeted and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally spitting on the ground or firing off a round. His brows knitted. He wasn’t aiming at anything except the back of the house. What was this guy’s problem? Was he using drugs again? From the way he acted, he’d never stopped. That meant all of them were still using steroids. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d added some other illegal substance to their habits.
Brent’s gaze shifted to the house. Crap. He and Remy needed to take these guys out before the clowns in the front converged on Lily and Rowan. Lily was skilled, but she couldn’t hold her own long against three men hopped up on steroids. His gut churned as he realized his mistake might cost Lily and Rowan big.
He shifted closer to the jittery man. A quick movement to his right indicated Remy was moving on his target. A short, silent scuffle and his target was down. Brent tackled his own thug from behind. The man gave a muffled shout which was lost in a hail of gunfire from inside the house.
Brent’s blood ran cold in his veins. He had to get to Rowan. He couldn’t lose her.
He blocked a series of ineffective roundhouse punches. The man got in a lucky shot to Brent’s temple which had him seeing stars. He shook it off, slammed the heel of his palm into the other guy’s nose.
Blood gushed as the man roared in pain and fury. Another strike to his opponent’s throat and the guy started gagging. Brent choked him out and scrambled to his feet, flipped the guy over, and cinched his hands together with zip ties. That done, Brent raced after Remy who was sprinting toward the back of the house.
The hail of bullets stopped and the silence scared Brent more than the sound of rapid gunfire. Were Rowan and Lily alive? He leapt over the fallen limb. By the time Remy kicked in the back door, Brent was four steps behind him.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, Brent heard something break in the living room. Remy disappeared around a corner. Seconds later, a weapon discharged.
By the time Brent ran into the living room, Brentwood police skidded around the corner and headed toward the front of the house. His attention zeroed in on Rowan who stood over an unconscious Carstairs with a broken lamp in her hands. Lily was on the floor, flat on her back, not moving. One of Carstairs buddies was slumped on top of her.
Remy shoved his weapon into his holster, jerked the unconscious or dead man off his wife, and threw him aside. He dropped to his knees beside Lily. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
Brent holstered his own weapon and relieved Rowan of the lamp remnants, tossed them aside, and wrapped his arms around her. “Baby?”
She tightened her arms around him. “They didn’t touch me. Lily fought them off. That man hurt her, Brent.”
“Remy’s taking care of her. I need you to listen, Rowan.”
She stiffened and lifted her head. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Her frantic gaze scanned as much of him as she could without releasing him.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. The cops will be inside in less than a minute. They don’t know who the bad guys are.”
“I don’t understand. We’ll tell them the whole story.”
“Until they figure out what’s going on for themselves, they’ll handcuff me and Remy as well as the rest of these clowns.” Yeah, and weren’t they going to raise some eyebrows when the cops realized he and Remy had killed at least two of the men attacking the house, and it looked as though Lily had killed a third.
As long as Rowan was safe, he’d deal with whatever fallout came his way. He squeezed Rowan a little tighter. His lawyer was earning his exorbitant retainer fees this month.
Before she could respond, the police swarmed the room, weapons drawn, ordering Brent and Remy down on the floor, hands away from their bodies.
Brent released Rowan and complied, his movements slow and relaxed. Remy did the same, though the operative stayed where he could defend Lily if her safety was compromised.
“You don’t understand,” Rowan protested to the nearest policeman. “Brent and Remy are
