Lucas perked up. "Can I come too?"
We all shook our heads, and Ben outright denied him. "No, your face is too public, and we're not giving Theroux the satisfaction. You're benched for now until we figure out what the fuck he wants."
Lucas grumbled. But with Bryna holding his hands, he didn't argue too much. He was a prince by title, but a con man by birth. And before he'd ever found his way to his family, he'd been one of the best thieves in North America. I hated to think that we’d need him again, but we most probably would. But first things first. We had to deal with Theroux. And then we'd deal with Nyla. I wasn't going to let anything distract me from that ultimate goal, which was to protect my mates by any means necessary.
East
Well, that went well.
So far, I’d managed to put my team in danger, then I'd exposed them to Interpol, and now I’d pissed them off. Fuck, I knew I’d been bang out of order with Liv. None of this was her fault. The blame belonged squarely at my feet, and I was having a hell of a time with that knowledge.
If before I had been England’s best striker, I was now in the position to be sacked and traded at any moment. I really needed to get my shit together or this was going to go very, very badly for everyone.
Easier said than done.
A prickle of unease tripped down my spine as I left Ben’s house in Belgravia. It lingered on my skin like a hoard of gnats set on annoying me to death. As I pulled down the drive and out the security gate, I couldn't explain it or understand it, but I knew I was being followed.
That was the last shit I needed. Already things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan. This uneasy, unsettled feeling was determined to follow me around
Was it Theroux? Was it his men? Hell, could it be Garreth Jameson? Did he know we were coming for him?
I pulled over outside of the square and parked my car, wanting to see just what I was dealing with. The little voice at the back of my head told me that was a bad idea and that I was making a mistake. But then, this other little voice that was full of fury, anger, disappointment, and pain wanted to fight.
I locked my BMW and started to walk. Despite how obnoxious and gaudy it was, it didn't stand out in this part of London. I walked with no real aim.
I might not live in Belgravia, but I was familiar enough in that part of London to know it like the back of my hand. I made a left, and then a right, conscious that I had a shadow following me. Conscious that my instincts were screaming that something wasn't quite right.
I nodded to passersby walking their dogs. It was late in the evening, nearly eleven, but I saw a young couple pushing a baby pram, looking exhausted.
Parenthood.
Please, God, never set me up for that bullshit. Because guaranteed, even if they tried not to, they would fuck that kid up. And then they’d have to think about things like protection. And God help them if that baby was a girl, because they would never ever be able to keep her safe from twats like me. I shuddered.
Across the street, I made a quick right and then ducked into the shadows and waited. It didn't take long. At first, I heard the clip-clop of what sounded like high heeled shoes. A fast, clipped run as if some woman hammered about having the wrong bloody address. And then I heard a steady, soft footfall that turned into a rapid pace. Faster than the woman in heels.
It was accompanied by panting. A jogger maybe? Less than five seconds later, I watched as he ran by. And then it was quiet. Almost like someone was trying to be silent. There was the odd rustle of leaves and then utter stillness, and I knew. Someone had come for me. As I stilled, ready to do what I had to do, there was a brief prickle of warmth as I wondered, what if it's Nyla coming for me?
That brief lapse of focus caused my awareness to falter when one of the shadows stepped into the alley.
Only the moonlight glinting on the metal barrel of the gun snapped me to attention just in time.
With a twist to my right, I used my left hand to jam against the metal, deflecting the gun. And then with my right, I brought up a hook under the arm, hitting my opponent. And then we began to grapple for dominance, for control, for the gun.
He tried to jerk on my grip, but I pulled him even farther back into the darkness, well aware that there were trash barrels and bins in the alley. The last thing I needed was noise to bring someone in search of what was happening.
I took an elbow to the gut and doubled over forward, but I didn't let go. Instead, I dragged him even farther back and whipped our bodies around, whacking his shoulder, and unfortunately mine, into the brick wall. He grunted, and the gun clattered out of his grip.
Now, we had a party. He twisted in the opposite direction, sending his left elbow backward. I ducked and planted my face between his shoulder blades, mainly to avoid getting clocked in the temple.
I delivered a kidney shot with my
