Jailbait (27 page)

Olson called the police shortly after I hung up with that man. I was pissed enough to beat Olson senseless at the time. That guy said no cops, and here we are talking with the freaking FBI. But I’m glad they’re here because deep down—and before the agents said it to my face—I know this isn’t going to be as easy as bringing the money, grabbing Grayson by the hand, and high-tailing it out of there.
 

Grayson might already be dead by the time I get there. They might shoot him in front of me after getting the money. They might shoot us both. Grayson might not even be in this warehouse, after all. His cell is dead and the location untraceable.
 

We’ve wasted the last hour going over options. The FBI agents have extensive experience dealing with gangs and clubs like this, and won’t deny the danger Grayson is in. Time is of the essence, and trying anything else is a serious risk to his life…which is already hanging precariously over the cliff of real danger.
 

But I can’t
not
do it. What if it is that easy? What if all they want is money? I’d rather die trying than live without him. I
couldn’t
live with myself if things didn’t work out. If I just sat back in the safety of this high-rise penthouse while cops went in, risking their lives to save Grayson. He wouldn’t sit around and wait for me.
 

And I won’t sit around and wait for him.
 

The FBI agents and cops know it, and I’ve made it very clear they know they can’t stop me. Which is how we came to this conclusion.
 

The plan is to take the money to the warehouse. Give one suitcase and say I’ll give the other when Grayson walks out. “Don’t be a hero” is the theme of this plan, decided by the FBI agents, of course. I’m not to go in. I’m not to get out of sight. And I’m not supposed to negotiate. I’ve agreed to follow the plan. But when it comes down to it, I know I’ll do whatever it takes.
 

I think Olson knows it too. He’s been surprisingly quiet, helpful, and polite through this whole thing. It’s a bit of a wakeup call for him, reminding him that the real world isn’t plated with gold, like he thinks it is.
 

Once I’m fitted with a wire and a little button camera, I go into the study and write a quick note for Savannah—just in case.
 

“Give this to Savannah if things don’t work out,” I tell Olson, handing him a sealed envelope. “And thanks for your help.”
 

“An unlikely alliance usually wins in the movies, so don’t even think things won’t work out,” he says and takes the letter. “And Pepper?”
 

“Yes?”
 

“I really did like you. I never meant any disrespect.”
 

“Thank you, Olson,” I tell him, though I don’t think he means it. The sentiment is nice.
 

Unsure if I’m being watched, I take the suitcases downstairs and load them into my Tesla alone. My nerves fade into numbness in order to keep myself from shutting down completely. I program the address into my GSP and prepare for a long drive. I don’t listen to music. I just grip the steering wheel and drive.

*
 

The warehouse is in a part of New York I’d never dare set foot in alone. It’s set back away from the street, hidden behind abandoned buildings and condemned houses. I park in a gravel lot, heart beating so fast it might explode. I get out and see a dark shadow lumbering over. Everything in my head says
run away
. Everything in my heart says
stand still
.
 

I have to do this for Grayson.
 

I steal a look up at the sky above.
Mom…Dad…if you can hear me…help.
 

A motorcycle roars to life and headlights blind me. I freeze like a deer and the motorcycle barrels over, turning away at the last second. Gravel sprays me, and I cover my face with my hands. Then it takes off, doing a U-turn and speeding back, sliding to a stop. The lights are on me, and I can’t see the rider’s face.

“You got the money?” he shouts. It’s a different voice, not belonging to the man I spoke to on the phone.
 

“Yes. I’ll give you half. Let Grayson go and I’ll give you the rest.”
 

The rider twists the throttle and takes off again, stopping at the metal door of the warehouse. He shuts off his bike and strides to the door, knocking three times. My breath leaves me and I feel like a leaf, falling from my safe branch, way up high above the world. I’m caught in the wind, stuck in a downward spiral and have no idea where I’m going to land.
 

I swallow hard and get one suitcase out of the passenger seat. I have to remind myself not to turn around and look for the reassuring sight of the undercover cops, or the FBI van disguised as something else.
 

They’re not here.
 

I take a breath and start walking. The suitcase bumps along the uneven pavement, wheels catching on every bump and hole. I stop in front of the door, which is open a few inches. My hands shake.
 

Someone suddenly appears, and I jump. A large man in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather vest, appears. He smells like whiskey and smoke.
 

“Pepper?”

“Who else would it be?” I spit, surprising myself at the venom in my voice.
 

He narrows his eyes and puffs out his chest. “You got the cash?”
 

“I do. Three million in cash. You get half now. The rest when you give me Grayson.”
 

The man rolls his eyes, annoyed with me already. It instantly pisses me off. He holds out his hand and I let go of the handle of the suitcase. “Count it, if you wish. Give me Grayson, and I’ll give you the rest,” I repeat. The large man picks up the suitcase, checking its weight. He turns, reaching to close the door. I stick my foot in its path. “Where is Gray? I’ll…I’ll give you more money!”
 

I broke rule number one. Negotiating with them on my own.
 

“How much more?” he grunts.
 

“Another million. Please, just let me see him. Let know he’s okay!”
 

The biker considers, and then grabs my arm. His fingers wrap around my wrist so hard it hurts, and I know he’s twisting my skin on purpose. He scans the parking lot behind me, looking for law enforcement, and then yanks me inside, pushing me down onto the ground.

The door slams shut behind us.
 

“Boys!” the man shouts, picking up the suitcase. He kicks me in the ribs and disappears into the warehouse. I clamor to my feet and back up to the door.
Shit!
I broke another rule: I’m in here. I’m out of sight. I’m not safe.
 

Fear pulses through me and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Boisterous voices echo on the barren metal walls. I inhale, swallow my fear, and move away from the door. I’m in thier territory now, but I can still win. I can still get out of here alive. With Grayson.
 

“Where you going, sweetlips?”
 

The voice stops me in my tracks. I know that voice. It belongs to the man who talked to me on the phone. He’s shorter than the other man, with a long graying ponytail tucked behind a bandana. He’s wearing dirty jeans and a leather jacket.

Licking his lips, he grabs me by the hair. I cry out in pain and he drags me through the office-like entrance of the warehouse. He pulls me to my feet and holds me against him, my back to his front.
 

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he coos and presses a knife to my throat. “Just look. Your boy toy is alive and kicking.”
 

I blink, trying to look through the hair covering my face, and see Grayson. He’s strung up by his wrists from a rafter, feet just barely touching the ground. His head hangs and blood drips onto the floor.

“Gray!” I shout and he stirs.

He looks up, blinks, and then startles awake. “Pepper! Fuck, you shouldn’t have—”

“Shut up,” another man says and hits Gray with a taser.

“Stop!” I yell and feel the blade cut into the first layer of flesh on my neck. “I have more money. I’ll give you double. Please! Just let Grayson go.”
 

The man removes the knife and shoves me to the ground. “Tempting offer,” he says. I scramble over to Grayson.
 

“Oh my God, Gray.” I reach above him, trying to undo the ropes. His wrists are raw and bloody.
 

“Get out of here,” Grayson tells me. “Now!”
 

“I’m not leaving you!” I stand on my toes, fingers gracing the ropes.
 

“Pepper, Fisher is going to kill you,” Grayson warms. “Go.”
 

“No!” I can’t reach the ropes and frustration rises. “Not without you!”
 

“How touching,” Fisher—the man on the phone—says, stepping out of the shadows.
 

“Let him go!” I order. “I brought you the money. Now let him go!”
 

Fisher laughs, and signals for someone to cut the rope. Grayson falls to the ground, and I go down with him. We embrace, and I kiss him.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Fisher says, raising a gun. “It’ll be your last.”
 

“Run, Pepper!” Grayson says and springs to his feet. Three men in leather rush over and apprehend him, dragging him away.
 

“I gave you the money!” I cry.
 

“And now you have no purpose.” Fisher pushes a magazine into the gun. “You first. I want to see his face as he watches you die.” He runs his eyes over me. “Now…where to put the bullet. I want to keep that face pretty. Your body won’t be entirely useless once your heart stops.”
 

I freeze, and time stops. A sharp click echoes off the metal walls as Fisher cocks the gun. My eyes go wide in fear, and my heart is pounding away. The gun is aimed at me and I know I’m going to die.
 

Grayson twists his arms free and dives in front of me, the exact second Fisher pulls the trigger.
 

Grayson collides with me, and we go down. My ears ring, and the gunshot vibrates off the metal walls. Gray wraps his arms around me, using his body as a shield. Everything stops for that moment.
 

We hit the cement floor hard. Something wet and warm drips onto my face and another shot rings out. Gray’s blue eyes go wide in fear as he looks at me. Then he pulls my head into his shoulder and rolls us over, taking shelter behind a forklift. The big doors are thrown open, and the police rush in.
 

“You’re bleeding,” he pants. “You were shot.” He’s frantic, sitting up to look at me but not wanting to stop being my shield.

“No, you are.” I put my hand on the bullet wound on his shoulder. Gray wipes away some of the blood on my face. “It’s yours. We need to get you out of here,” I tell him. Gunfire erupts around us as the Jackals shoot at police. Grayson presses me against the forklift, protecting me. His blood soaks through my shirt, and I know he needs medical attention now or he’ll die from blood loss. But he doesn’t falter as he holds me there, protecting me even if it means his death.
 

A police office comes over, making me jump and scream. He waves for us to follow him, and takes us to the side of the building. We run along the wall and step into the night. We jump into a black SUV that takes off the second we’re in.
 

“He’s been shot!” I tell the driver. “Stop and help me!”
 

“We can’t stop here,” the driver says. “Need to get away from the gunfire.”

I press my hands on Grayson’s wound.
 

“What were you thinking?” he asks me, wincing as I push even harder in an attempt to stop the bleeding. “You shouldn’t have gone after me, Pepper. You could have gotten shot!”
 

“I didn’t, and I would go to the end of the world for you, Gray.”
 

“I’m not worth it”
 

“Shut up,” I tell him and press my lips to his. “You are more than worth it.”
 

Gray stiffens and looks at the driver. “Who—”

“It’s the FBI,” I say.
 

Gray’s eyes meet mine, and then he smiles. “You really did it, Pepper.”
 

“Part of it,” I say, leaving out how I know nothing about the other club with the scythes. One psychotic club at a time, please. I let out a breath and everything hits me. Tears well in my eyes. Grayson is here. He’s back. And he’s not going anywhere.
 

The SUV rolls to a stop, and the driver is on the phone, calling for an ambulance. Grayson’s head falls back, and his body weakens.
 

“Pepper,” he whispers. “I love you.”
 

And then his eyes close. I just got him back, and now he’s gone.

Chapter Twenty-four

Grayson
 

My eyes flutter open, and everything feels heavy. My arms are too heavy to move. My eyelids won’t stay up, and my head hurts. I’m pulled back into darkness, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t come out.
 

“Grayson,” the most beautiful voice calls to me. I move toward it. Her fingers brush my face, and I find the strength to open my eyes. Pepper’s face is right there. The blood is gone, and her hair is pulled up and away from her face. “Gray? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” I say, throat dry.
 

“You just got out of surgery. You were shot.”
 

I open my eyes again and it comes back to me. “Are you okay?”
 

“I am, thanks to you,” she says.
 

“And the Jackals?
 

Her full lips curve into a smile. “Everyone that was at the warehouse is either dead or arrested.”
 

My eyes fall shut again. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up and realize I’m still tied up, hearing Fisher threaten Pepper over and over.
 

Or maybe not.