Hard As It Gets

Chapter 21

Rage and a healthy dose of deadly intent flowed through Rixey’s veins. What he’d most feared had very nearly come to pass—Becca being hurt, kidnapped, or worse. This motherfucker had manhandled her. Twice. At this point, he’d happily bathe in the guy’s blood and dance on his bones.

“Check him for ID,” Nick said, still using his weight to make sure the asshole didn’t try to get cute.

Shane and Marz went through his pockets. “Bingo,” Marz said, lifting the guy’s cell phone and a black leather wallet. He flipped the billfold open. “Hello, Mr. Tyrell Woodson. I’ll just hang onto these.” Marz slipped both into his pocket.

From his position on the deck, Nick didn’t have a good visual of their location. He glanced up to Shane, who gave a tight nod, confirming they were out in open water.

“Start. Talking,” Nick growled, giving an extra shove of his gun into Tyrell’s kidney.

“Fuck you,” the punk said.

Rixey heaved the guy’s upper body off the floor and slammed it back against the fiberglass. “Wrong answer,” he said as groans spilled out from under the hood. “We know you work for Church. Tell us why Church is after the Merritts and where Charlie Merritt is being held.”

“I’m not telling you shit.” He struggled under Nick’s grip.

“Since you’re going after his sister, I’m guessing Charlie said something similar, huh? What did you do to try to convince him, I wonder.” He glanced to the team surrounding him. “Masks. I want Tyrell to see what I’m about to do.” Bracing his feet against the boat’s motion over the waves, he grabbed his full tactical face mask from his jacket pocket and slipped the thin black fabric over his head again. The other men did the same, leaving only their eyes uncovered. “Grab his arms and legs.” Rixey pulled the blade free from his ankle holster and cut the plastic band binding the man’s wrists.

Asshole struggled momentarily, but Shane, Marz, and Beckett made quick work of restraining him and flipped him to his back.

Kneeling, Rixey spared a glance to the cockpit. Becca had moved to the gangway next to the cockpit, in full view of their interrogation. He really wished she wasn’t watching this, but she deserved to know everything they learned.

Marz tapped on Nick’s shoulder and held up his iPhone. “Video,” he mouthed.

Nick nodded, waited for him to indicate he was ready, and ripped the hood off their captive. Bruises and cuts covered his dark skin, like somebody had beat the shit out of him. Rixey was momentarily jealous that someone had gotten to this piece of shit first. Breathing so hard his lips puffed out on each harsh exhale, the banger’s bulging eyes skittered here and there and squinted as he attempted to focus on Rixey kneeling above him.

“I open my mouth, I’m as good as dead,” he squeaked, sounding more like a piss-scared teenager than a bad-ass banger.

“You’re already as good as dead.” Beckett’s voice was icy cold as he restrained an arm.

“As soon as your friends back at the park tell anyone you were taken, they’ll know you’re damaged goods.” Nick grabbed his jaw and turned it this way and that. “Judging by your face, I’d say someone’s already not too happy with you.” The guy sputtered, but Nick didn’t have the patience for bullshit. Not now. Holding the blade up, he studied it for a long moment. “What were we talking about before? Oh, right. What you did to try to make Charlie talk. Anybody here remember what they did to him?”

“No. No, man. That wasn’t me,” he spluttered. Shit. A dark stain spread on his pants. The acrid scent of urine whirled through the sea air.

“Well, what part have you played in this?” Nick flashed the blade. “Attempted kidnapping. Twice. We know that much.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“He needs some encouragement,” Beck said.

Rixey nodded. “He does, doesn’t he? Slide his hand over here.”

“What?” Tyrell screeched. “Okay, okay, I was in her house.”

“What were you looking for?” Nick asked, whipping the blade against Tyrell’s throat and wanting to spit in his face. Put a gun in the hand of a guy like this, he was tough shit. Strip him of it, and he was a big fucking sissy.

“I don’t know. I was just told to toss the place. Me and one other guy. We was just there to do the damage.”

“But there was someone else looking for something.”

“Above my pay grade, man. I swear.”

Fine. Probably true. Nick changed tactics. Just for the fun of seeing fear cloud Tyrell’s eyes like it had Becca’s. Nick moved the knife. This time, down to dig right into his navel. “Where’s Charlie?”

Tyrell shook his head against the deck. “I’m not sure.”

Nick dragged the guy’s beefy hand in front of him, held his wrist tight against the deck, and wedged the edge of the blade under his pinkie nail. “Where’s Charlie?” he said again, voice deadly even.

Tyrell grimaced. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Not good enough.” Nick exerted enough pressure to inch the blade under the nail. Tyrell gritted his teeth and tried to hold in his reaction, but the nail was beginning to separate from the skin. Blood slowly pooled.

“He was at a storage facility,” he nearly screamed.

Now we’re getting somewhere. Jackwad had no way of knowing they’d already found the facility he referred to. Nick withdrew the knife. Jesus, didn’t take much to make him squeal, did it? “Explain. Do it right the first time or I’ll rip the nail right off. And I won’t stop there.”

“They were holding him at a storage facility. But I heard they were gonna move him. Okay?” he blurted out.

“Move him where? And when?”

Tyrell whimpered.

“Screw the nails. I’m going for the whole finger. That’s what you did to Charlie, right?” Nick pushed his weight down on the back of Tyrell’s hand and pressed the blade into the little space where the finger met the knuckle joint.

Tears leaked from the asshole’s eyes. Seriously? This was the kind of douchebag terrorizing Baltimore’s streets. Just a big fucking bully.

“I heard . . . I heard . . .” he gasped. “Sometime today. Company’s com-coming who wants to see him.”

“Moving him where?” Rixey exerted a little more pressure on the blade. It was clear the threat of violence was enough with this guy. Didn’t do a lot to assuage the vengeance Rixey wanted to rain down on him for the bruises he’d put on Becca’s beautiful body, though.

“That’s all I know. Moving him to see some BFD company boss wants to impress. And I don’t know who the company is. Been real hush-hush. I swear.”

That shit didn’t sound good at all. Who the hell from outside Church’s organization would want to talk to Charlie? And why?

“I forget anything?” Rixey scanned over his team. Negative reactions all around. “I think we’re ready to take out the trash, then. Hey, Capitán?” he yelled to Miguel.

“Yo!” Miguel said.

“What kind of water temperatures we got out here this time of year?”

“Aw, damn. High forties, low fifties at best.”

Nick shook his head. “Well, shit, Tyrell. I dump you out here like I want, you’ll be hypothermic in an hour.”

Tyrell’s eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. “No, no drowning. Man, please.”

“What exactly are you going to do to make it worth my while to leave you alive? Because I don’t want to have to fucking deal with you again. You understand me?” Nick planted the business end of the knife into the soft skin under his jaw.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll stay away. No more. I’m out.”

Nick nodded to Marz. “Well, just to make sure that’s true, why don’t you show Hollywood here that you could make him a star?”

Marz turned the phone around, a moving picture of the guy blubbering about Charlie’s location playing on the screen.

“I even think I’ve seen you. We even run into each other at the grocery store. Just once. And I’ll make sure Jimmy Church gets a copy of this. Understood?”

Sniveling now, Tyrell nodded.

“Find us a drop-off, Capitán,” Rixey called over a sudden gust of wind. The boat came around, causing Nick to slide on his knees. Beck grabbed his arm until he regained his balance. Rixey gave him a nod, digging how slowly but surely the team was coming back into itself.

The coordinated response to the unexpected development of Tyrell’s buddies showing up was a perfect example. From their appearance until Nick had this shithead on the ground was about ninety seconds. About forty-five seconds too long for him, given what had happened to Becca. But it was almost like the team had picked up where it had left off. Except for their six missing brothers. That shit could never be made right.

“ETA five minutes,” Miguel called. Hanging onto the railing, Becca made her way back to her seat.

“Roger that.” Soon the roar of the engines dulled and the boat slowed, allowing the waves to rock the boat more than they had at higher knots. Nick stood, saw where they were, and grinned under the mask. Priceless. A man-made hexagonal island in the middle of the bay, not far from the mouth of the harbor. He gave a thumbs-up. “Masks in the rear,” he called.

Easy slipped his on in one smooth motion, while Miguel fumbled with his for a minute.

When they were all secure except for Becca—whose appearance the banger unfortunately already knew—Rixey hauled him off the floor with the guys’ help. “Okay, Tyrell. We’ll get you as close as we can, and you can attempt to jump to dry land. Worst-case scenario, you get a little wet, but you’ll survive. Ride’s over.”

“What? You can’t leave me out here.” His expression was almost cartoonlike with disbelief.

“I can do anything I want.” Nick shoved him to starboard.

Miguel guided the boat in close to the wall, but he had to stay about three feet off to keep from getting pushed into it by the waves.

“Off you go,” Rixey said, regret that he couldn’t rid the world of scum like this once and for all feeling like a rock in his stomach. But even though they no longer wore the uniform, they couldn’t go total vigilante without risking the loss of a vital part of themselves—the guiding principle of doing the right thing. In this situation, the right thing just happened to require some questionable means. He didn’t relish that fact, but there it was.

Tyrell stepped up onto the boat’s wide ledge. “Fuck,” he yelled, and jumped.

Miguel didn’t need to be told to gun it. He got underway again before any other boaters happened by.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Tyrell roared from the retaining wall of the small island.

Nick laughed and waved a hand. And then they were hauling ass back to shore.

“What say I call the harbormaster and let them know Becca’s attacker’s waiting out at Fort Carroll Light?” Miguel asked.

“Roger that,” Nick said, tugging off his mask. Everyone followed suit. Nick squeezed by Beckett, slipped down the side of the cockpit, and stepped in front of Becca’s tall chair. Hair windblown, cheeks flush, eyes wide, she was so fucking beautiful it hurt.

Those baby blues glassed over and she threw her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

Aw, shit. Relief nearly took him to his knees. His arms came around her. “Sshh, sunshine. You don’t owe me an apology. If anything, I’m the one who should be saying I’m sorry.”

She shook her head against his neck. “I believe you. I hate it. I hate that this is the truth of my father. I hate what happened to you. But I believe you. And I know you couldn’t tell me. I understand.” She trembled against him.

He pulled back and gripped her face. That she’d come to him with belief and understanding heated parts of his soul he thought might never again be warm. “We’re okay? Can you forgive me?”

Eyes wet and uncertain, she said, “Yes. Can you forgive me, too?”

“It’s not even a thing.” He kissed her. Right there in front of everyone. Guys hadn’t missed a fucking thing anyway. They already knew Rixey was way the hell into her. And making things right with Becca was more important than whatever pussy-whipped comments this might earn him later. “You okay?” he asked, bending to look at her throat. For a moment, his gaze went hazy. The skin was scratched and red.

“It’s sore, but it’s okay.” She patted his chest, a silent request for him to step back, and then she slipped off her stool. “I need to do something.”

“Okay,” he said, not sure what . . .

She made the few steps to the stern, where Easy sat on the back corner, and said something Nick couldn’t hear over the wind. And then she hugged him. Easy’s arms came around her slowly but hugged her back. And then they were nodding to each other.

Nick had no clue what she was doing. She squeezed his hand as she passed him, heading to the bow. And she repeated the same action with Marz, who wore a big goofy grin afterward. With Shane, who was visibly moved, and finally with Beckett, whom Nick’d never seen hug another person before in his life.

Over his shoulder, Nick asked Easy, “What did she say?”

The guy stood up, gave a nod of respect that shone in his eyes, and looked at Rixey. “She said she’s sorry for her father. That she’ll do whatever she can to make up for it. And that she believes us.” Easy’s voice was strained as he spoke.

No one had apologized for what had happened to them. No one had offered to help. And no one had said they believed them.

Except Becca.

He looked toward the bow, where Beckett was leaning down to hear something she had to say.

And that was the moment Nick knew unequivocally he was in love with Becca Merritt.

BECCA LAY NAKED on her side, her body intertwined with Nick’s. His strong arms surrounded her, and the heat of his skin sank deep.

They were all going a little crazy having to wait the day to go after Charlie. But the storage center was open to the public until six on Sundays and located in a high-traffic strip. The team didn’t want to risk civilians or exposure to themselves if the op went bad. And the strip club—the place in Church’s empire that seemed most suitable for entertaining and impressing—didn’t open until seven on Sunday evenings, and it would be significantly easier to search if they could go inside as customers.

So they were going out at seven on the dot. In the meantime, they ate, slept . . . in her and Nick’s case, made love, too.

Each hour that passed ratcheted up her terror that something would happen to Nick tonight when they went after Charlie.

She snuggled into Nick and pressed a kiss against his chest. Words had been parked on the edge of her tongue since the minute he’d accepted her apology on Miguel’s boat. But she wasn’t sure if voicing these overwhelming feelings welling up inside her would give him strength or prove a distraction.

And she was scared enough for him, because the dual assault on the storage center and the strip club meant their numbers were halved.

Which terrified Becca beyond belief.

Not just for Nick, whom she loved.

But also for the men who were all that remained of the brotherhood he’d cherished his entire adult life. Becca had no illusions that her apology to each of the guys made everything all right. It would take a lot more than words to undo her father’s damage. She had to find a way, though, because she felt the weight of that responsibility like a second skin she’d never be able to take off.

Beside her, Nick stretched and yawned, his body coming to life all along the length of hers. They’d made love earlier, but he was hard against her stomach, and she wasn’t complaining.

Sliding her thigh up the outside of his, she reached between their bodies and grasped and stroked his cock. He moaned low in his throat, a sound that added to the wetness growing between her legs from the feel of him in her hand and her not-at-all-accidental rubbing of his head against her clit.

“Put me inside you,” he whispered.

A thrill shivered over her skin at the gravelly command. Becca dragged his head through her folds, tilted her hips, and guided him inside.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said against the top of her hair.

She leaned her head back and kissed him. As their tongues twirled and lashed, he hooked his hand behind her knee and used the leverage to fuck her. The strokes were punctuated, hard thrusts, snaps of his hips against her clit that drove her wild and pushed her almost immediately to the edge.

His mouth stole her breath. His touch stole her heart. And his cock stole her sanity. Becca came. He swallowed her cry and whispered sweet encouragements as her body clenched and writhed.

“I’m coming,” he groaned. “Oh, Becca, shit.” Nick yanked his cock free, stroked it with a tight fist, and came all over her belly. “I’m sorry,” he panted. “Didn’t mean to forget.” When the strain of his orgasm melted off his face, his eyes were so bright, so free of the shadows she’d seen that first day.

Her heart squeezed. “It’s okay. I liked it. I’m on birth control anyway.”

“Good to know.” Pushing into a sitting position, his gaze raked over her. She looked down herself, wondering exactly what he saw when he looked at her. Two ribbons of cum painted white stripes over her belly button. “Goddamnit, I’d kill to draw you right now. But it’s getting late.” Nick twisted to look at the nightstand and groaned.

“What time is it?” she whispered.

“Almost five.” Only two hours.

Her stomach dropped and she took a deep breath. Unthinkingly, she drew her fingers through the wetness on her belly and noticed his eyes flash to the movement. She did it again, on purpose this time, wanting to distract both of them from the awaiting reality. She smeared the liquid over the curved line of the guitar body still drawn on her side.

“That’s so fucking sexy, Becca.” He grabbed her hand, pulled it to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles. “But stop before I end up hard again and have a case of blue balls for the rest of the night. Stay right there.” He winked and swung off the bed. A moment later he returned with a warm washcloth, and he bathed her stomach. It was the sweetest thing.

The pressure of emotion for him made it hard to breathe. She had to tell him. Who knew what the night would bring? And no way she could let him go out there without knowing he mattered to her. Not just a lot. But as much as anyone ever could. “Nick?”

His dimple came out as he looked at her. “Yeah?” He tossed the cloth to the nightstand.

Nerves almost making her light-headed, she forced herself to sit up. When he settled next to her, she stroked her fingers over him, his shoulders, his chest, his sides, and met those beautiful eyes. “I love you,” she whispered, her breath catching. “I just need you to know. I’m completely in love with you. And I—”

“God, Becca.” He cupped her face in his big hands. “I love you so fucking much I can barely breathe.” He kissed her, a consuming, devouring physical connection that wrapped them up in a moment in time that was just for them, into which nothing could intrude. She’d remember it for the rest of her life.

The kiss gentled, and then they were embracing. Just holding one another. “I love you,” she said. “I want you to remember my voice saying this while you’re out there tonight. I love you.”

He stroked her hair and kissed her temple. “I could never forget.”

Finally, they had to get up. Dress. Her, in a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, him, in black jeans, a T-shirt, his gun holster—a double one, this time, and a sports coat that covered it. He looked so freaking hot, and it nearly brought tears to her eyes because— No. She wasn’t even thinking it.

He knelt at a safe in the closet and loaded up on weapons—two handguns, various knives, extra clips of ammunition. Each addition ratcheted up her anxiety because it meant he was expecting a fight.

Nick held her hand as they walked out to the kitchen and met up with Shane and Easy, sitting at the bar eating leftovers. Jeremy leaned on the other side of the counter and nursed a beer.

“Beckett’s over with Marz,” Shane said. “We should run through an equipment and weapons check.”

“Agreed,” Nick said. “Gimme five to choke something down.”

“Take six,” Easy said with a smart-ass smile.

“Want me to make you something?” Becca asked. He shook his head and gave her a quick kiss. No way she could eat right now, so she settled against the bar next to Jeremy and bumped his shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, his gaze heavy with concern. Jeremy was upset he couldn’t participate in the assault, but he’d only handled a gun a few times in his life, and the guys had reluctantly voiced concerns about his readiness for what they might be walking into.

“I’ll sit on your lap later if you want,” she said, referring to his T-shirt: I’m not Santa, but you can still sit on my lap . . .

That quirked a grin out of him. “My lap is open to you any time, babe. Ow.” Nick cuffed him on the back of the head and he flinched. “Santa.” Jer pointed to himself. “The Grinch.” He pointed to Nick. “You choose.”

Becca laughed and the guys joined in. Nick shoveled some pork fried rice down his throat and tried to pretend it wasn’t funny. But she could see the truth in his gorgeous eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, they were back in the gym again. Her eyes widened at the arsenal getting pulled from duffel bags and cases. Handguns. Rifles. Tasers. Ammunition. Headsets. Radios. Other things she couldn’t identify and honestly didn’t want to. Turned out each of the guys who’d driven here—Shane, Beckett, and Easy—had come prepared for the worst.

And now here they were.

“Why do you all have all this?” she asked.

Beckett looked over his shoulder. “Security is my line of work. But ever since I got back from Afghanistan, I’ve been preparing for the day the shit rained down again. Had to come sooner or later.”

“I’ve always been a collector,” Shane said. His gaze dropped to a duffel. “After last year, it became more than a hobby. It seemed smart to be prepared for whatever had come at me before to take another swipe.”

Easy nodded. “What they said. In a nutshell.”

The only thing lined up on the floor that didn’t make her stomach hurt was a huge professional-grade trauma kit that made hers look like a child’s toy—one of Shane’s contributions to their new supplies. Nick had explained that Shane had medic training, and knowing the man was equally capable of healing as killing added a new layer she couldn’t help but respect.

For a few minutes, Nick, Shane, Beckett, and Easy silently checked their weapons and filled their holsters. Metallic clicks and snaps filled the air. She sat with Jeremy and Marz in a semicircle behind Marz’s desk.

Suddenly, Marz shoved up from his chair. Not-Eileen yelped awake from where she’d been sleeping at Marz’s feet. “This is bullshit.”

“What?” Nick asked.

“I’m coming with you.” The sounds of their weapons checks ground to a halt.

Beckett shook his head. “We need you here, Marz.”

“No, you don’t,” he seethed.

“Derek, man—”

Marz glared at Beck. “Don’t you fucking say one word about my leg. I’m as capable as any of you.” She hadn’t known Derek long, but Becca absolutely believed him.

The big guy held up his hands. “I was just gonna say we need you to run the op with the cameras and scanner intel.”

“Jeremy can do it,” Marz said, crossing his arms.

Jeremy bolted upright in his seat, and Nick froze. “What?” they both asked.

Marz perched on the edge of the desk and looked at Jeremy. “I spent three hours teaching you this equipment last night during their reconnaissance mission. By the time he went to bed,” he said, addressing the other men, “he could recite it in his sleep. Jer knows what to do.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Jeremy said, shaking his head.

Nick crossed to the desk, intense gaze focused on his brother. “Can you do this?” he asked. “Because we could use Marz in the field.”

A lump lodged in Becca’s throat.

Jeremy tugged his fingers through his hair and nodded, then he rose to his feet. “I can do it. I’ll do it.”

Nick rounded the desk and extended his hand, but when Jeremy accepted it, Nick pulled him in. Seeing the brothers embrace was almost more than Becca could take. As much as she missed Scott, she couldn’t imagine Jeremy learning he’d lost his brother, too. She dropped her gaze to her lap and fought back tears. They clapped each other on the back, then Jeremy was beside her again.

“I might throw up,” he whispered to her.

“Me, too. We can hold the bucket for each other.” He chuckled, but she was only half kidding. Becca rose to her feet. “I’ve made a decision.”

Nick’s brows cranked way down. “You’re not coming with us.”

Her jaw dropped open, and she planted her hands on her hips. “First of all, that’s not what I was going to say. I know a lot of things. One is that I know nothing about how to do what you’re about to do. But, second of all, if I wanted to come, there’d be nothing you could do to stop me.”

He crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow at her, his gaze filled with heat and amusement. Nick bowed his head. “Please, then, continue.”

“What I was going to say is that we have got to stop eating nothing but takeout. Tomorrow night I’m going to make a big meal of everybody’s favorite comfort food. So decide what you want and I’ll go to the store in the morning.” Because they’d all be coming back. And they’d all sit down around a table together and give thanks that they’d made it through, like the family they were. Or were becoming. She simply wouldn’t accept any other outcome.

A lively conversation erupted about what their choices might be. Laughter and groans of approval rang out. Nick came to her and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You just told them you believed in them again. Thank you.”

She nodded and found herself blinking a lot for the fifteenth time.

A few minutes later, Miguel walked through the door to the gym. He’d been here so often, Nick had given him the codes. “I’m back. And I’m ready to go,” he called.

Nick scratched his head. “Uh, Miguel.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t ‘uh, Miguel,’ me, son. I did shit like this for twenty-five years on the force. You’re understaffed to take on something this big. You need me.” He threw a challenging look up at Nick. The two of them facing off was almost comical, as Nick had a good five inches on the older man.

“I’d be proud to have you,” Nick said, extending a hand.

From that moment on, Becca’s gaze couldn’t stay off the clock as it inched closer and closer to seven. At the windows, the sky went dark, another indication that it was time for them to go.

And then they were ready.

Marz gave some last-minute advice to Jeremy, who sat sheet white at the computers but was nodding and nailing the answer to every question Marz asked.

Nick came right up into Becca’s space and, without a word, buried his hands in her hair and his tongue in her mouth. It was the kind of kiss that could change a woman’s life. She just prayed it wasn’t the last one he ever gave her. He pulled back, met her gaze, and said, “See you in a few.”

As the six men crossed the room and threaded their way through the gym equipment, Becca called out, “Be careful, you guys. And good luck.”

Without looking back, Shane raised a hand and waved. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing.”

One by one, they all disappeared through the door. And her heart dropped all the way to the floor.