Staking Her Claim...: Book 1 in the Patricks' Brothers series (28 page)

Sitting in a meeting listening to a self-important businessman complaining about the sub-standard service he received from his last hired goons isn’t my idea of a good time, but Brandt requested I be here, so here I am.

Checking my phone for a text from, Alysia for what feels like the hundredth time in the last half hour, I give up, shoving it back in my pocket when Brookes storms into the room looking fit to be tied. Not breaking his stride, he barks,

“I want everyone in this room armed, suited up and ready to roll out in T-minus sixty seconds.”

“What the hell is going on, Brookes?” Finn asks, oblivious to the businessman sitting across from him gaping at us.

Snarling his response, Brookes replies,

“I’ll fill you in on the way over, because we don’t have time for this shit, Now, can you ride or not?”

“Yeah, I’m already strapped, so I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Good. Get your ass up and in my truck, Rob,” he orders. “We’ve got a situation, and I’m betting you’ll want to be there when we take care of it.” Not bothering to answer him, deciding not to waste any more time, I follow Brookes, Finn, and Brandt out of the room, leaving the arrogant, suit-wearing asshole to his own devices.

Climbing into the passenger’s side of, Brookes’ fully-optioned, Dodge Ram, Brookes is only a beat behind me when he jumps into the driver’s seat slamming the door. Finn has opted to drive his own truck, Brandt riding shotgun. I turn my head so I can keep one eye on, Brookes and at the same time keep one free to check the clip of my Glock.

“You gonna fill me in on what the hell’s going on now?” I ask.

His hold on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white with the force he’s exerting.

“Aly’s in trouble. I don’t know how much, I don’t have all the details, but I know she’s in danger, Rob,” he murmurs quietly as if saying the words out loud make them more real than they already are.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What trouble? She was fine this morning when I left her, what’s changed now,” I demand, giving him my full attention now.

Taking a hard right on, Elm, Brookes clenches his jaw weighing his words quickly before speaking again. It’s a good thing too because I’m about half a second off beating the information out of him.

“Remember the fingerprint, Ally sent off to Simon?” At my nod, he continues. “Well, the results came back this morning and we got a hit. The only reason I know anything about it is because Aly was smart enough to make sure Simon copied me on the email.”

“Yeah, that’s a good thing, though, isn’t it?”

Shaking his head slowly side-to-side, he answers,

“Yes, and fuck no. IAFIS came back with a positive match faster than, Simon expected it would, but that’s the only good news to come out of it. The bad news is a whole hell of a lot worse than we’d be prepared for.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Brookes. Just spit it out,” I growl furiously.

“Fuck you, asshole, this is my sister we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, and she’s my woman and I’d like to know what the fuck is going on before we get wherever we’re headed. So, get it together and tell me what we’ll be walking into.”

Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, Brookes looks left before pulling up just short of running a red light.

“The ID came back a 99.9% positive match for, Peter Mitchells. I haven’t been able to get him on his cell, Max either. The last update I got on their whereabouts was when they’d just left the penthouse a little after you got to work. My best guess is, Peter’s had a possible maximum of three hours of uninterrupted access to, Aly, and unless you’ve heard from her since you left Max’s this morning that’s the timeframe we’re working with.”

At his words, my heart stops dead in my chest. I hadn’t heard from her, and albeit I thought it was strange, we didn’t usually go an hour without texting each other when we were apart, I hadn’t considered it a cause for concern. I figured Aly was busy catching up on the paperwork she claimed was piling up. I never stopped to think that there might have been another reason she hadn’t been in contact.

“Our ETA is less than two minutes, Rob. We need to go over what’s going to happen when we get there. You’ll have time to lose your shit once we know what we’re dealing with, but you’ve gotta hold it together until then,” he advises, his voice all business now.

Blinking rapidly to clear the wetness gathering in my eyes, I rub my hands roughly over my face and follow his instructions. I have to keep my shit locked down tight, for Alysia’s sake. No matter what happens, I’ve got to be strong enough to be there for her, to take care of her if she needs me to. I don’t have time to fall apart, that’ll come later. That will come when I’ve got her wrapped safely in my arms and I know she’s not in danger of being hurt anymore.

“How are we going to handle this then? I rigged the place myself so I know there’s no chance of breaching the doors without alerting him to our presence. Access was limited to begin with, but after I finished with the place, it’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Fuck me, Brookes, I pretty much created a fucking stronghold for the asshole.”

Hooking the wheel with his left hand, extracting his gun from the shoulder holster with his right, Brookes gives me his weapon commanding,

“Check that, and make sure it’s chambered. Blaming yourself for something we would have done for any of our clients isn’t productive, Rob, it’s fucking counterproductive. What I need you to do is think. Think about the layout of the place. How much space there is between the front door and the first room you enter? Are there any blind spots we might be able to utilize to our advantage? Is it better to launch a full-frontal attack or is stealth the key?”

Dredging my memory for every detail I can recall about Max’s penthouse, I create a 3D blueprint of the inside; walls, furniture, internal doors, and the distance between them. It won’t be easy, but there is a possible option for attack. One single fault in the otherwise flawless security design I implemented. We’ll only get one shot at it, and if anyone so much as breathes too loudly we’re fucked, but there is a way.

“When you open the front door you’ve got half a foot before you’re visible to whoever’s in the living room. If you step to the right, moving with the door as it swings open you’ve got a space, that’s at most six by eight inches wide. Not enough to partially shield a person from view long enough to get a shot off if you had to,” I say, considering the logistics of it.

Of all of us, I’m the weakest marksman. I can hold my own at the range, but I’m no, Brandt. As an ex-Marine sniper, he’s far and away our best option to take the lead position.

“Right; tight space, single person breach, got it. What’s your take on how much time we’ve got before he clocks us?”

“At most, ten seconds. Twenty if he’s distracted and facing away from the door,” I guess.

Pulling the Dodge into a parking spot on the side street closest to the building’s rear entry, Brookes’ doesn’t waste time getting out and signaling for Brandt and Finn to join us.

With the back driver’s side door ajar, he issues our orders.

“Brandt, you’re taking point on this. At Brandt’s nod, he explains. “We’re treating this as a hostage situation. One hostile, for safety’s sake we’ll assume he’s armed, and if he’s trained it’s not well. Access is through the front door, one man only, and the single vantage point with limited visibility for the hostile is a six-inch space to the right-hand side of the door, ten-second window at best. Shoot to kill, we’ll worry about the blowback later. You get one chance to neutralize him, Brandt. If you get a clean shot, take it.”

Armed to the teeth, a badass looking machete strapped to his thigh, sniper rifle slung over one arm, and a 50 caliber hand-cannon with enough stopping power to take down an elephant in the shoulder holster on his back, Brandt gives Brookes a curt nod.

“You gonna fill us in on who we’re dealing with, or am I going in blind?”

Eyeing both of his brothers cautiously, Brookes waits for the moment it sinks in.

“The hostage is a five-foot-one female, maybe one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. If she’s conscious, she’ll be in a good position to defend herself, but if she’s…”

“If you fucking tell me she goes by the same name as our sister, I’m going to kick your ass when we’re done here,” Finn sneers lunging at Brookes.

Stepping in between them, Brandt positions himself so he’s got the best possible chance of separating them if needs be. All the while, I stand here struggling not to charge into the building and take care of this myself.

“He’s not going to tell you shit, Little Brother because you already know it’s her. Now, we’re wasting valuable time, so rein in it and move your asses.”

The elevator feels like it takes a year to arrive, and when we’re inside it feels like it takes another to reach the eighth floor. Slipping through the doors before they close, removing what would have been our only method of escape, we enter the short hallway single file. Brandt in the lead, Finn bringing up the rear.

Pressing my thumb down firmly, centering it on the biometric scanner, I wait until I hear the tell-tale click of the lock before retreating to my previous spot behind, Brookes. With the grace of a man, half his size, and light as air, Brandt ghosts the width of the door, moving into position with his rifle already expertly shouldered.

From my vantage point, I can’t see anything other than a strip of sunlight beaming through the floor to ceiling window of the living room. I take it as a good omen that the sun’s still shining because surely it would have disappeared behind a shroud of darkness if the worst had happened and Alysia was no longer of this world.

My unease escalates as the seconds tick by and not a sound can be heard. However, in the blink of an eye that all changes. The noise Brandt’s rifle makes as he loads a round into the bolt-action chamber reverberates loudly in the enclosed space. But it’s the sound of the single bullet being fired as it echoes off the walls that have all of us springing into action.

First, Brandt pushes from behind the door, stepping to the side allowing us to enter. Brookes is a hairsbreadth behind him, prowling into the living room to survey the damage. Finn and I are the last to enter, but I’m the first to absorb the gravity of the scene we’re faced with and make it to, Alysia.

Gathering her into my arms, holding her limp body tightly, I ignore the blood pooling around the exit wound at the back of, Peter’s head spilling onto the floor staining it red. My entire focus is on the woman in my arms, and I’ll be damned if I spare a glance at the man who harmed her.

Checking her pulse with the forefinger and middle finger of my left hand, I’m reassured when I feel it beating steadily beneath them. I remind myself that means she’s not dead, just out cold. She’s okay, she’s alive and breathing and at the moment that’s all that matters.

Before I get the chance to tell Brookes to call an ambulance, Alysia’s eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, her eyes crack open and she smiles at me.

“I thought you’d never get here. You took your time, didn’t you?” She rasps, her the words rough and scratchy.

As I look down at her, really look, I notice the fingerprint necklace adorning the circumference of her throat and have to fight back the urge to set her aside and kill that bastard, Peter again for hurting her. Running my hands over every inch of her body I can reach without letting her go, I ask,

“Hey, Sweetness, can you tell me if you’re hurt anywhere other than your neck?”

Shaking her head gently, she opts not to speak and I’m glad she doesn’t. It’s got to be painful as hell to talk if the already darkening bruises forming is anything to go by.

Kneeling beside her head, which is resting in my lap, Finn takes one of her hands in his.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Aly, because I’ve got a question for you.” Grinning he enquires, “Couldn’t you pick something better than a lamp to clock him with? I mean, seriously? What the fuck were you thinking? That thing has gotta cost a fucking fortune. Who’s gonna pay to replace it, because I’m telling you now, it’s not gonna be me.”

Finn’s question relieves some of the tension in the room as Brookes, Brandt, and I chuckle at him. Aly doesn’t laugh, but I think that has more to do with how sore she is, not that she doesn’t want to.