Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (69 page)

Making the arrangements was the easiest part. We'd booked the tickets, checked in on Saul one last time at the hospital, and had been able to get inside my dad's house long enough to pack a bag and get Cooper.

Now we just had to get through the hard part: actually boarding the plane.

I glanced at Caleb out of the corner of my eye. He was still hunched over in the chair next to me with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, just like he'd been the last time I glanced his way. At first, he'd tried to play it off like he was just nervous about flying. This was a first for him, he'd said. I knew better.

Guilt and almost manic fury ate away at him like acid, burning and singeing the very foundation of this new life we were about to embark on.

I could see all of it even though his hands covered most of his face. The deep lines on his forehead, the way his eyes crinkled and clamped shut, the pain radiating from his body. Walking away from Dom and any chance of getting to confront Wallace tonight sent him plummeting down that deep, dark rabbit hole. Part of me was just waiting for the moment he'd turn to me and tell me he couldn't come to New York, that he couldn't let Dom deal with Wallace on his own, that he couldn't walk away without putting Wallace in a shallow grave.

Those familiar pinpricks of panic spiked from my neck all the way down to my toes. This was totally irrational, right? No way was Caleb going to bail on me now. Not after everything we'd been through. Not after all the promises he'd made.

Yeah,
a snide voice whispered in my head,
he's done it before.

I blew out a shaky breath and bit down on my bottom lip.

It's not too good to be true,
I mentally chanted.
He's with you all the way. You know he is.

I wished that worked. I wished that stopped my fingertips from going numb. I wished that stopped my already burning throat from catching fire. I wished that stopped my chest from tightening like a vice.

As if he could sense the inevitable meltdown, Caleb shifted his gaze away from the floor and glanced at me with a deep frown.

"You okay?"

I blew out a jagged breath. Lying had already saved me once tonight. It was worth a second shot, wasn't it?

"Yeah. I'm just worried about Coop all by himself right now," I attempted a weak smile, but it must've looked monstrous and mangled because his lips just dipped down even more.

"We'll get him to the vet as soon as the clinic opens, Iz," he nodded and his Adam's apple bobbed one too many times as he made me yet another promise I was worried he wouldn't keep. "He'll be alright until we get there."

Right,
that dark voice whispered.
We just have to get there first.

Focusing on my dog wounded and all alone in the cargo hold of a plane wasn't exactly doing my panic any favors. The floodgates were open. The dam had burst. And I leapt up from the seat before I could stop myself. If there was even a possibility he was going to abandon me again, I didn't know if I could stick around long enough to see it.

"Iz?" he called after me.

"I just need to use the bathroom," I threw over my shoulder. God, I couldn't even look at him right now.

It would just hurt too much.

What I needed was to have this meltdown in peace. I didn't need him hovering. I didn't need him feeling any more guilty than he already did. Riding out this unnecessary panic in the sanctuary of the women's bathroom was the only option I had. But when I finally got inside a stall and shut the door behind me, my long-lost tormentor hadn't released its grip on my throat. Which sucked, considering what my throat had already been through tonight.

I sank down on the edge of the toilet with my head in my hands and willed myself to breathe.

In and out. One at a time. Just breathe.

Easier said than done.

This was so unfair. Caleb didn't deserve this.
I
didn't deserve this.

Instead I was huddled in an airport bathroom, fighting back a panic attack through gritted teeth and holding on to the end of my rope with both hands, struggling and gasping for air.

We were so close to getting on that plane and leaving this place forever. So close to finally having the life we were always supposed to have. That was what had terror rippling down my spine. That was why I was here now.

This could all get ripped away at a moment's notice. I knew that better than anyone.

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Dom glanced at Casey, who sat in the driver's seat motionlessly. All he needed to do was say the word and this would start. It had taken some work and some time, but they found him and now he'd pay.

That was all that mattered.

In all his years with the club and the time he'd spent seated to the left of Marcus as his VP, he'd always been the level-headed one. The quietest one in the room. And most times, the smartest one in the room, too. It was the role he was most comfortable with and the one he'd prided himself on fulfilling.

Tonight, however, there was no room for caution. Tonight was a night for vengeance. Tonight was a night for retribution.

All he could see was Lexie's battered, bruised, and bloodied face and any sense of integrity vanished. He didn't care about himself; he didn't care about the repercussions; he only cared about how much longer he had to wait. How much more time the man responsible for his wife's brutal beating had to make his escape.

"You ready, brother?" Marcus's fiercely calm voice called out from the back seat of the van.

Dom pulled his hood over his head, readying himself for what he had to do. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Hot fury glazed his vision as his wife's terrified face flashed in his mind and his daughter's frantic wails echoed in his ears. Wallace needed to answer for what he'd done and he planned on swallowing those answers through the barrel of his Glock. He simply nodded behind him to his president, who, even though he had a hole in his shoulder, had still pulled it together long enough to come along for the ride. Unlike someone else he knew.

Dom closed his eyes and pushed all those distracting thoughts away. The Caleb he'd grown up with, the Caleb he'd once trusted more than any other man in the clubhouse, would've never cut and run. Would've never walked away. That man was long gone now.

"Let's go," he jerked his head toward the back entrance of Ringers, probably the dive bar to end all dive bars in Memphis and one of the Warlords' frequent pit-stops in between runs, and then opened the passenger door.

If Wallace thought holing up in a public place would save him somehow, he was stupider than Dom gave him credit for.

One by one, they all filed out of the two black vans they'd hopped in the moment Eli tracked a few of the Warlords' members here to this bar on the outskirts of Memphis. Even if Wallace wasn't here and all they found was a few Warlord cuts, they weren't leaving until someone talked. Whatever he had to do, whatever methods he had to use, it was just a means to an end if it meant seeing Wallace swimming in a pool of his own blood.

Even as they stalked toward the back entrance, something nagged at his mind. There really wasn't a plan other than to go inside and gun Wallace down. After that, making a clean getaway wasn't really on the table yet. Each man approaching the bar had a reason to want Wallace and all the Warlords dead—starting from the way the Warlords had manhandled their business associates to the break-in at Sawyer Auto Repair, the drive-by attack on the clubhouse, and finally, the attack on the VP's family in his own home.

In the outlaw world, this was the only justice Dom knew. The only justice that made sense and it had been a long time coming. And so, he buried that nagging feeling deep into the recesses of his mind and moved forward.

The back entrance was locked, but Casey took care of that in under a minute as he jimmied the lock with well-honed skills to let them in. Dom went in first—this was first and foremost his operation—with Marcus right behind him. Casey, Doc, ZZ, and Eli followed suit, filing in right behind him as they snuck down the dark hallway where vengeance waited.

With his gun drawn and his heart thundering in his throat, Dom edged around the corner, stepping lightly on the grimy tiled floor, as the bar finally came into view. It was almost too good to be true because, seated on a bar stool with a beer in his hand and deep, red slashes across his face, was Theo Wallace. To his left sat Rubin Lloyd, Wallace's VP, and to his right, Antone Jeffreys, the Sergeant-At-Arms. Scattered all around the bar were a multitude of Warlord cuts.

Wallace shifted in his seat and his face dropped in a frantic mixture of disbelief, panic, and shock. He clearly hadn't been expecting any visitors tonight. Oh well.

Just as Lloyd and Jeffreys turned in their seats to see what was going on, Wallace held up a desperate hand. All sense and reason left the building the moment Wallace began to speak.

"Now listen, Fletcher, I didn't—"

Dom didn't need to hear anything else. Instead, he raised the gun in his hand and fired.

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Isabelle

I splashed some water on my face and squeezed my eyes shut. That icy shock helped a little bit, but it wasn't quite enough to do the job. What I really needed was warmth. What I really needed was my husband's strong arms wrapped around me.

Ugh. This was so stupid. What was I doing in here anyway? Our flight would start boarding in less than ten minutes and here I was, swallowing back a panic attack with about as much luck as if I'd attempted it in front of an oncoming train.

This had to be the end of it. I couldn't sit in this bathroom anymore and wallow. Caleb wasn't leaving. Caleb wasn't leaving. Caleb wasn't leaving.

Maybe if I just thought it over and over again in my head it might actually be true.

We
were leaving. We were leaving. We were leaving.

I blew out a deep, tortured exhale, wiped my face with a paper towel, and wrapped my thick scarf around my neck again to hide the purple bruises there. At this point, Caleb was probably pacing a hole in front of the bathroom. Probably tearing through the short hair on his head and rubbing his scratchy goatee anxiously. I smiled a little at the thought of him waiting for me, worried for me—what was I still doing in this bathroom?

Everything was going to be fine.

That delusion carried me all the way out of the bathroom where I skidded to a stop.

Our seats were empty.

Caleb was gone.

I sucked in a breath, my eyes scanning the boarding area frantically for some evidence that he was still here, but all I could find was our two bags on the floor, right where we'd left them. Tears stung my eyes and all the air left my lungs in one fell swoop.

That panic I'd worked so hard to bat down washed over me once again and I swallowed back an agonized scream. All I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wail. Or maybe just run until all this disappeared. It just didn't make sense. How could he—

"Iz?"

I whirled around at the sound and my lips parted as I flailed for words. Caleb stood just 15 feet away from me with a Mountain Dew in one hand and a bag of pretzels in the other. Everything rushed over me all at once in waves: he was still here, he hadn't left me, I wasn't alone, and he was staring at me now with one eyebrow cocked like he was trying to make sense of all this himself.

My lungs finally revolted and gasped for air as one hand braced the rest of my body against the wall behind me. God, I was so stupid. How could I have ever doubted him?

"Iz?" Caleb tried again, this time venturing a few slow steps toward me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied. The smile I pressed on my face wouldn't have fooled anyone. And it certainly didn't fool my husband. "Hey, don't you know you're not supposed to leave your luggage just sitting out like that?"

He glanced over his shoulder before shooting me a wolfish grin. "What? And make all these people nervous?"

Fair enough. There were literally no people around to make nervous, let alone even notice us. That, I supposed, was one of the few benefits of red-eye flights.

"Where, um, where did you go?"

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he finally closed the small space between us.

"I thought you might need to take one of those pills before we got on the plane, so I got you this," he held up the bottle of soda in his left hand, "and then I wasn't sure if you should take one on an empty stomach, so I got you these," he held up the pretzels in his right hand and my cheeks flushed with embarrassed heat.

Shit. I'd been having a meltdown and on the verge of sprinting for the nearest exit to look for him when all he'd been doing was taking care of me. Again. Maybe I really did need to take one of those anti-anxiety pills before we got on the plane.

I tried nonchalance on for size, but it didn't quite stick. "Thanks. That was really sweet of you."

He shifted his weight from his bad knee to his good one and lifted an eyebrow. "You're not okay, Iz. Why?"

As if I could ever keep anything from him.

I blew out a shaky breath and let it fly: "I thought you left."