Crazy Beautiful Forever (Dirty Twisted Love #3) (10 page)

T
he group of people drinking
, laughing, and fucking in the grass near the entrance to the maze didn’t notice the arrival of their unexpected guests until Clay grabbed a shorter man in a tiger mask around the shoulders and pressed his gun to the man’s head.

“Leave. Now,” he shouted as the man cried out in surprise, sending heads swiveling their way. “Now! Or I shoot every last one of you.”

There was a beat of hesitation, and the two large men closest to the maze entrance eased forward as if considering rushing him where he stood. Before they could move, Foster was beside him, leveling his gun at their chests. “Do what he says. International authorities are en route. This is your chance to get out of here before you get killed or arrested.” He nodded toward where the cars were parked. “I’d suggest you run and don’t stop running until you’re closing your front door behind you.”

As Foster finished, the clusters of people began to scatter, men and women tossing bottles and masks to the ground as they bolted toward the house. The two couples who had been rolling around naked in the moonlight grabbed their clothes hastily from the ground and followed, but the two big men by the maze stood their ground. A moment later the broader one shot his friend a narrow look and they both reached for something inside their jackets.

A beat later they each sported a hole in the center of their foreheads. They slumped to the ground, guns falling from their limp hands as they rolled onto their backs and lay still.

“We need to move fast.” Clay paused long enough to collect the men’s weapons, tucking them into the back waistband of his jeans, before nodding into the maze, where raised voices echoed from the darkness. “The people who made a run for it could be going for backup.”

“They looked more concerned with saving their own skins.” Foster reached out, gripping Clay’s shoulder before he could bolt into the hedgerows. “Watch yourself. They will have heard the gunshots. We don’t have the element of surprise anymore. Take it slow.”

Clay nodded, but when he turned, it took every ounce of his willpower to keep from bolting into the maze at a sprint.

Harley was in there, and she was alive.

Now that he was so close, he swore he could feel the vibration of her energy, the way the night felt electric with possibilities because the woman who was meant to be his was sharing the same air. He had to find her, to keep her safe, to shield her with his body and his weapon and his life until they were both out of this hell.

He turned the first corner, his gun raised and his senses on high alert, but there was no one there. His pulse leapt and then fought its way down from the sudden spike as he hurried through the shadows. Clouds were moving across the moon, but it was still bright enough to find his way without a flashlight or a torch. And when he turned another corner, nearly colliding with a masked couple holding hands as they ran back toward the maze entrance, all it took was a glance to see neither of them was one of the people he was looking for.

But that didn’t stop him from leveling his gun at the man’s chest.

“International authorities are on their way,” he said. “Drop the masks and run. If I see you in the maze again, I’ll shoot you both on sight.”

The man ripped his mask off and tossed it to the ground, lifting his hands into the air beside his face as he edged around Clay and Foster. By the time the woman threw her own mask to the ground and scurried after him with a frightened sob, he was already out of sight around the next corner.

“So much for true love,” Foster muttered, lifting his weapon, aiming in the direction the couple had disappeared, just in case. “Or manners. You would think even a sack of shit drug dealer would let his girlfriend run first.”

“Chivalry is dead,” Clay said dryly. “Stay alert, I’m pretty sure most of these people won’t be scared away so easily.” Turning, he moved deeper into the maze, toward the sound of raised male voices. He wasn’t close enough to hear what was being said, but the loudest voice was familiar.

He’d only spoken to Cutter once, but he would never forget the voice of the man who’d taunted him with his intention to share Harley with his friends. As he and Foster rounded another turn and cut to the left, closing in on the men yelling in a guttural mix of Norwegian and English, Clay’s finger tightened on the trigger.

He should give the man the chance to run. He shouldn’t force Foster into choosing between telling the truth about what went down here tonight and covering for a fellow agent. He should think about the investigation and the evidence to be gained by interrogating Cutter and his men once they were taken into custody.

But as he circled around a thicker wall in the hedge and emerged into an open area with a fountain bubbling in the center to see Cutter kneeling in the gravel with his cock ramming down a young woman’s throat, all he could think about was how good it would feel to watch the bastard die.

“That’s right,” Cutter groaned. “Take it. Take it, bitch.”

He was fucking the woman’s mouth with such force that her whimpers were interspersed with choking, suffering sounds as she fought for breath. Behind her, one of the other goons worked between her legs, fucking her hard enough to send her scooting closer to Cutter. Her hands scrambled in the gravel, trying to claw her way backward, the need to breathe obviously overpowering the need to escape the man driving between her legs.

She was beautiful, even with tears streaming down her cheeks, and the sight of her abuse was enough to make Clay feel sick all over again, but she wasn’t Harley.

She wasn’t Harley and that was the only thing that gave him the strength to shout, “Stand up, Cutter, with your hands up. Reach for a weapon and you’re dead.”

Cutter’s attention snapped to where Clay stood, the woman forgotten as he surged to his feet with an incoherent sound of rage. The other man glanced Clay and Foster’s way, but he was apparently too far gone to stop. He kept pistoning into the poor girl, who was now coughing and gasping for air, for a few more desperate thrusts before he came with a high pitched groan that made Clay’s trigger finger itch.

If Cutter hadn’t chosen that moment to rush him, Clay would have been tempted to put a bullet through the other man’s limp dick, just to make sure he never raped another woman with it.

Instead, he shifted his aim and shot Cutter in the chest.

It was a bullet straight to the heart—intended to kill, not wound—and it was entirely fucking satisfying. Clay had killed before, but never with such utter lack of remorse, let alone satisfaction. But as he watched Cutter fall to his knees, eyes narrowing in a shocked glare as he clutched at his chest, where blood was already beginning to pulse through his fingers, Clay wanted to lean down and laugh in the man’s face.

Or shoot him twice more and then ask him how it felt to take three bullets at the same time as the light faded from his eyes.

Instead, he shifted his aim to where Cutter’s friend was hitching his pants around his waist and lifting his hands into the air. “I give up, man. I surrender. Don’t shoot.”

“Back away from the girl,” Foster said, moving across the gravel to where the woman Cutter and his friend had attacked was crawling, sobbing, toward the fountain on her hands and knees.

“Turn around,” Clay said. “Face the hedge with your arms over your head.”

As the man obeyed, Foster tucked his weapon into his holster, stripped off his jacket, and bent to help the woman to her feet. He had just settled the coat around her shoulders and was softly assuring her that she was safe when a shadow separated itself from the other side of the fountain.

The man must have been standing in the water, hidden behind the large ornamental lily pads that made up the center of the bronze structure.

He came out with his hands up, but he was moving too fast. The speed made Clay’s gut scream “danger” even as the part of him that refused to shoot a defenseless person demanded he hold his fire. Before one side could win out, the man screamed—

“Behind you!”

Clay spun, but it was too late. There was already a thick arm around his throat, jerking to one side as the man behind him tried to break his neck with his bare hands.

He fell, going down hard, his shoulder hitting the earth with enough force to send a flash of agony through his ribcage and knock his gun from his hand. Meanwhile, the man on top of him adjusted his grip, locking Clay’s throat in the crook of his arm and squeezing.

Almost immediately the world began to go black. He bucked hard, trying to throw the man off, but he was in no position to gain any leverage and he knew Foster wouldn’t be able to get a clean shot. Clay flexed his neck muscles, fighting for another sip of air, but he was seconds from losing consciousness when the man on top of him suddenly grunted in surprise and his hold on Clay’s neck loosened enough for him to wrench free.

He rolled away across the ground, sucking in deep lungfuls of air, waiting until he’d put distance between him and the man who’d tried to choke him to death before he vaulted to his feet. Jerking one of his stolen guns from his waistband, he turned to see a slight man in dark clothes and a dog mask with his arm locked around his attacker’s throat.

“This is my move, jackass! Now lay down and pass out.”

The mask muffled her voice, but it didn’t matter. Clay would know that voice, and that feral growl as she rode a man twice her size to the ground, anywhere.

It was Harley, alive, in one piece. Thank God.

G
ritting her teeth
, she squeezed harder, desperate to neutralize the latest threat and get the hell out of the maze with Clay.

Clay was alive! Alive!

He was alive and here and reaching around her to lock his hands around Cutter’s goon’s throat.

“I’ve got him,” he said, the relief in his voice making her chest hitch. “I’ve got him, you can let go. Are you okay?”

Harley slid off of the man, wrenching her mask off and tossing it to the ground before swiping the sweat from her upper lip. “I’m fine. Where’s Jasper?”

“Safe with the extraction team.”

“Thank God,” she said, her entire body beginning to tremble with relief. “Oh thank God.”

“What about you?” Clay grunted as he leaned forward, applying enough pressure to make the man squirming beneath him go limp. “Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. Marlowe offered half a million dollars to whoever could kill me with their bare hands, but I stole a man’s clothes and mask and got away.”

“Good,” Clay said, shoulders sagging as his hands left the man’s throat and he reached for her. “God, I was so scared.”

“Me too.” She went into his arms, letting him pull her into his lap. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you I love you again and I hated myself for it.”

“Don’t hate yourself,” he said, squeezing her tight. “I love you, too. I love you so much and I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and pressed her forehead to his chest. “I know you can’t do that, but knowing you want to is enough.”

“I do.” Clay pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You smell like piss.”

A sound—half sob, half laugh—burst from her throat. “I know. I think the man I stole the pants from pissed himself.”

“You’re amazing,” he said, standing with her still in his arms.

She glanced up at him. “I’m not amazing. I was desperate.”

“You’re smart is what you are. And resourceful. And amazing.”

“You can put me down,” she said, smiling when Clay shook his head.

“Not a chance.” He carried her toward the fountain, where Lewis was standing with his hands up beside another CIA agent-looking-type and a girl wearing nothing but a jacket and a shell-shocked expression. “Foster, this is Harley. Harley, Foster, my backup.”

“Nice to meet you, Harley. This is Amanda. She was brought in to entertain at the party, but she would like to leave with us.” Foster nodded toward Lewis. “This one is Marlowe’s, but he says he wants to turn himself in.”

“I’ll testify against Marlowe, serve time, whatever I need to do to get out,” Lewis said, gaze shifting to Harley. “I just need a promise that my kids will be taken care of. My wife died last year. They don’t have anyone else to take care of them.”

“He helped me,” Harley said, pushing on Clay’s chest until he put her down. “I might not have survived without Lewis. He helped me hide and drew Cutter and the rest of them away.”

“Then I’ll do whatever has to be done to get you immunity,” Clay said, holding out a hand that, after a moment, Lewis tentatively clasped. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lewis said raising his voice as the air filled with the urgent
thrum thrum thrum
of a copter coming in fast. “It was the right thing to do. It felt good to do the right thing again.”

“We should get out to the lawn,” Foster said, glancing toward the sky. “Let them see we’re here and ready for extraction.”

“I know the way out,” Lewis offered. “We can be there in five minutes.”

Clay nodded as he pulled a second gun from the back of his jeans. “Lewis, you go in front of me, lead the way, and don’t give me a reason to shoot you.” He pressed the spare gun into Harley’s hand. “Take this and stay close. Foster will watch our backs. This is for your protection and Amanda’s if you can keep an eye on her as we go.”

“Of course.” Harley put a gentle hand on Amanda’s back, guiding the obviously traumatized girl forward as the men started to move. “Keep an eye out. Marlowe is in the maze, Clay. At least he was. And he was unarmed. One of the rules of the game was that no one could bring weapons. If we run into him on the way out, he’ll be defenseless. We could take him out without breaking a sweat.”

“We’re not here to play vigilante,” Foster said from behind her. “If we run into Marlowe, we’ll give him the chance to turn himself in. With your son alive to testify against him, we can get him on kidnapping if nothing else. That’s enough to hold him.”

“Your son will never live to take the stand,” Lewis said softly, his voice barely audible beneath the crunch of the men’s shoes moving across the gravel. “If you get a shot you should take it.”

The words sent a chill down Harley’s spine. Lewis was right and as their guide, he was in the best position to put a bullet in Marlowe.

Silently, Harley vowed to toss her gun to Lewis the moment he had a clear shot. He’d saved her life and he had two little boys of his own who might not live to see adulthood if Marlowe was allowed to keep breathing.

She was on edge the entire way out, poised to call Lewis’s name and toss him the gun, but they emerged from the maze without seeing another soul. Outside, aside from the helicopter touching down next to the rose garden, the lawn was equally deserted.

Clay stood back, motioning her and Amanda ahead of him as he shouted, “Go on and get on board, I’ll squeeze in if there’s room. I don’t know how many seats they have. We weren’t expecting the extra passengers.”

Harley nodded, hating the thought of leaving him behind though logically it seemed like the danger had passed. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief when the pilot motioned Clay and Foster on board, tucking them both onto a drop down seat next to the helicopter door.

Less than five minutes after running from the maze, they were airborne.

Harley turned to gaze out the window, finally beginning to believe that everyone she loved was going to escape Marlowe’s estate in one piece when she saw a figure in a pair of black track shorts run out of the greenhouse and turn to aim a gun the size of a small canon at the chopper.

“It’s Marlowe!” she screamed, praying someone would hear her over the churning of the propellers. “He’s got an anti-aircraft missile! He’s going to shoot us down!”

Clay’s eyes widened and he lunged toward the pilot’s seat. Harley saw him reach for the controls and dared to hope the chopper was equipped with some kind of firepower that could mow Marlowe down where he stood.

The thought was barely through her head when the copter jerked hard and suddenly began to fall.

Acting on instinct, she tucked her knees to her chest, curling into a ball in her seat as the helicopter began to spin in circles, careening wildly as it pin-wheeled toward the ground. The last thing she saw before impact was a flash of Clay’s face as he turned and reached for her.

And then there was heat and pain and blackness, swooping in to smother the world away.