Crazy Beautiful Forever (Dirty Twisted Love #3) (8 page)

J
aw clenched
and heart slamming in his chest, Clay fought the urge to run after the men who had taken Harley. With the element of surprise and a few of the hypodermic needles in his bag, he could take the four of them.

Or at least keep them busy long enough for Harley to slip away.

But she didn’t want to slip away. She wanted him to save Jasper. She had willingly given herself to four drunk, violent assholes so that Clay could walk away from the encounter in one piece. If she hadn’t, he would have been beaten, maybe even killed.

He knew that.

He also knew that she was going to be raped.

The woman he loved, who he had made love to less than half an hour ago, was going to be assaulted, used, and violated in ways he couldn’t keep from imagining, no matter how hard he tried. As he twisted the sheets from the tent’s bed into a rope that he wound around his waist, images of what Cutter and his men would do to Harley flickered behind his eyes. It was a horror movie, full of blood and screams and Harley’s pretty face contorted in pain.

By the time he had the rope secured around his waist, hidden beneath the sweatshirt he’d pulled from his bag, his stomach was revolting. He barely made it outside of the tent before he was sick, bringing up the lunch he’d forced down early this afternoon when he and Harley had stopped for sandwiches not far from the turn off to Marlowe’s estate. When she’d been beside him and he’d believed that they were going to get in, get Jasper, and get out without any of them getting hurt.

But he always believed that. He was a marine. No matter what job he held, he would always be a marine, and marines didn’t dwell on the possibility of failure or all the things that could go wrong. They concentrated on hitting the target, going for the enemy’s throat, and getting the job done.

And right now the job was to get Jasper to safety.

Swiping his sleeve across his mouth, Clay stood, glaring at the horizon. The sun was sinking behind the mountains. In half an hour, it would be dark. It was time to move.

He returned to the tent, fetching the sedative vials and slipping them into his pocket before heading back toward the party. The lawn was emptier now. Only a few people remained in the steaming hot tubs or gathered at the café tables inside the open-air beer tent. Clay only had to wait a few minutes for his two draft
Narke Kaggens
and then he was on his way to the rose garden.

This time, he entered the house through the patio where he and Harley had exited earlier in the day—pausing in a secluded corner to dose each frosty stein with a liberal amount of sedative. It was nearly dark, but he slid his sunglasses on before pushing through the glass door into the portrait gallery near the greenhouse. He rarely had a problem concealing his emotions, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this fucking enraged.

This was all Marlowe’s doing. Marlowe had stolen Jasper away and set all of this in motion. If Jasper or Harley were killed or irrevocably damaged by this series of events, Clay wouldn’t rest until he put a bullet through the man and the thugs who’d taken Harley.

Fuck due process; fuck international law.

If anything happened to the people he loved, the only law Clay would obey was the law of the jungle: kill or be killed and leave your enemies with the taste of fear so thick in their mouths they won’t dare cross you again.

As he moved through the still silent, seemingly deserted house, the beers sweating gently in his hands, his entire body ached for a weapon.

He and Harley hadn’t even been searched. Either the intelligence on metal detectors at Marlowe’s parties was false or Marlowe had decided against that level of security this year. Clay could have gotten away with a rocket launcher in the trunk or a box of hand grenades, let alone his 9mm. But there was no point in thinking about what could have been. There was only what was.

There were only the drugged beers in his hands, the men waiting on the third floor, and a ticking clock counting down the minutes until Harley would enter the maze with men who would brutalize her for sport.

As he reached the second-floor landing and started up the last flight of stairs, Clay made a decision—if the sedatives took more than five or ten minutes to take effect, he would knock the guards unconscious. If Harley were with him, it would make sense to get things done as quietly as possible, but now there was no time to waste.

The backup team was only twenty minutes away by car, at a public park a few miles down the main highway, blending in to a local midsummer celebration until they were needed. Clay had been assigned to similar teams dozens of times. More often than not, backup forces sat cooling their heels, waiting for a summons that never came. But tonight, Clay would be making the call for backup as soon as he and Jasper were off the property. If the team met him halfway, he could drop Jasper with the other agents and be on his way back to help Harley in forty minutes, an hour at most.

By then she will have been in the maze nearly as long. You’ll get there in time to pick up the pieces of what’s left of her. There’s no way to spare her or save her.

You don’t get to be the hero tonight.

No one does.

The thought made gorge rise in his throat again, but he swallowed and forced a smile to his face. He was nearly to the third floor and had drinks to deliver to his new friends.

He turned the corner, grinning like a fool who’d had the best afternoon of his life, to find the chairs at the end of the hall empty. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the hallway in one direction and then the other, ears straining for signs of life coming from any of the rooms. But there was nothing to see and nothing to hear aside from echoes of the shouts and cheers coming from outside the mansion, where the annual, wild run was gearing up to begin.

Smile falling away, Clay moved quietly down the hall, depositing the two beers on the semi-circular table between the guards’ chairs. Moving closer to the door, he flattened his back against the wall and listened again, but no sound came from the room beyond.

Jasper could be gone if he’d ever been held here to begin with.

And if Jasper was gone then Harley had sacrificed herself for nothing.

Clay blinked the thought away, refusing to let it take root. If Jasper wasn’t in this room now, he had been less than two hours ago—there was no way Marlowe was holding two children captive in his mansion. That meant Jasper might still be on the property somewhere, and if he was, Clay was going to find him.

Making as little noise as possible, Clay gripped the door handle and slowly pressed it down. Chances were the room was empty—it was still silent as the grave on the other side. But just in case he preferred to get a look at the situation before he was noticed.

Back still flat to the wall, Clay turned to the left, glancing over his shoulder into the small bedroom, his chest clenching with pain and relief as he spotted the small figure bound and gagged on the other side of the room.

It was Jasper, his blond curls matted around his head and dark circles beneath his glassy eyes. He looked exhausted and likely would have fallen out of the chair if it weren’t for the thick rope wrapped around his torso, but he was alive and in one piece.

His son was alive. Now Clay just had to make sure he stayed that way.

He was about to push the door open when Jasper suddenly glanced up, making eye contact with him across the dimly lit room. But instead of looking relieved, Jasper’s blue eyes widened and he began to shake his head frantically back and forth, making urgent noises behind the gag filling his mouth.

The warning gave Clay just enough time to step back before the doorframe where his cheek had been exploded.

T
he gunshot
still ringing in his ears, Clay turned and grabbed the empty chair beside him, using it as a shield as he kicked open the door and sprinted into the room. His best chance at overcoming the shooter was to move fast, giving the person trying to kill him as little opportunity to regroup as possible. By the time the second blast fired—burrowing through the seat of the chair Clay held and buzzing past his ear—he was already on top of the other man.

Clay rammed into his target, sending the shorter, thicker man slamming into the wall. He wasn’t one of the guards Clay and Harley had met before, and he clearly wasn’t the type to go down easy. Even as he grunted in pain, he lifted the gun again, preparing to take a third shot.

The man was fast, but Clay was faster.

Brandishing the chair like a baseball bat, Clay swung at the shooter’s head. He connected once, twice—with the third blow, the guard dropped to the carpet, his gun flying from his hand. A moment later, the weapon was in Clay’s possession and his foot was on the center of the thug’s chest, pinning him to the ground as he aimed the barrel at his forehead.

“What were your orders,” Clay growled, knowing there was no point in trying to be quiet now. “Tell me and you get to live.”

“Kill you.” The man winced as he spoke, clearly in pain. The left side of his face was turning wretched shades of red and purple and his eye was in the process of swelling shut.

“What else,” Clay demanded.

“Kill you and then take the kid down to the garage,” he said, his tongue probing at his busted lip. “Marlowe wants him ready to go when he gets through with the mother.”

When he gets through with the mother.

Clay’s heart stuttered and his stomach clenched into a miserable knot at the center of his body.

This was a trap. Their smooth entry into the party, the easy discovery of where Jasper was being held, the men who’d come to get Harley right before sunset—it was a trap. All of it. More of Marlowe pulling strings, making his puppets jump and bleed.

But Clay wasn’t dead, and he still had a few surprises of his own.

Without another word to the man on the floor, Clay drew back his arm and struck him hard across the temple. Pausing long enough to make sure the guard was unconscious, he turned back to Jasper, “One second, buddy, and I’m going to get you out of here.”

Jasper nodded, his eyes glittering.

Moving fast, Clay crossed the room, locking the door and dragging the bureau on the far wall in front of it to block the entrance. It wouldn’t buy him and Jasper much time, but hopefully it would be enough.

When he was finished, he returned to Jasper, removing the gag before squatting to work open the knots holding his son to the chair. As soon as his mouth was empty Jasper croaked—

“Where’s Mama? We have to find Mama.”

“I know we do,” Clay said, his chest tight. “But first I’m going to take you to some friends of mine who will keep you safe.”

“No,” Jasper said, his pitch rising. “We have to find Mama now! The bad man is going to hurt her.”

“Your mom wants you safe first, Jasper,” Clay said. “But I promise you, the second you are, I will come back for her.”

“I want Mama now.” Jasper’s voice broke and his thin shoulders began to shake. “I want my mama.”

Throat aching, Clay finally succeeded in loosening the knot and jerked at the ropes, freeing Jasper. He lifted his son into his arms, hugging him tight as he whispered, “You’re going to see her soon, buddy. I promise. I love your mama and I will do whatever it takes to get her back safe. I swear it. Okay?”

He pulled back to look into Jasper’s tear-filled eyes. “But I need you to be strong for me for a little longer. We have to get out of here before more bad guys show up and I’m going to need your help. Can you hang onto my back super tight or do I need to hold you?”

Jasper sniffed. “I can hang on super tight. I’m strong.”

“I know you are,” Clay said, his heart breaking. Jasper was strong, but he shouldn’t have to be. As soon as this was all over, Clay was going to do everything in his power to make sure his son was protected from the ugliness in the world. “Give me a second to get ready and we’re going to climb out that window like ninjas.”

“Okay,” Jasper said, nodding as Clay sat him back on his feet.

With swift, sure movements, Clay unraveled the sheet-rope wrapped around his waist. The rope Marlowe had used to bind Jasper was nearly long enough to reach the ground outside, but the sheets would be easier to hold onto. After a quick glance out the window—assuring himself the garden below was still silent and unguarded—he tied the rope to one leg of the heavy four-poster bed.

Less than a minute later, he had the window open, the screen popped out, and Jasper on his back, ready to make the descent.

“Okay, here we go,” Clay said, making sure his leg was wrapped in the sheet to provide extra leverage. “Hold on tight and don’t look down.”

“I will.” Jasper’s arms tightened around Clay’s neck. “But I’m not afraid of heights. I won’t be scared.”

“Good,” Clay said, pride making his throat tight all over again.

As soon as he had Harley back in his arms, he was going to tell her what an amazing job she’d done raising this brave, resilient little person. He was going to tell her he was proud of her and that he loved her and swear never to let anyone hurt her again.

And he
would
hold her again. Marlowe wasn’t going to win this time.

Clay repeated the mantra to himself as he slipped out the window and worked his way down the rope, swiftly carrying himself and Jasper closer to the ground. Outside, the air had gone dark blue and the sounds of the crowd gathered near the maze were louder, a haunting mixture of shouts, screams, laughter, and howling that sounded more canine than human.

As his feet hit the ground, Clay turned toward the sounds, a part of him dying to find somewhere to hide Jasper and go after Harley. He had a gun now, six more rounds, and so far it didn’t seem like any of Marlowe’s men had heard the gunshots inside the house.

Thankfully Marlowe had underestimated how much deadly force it would take to get Clay out of the picture. But if he showed up at the maze now, he would be exposed, an easy shot. It would be better to come back once the partygoers had disappeared into the labyrinth. It would be harder to find Harley, but when he did he would have fewer targets to take down to get to her.

And she had made it clear that Jasper came first. She hadn’t known she was walking into a trap, but even if she had, she would have gone. Jasper was more important to her than her own life. Clay had to honor her wishes, get their son to safety, and just hope like hell he got back to her in time.

As he turned and ran through the darkened garden—past the yurt village where lanterns lit up the tents of the more reticent partygoers, and on toward the field where the car was parked—he silently prayed for mercy.

He’d already lived through losing Harley once. He didn’t know if his heart could survive a second time.