Retaliation: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (15 page)

T
he first thing
I'm aware of is a cold damp chill on my forehead. I groan, and realize there's some sort of dark red light filling my vision. It's only after a few moments that I realize my eyes are still closed, and the pain starts. “Fuuuuuckkkkk... what happened?”

“Best we can figure, you got kicked in the face,” a calm, familiar voice says, and I try my best to put a name to that voice. “You've been out for nearly twenty minutes.”

Twenty... Nathan! I open my eyes, hot daggers of pain stabbing my eyes and I close them again, quickly. “Shiiiit. Bad idea.”

“It's okay Carson, the EMT will be here soon,” the voice says again, and I realize it's Melissa. Of course it is, who else would take care of me when I'm injured? She's done it her entire life. “Katrina already has them coming in to take a look at everyone.”

I nod slowly, and try opening my eyes again. I'm still lying in the dooryard behind the barn, but Melissa's adjusted herself so that she's blocking the worst of the sun from my eyes. It's slow, very slow, but I eventually can open my eyes without feeling like my eyes are being gouged out by flaming hot forks. “My eyes hurt.”

“You might have a broken cheekbone,” Melissa says simply, her voice still so calm. “Don't try to touch your face.”

“What's the damage? And Nathan...” I groan, trying to sit up and failing. “BA? Andrea?”

“BA is fine, she's calming down now that she's with Jackson,” Melissa says. I hear a vehicle pull into the dooryard, and then hear Katrina's voice telling the driver to stop, and then they talk, but I'm not able to make out the words, my head is ringing too much. There's movement and commotion, and suddenly someone else joins us. He's dressed like a regular paramedic, but I get the sense he's more than that.

“Can you talk?” he asks, flashing a light in my eyes.

“Fuck man, the light's a little bright,” I groan, and he moves on. “Nathan?”

“Katrina did a quick tracheotomy on him, he's going to have a scar on his throat when he recovers. But he's alive,” Melissa says, relief in her voice. “We moved him to the porch, but didn't want to move you. She said she wasn't sure about head injuries. And we were tired enough trying to move Nathan.”

“What about Jackson? And Andrea?”

“Rest,” Melissa says, stroking my head. “We'll get you patched up, and then we can talk.”

“No...” I groan, struggling to my knees, my head hanging like a dog as I fight back the nausea that's rolling through my guts. Oh yeah, I've got a concussion for sure. Bad one too, from the feeling. “Tell me, 'Lissa.”

“Jackson's got a broken leg, while Andrea... he kidnapped her.”

Melissa's words hit me like a sledgehammer. I try to get to my feet, but the world swims, and I drop back to my knees, gasping. “Andrea... I have to find Andrea...”

Melissa's hands are on my shoulders, pushing me down. “I know, Carson. But you can't do anything right now. The EMT will be back soon, and he's taking us all to the clinic.”

I nod, closing my eyes, but in the darkness, all I can think of is Andrea, and finding her, rescuing her. Her blue eyes glow in the darkness, and I chase after them as hard as I can, but they keep getting farther and farther away. I'm running as hard as I can, but fail, and the blackness swallows me again.

* * *

“
H
e's coming around
.”

I groan again, opening my eyes slowly to see that I'm in some sort of hospital room, maybe the clinic that Melissa mentioned earlier. The lights are almost all the way off, with just a little bit of glow coming from some sort of recessed lighting.

“What happened?” I ask again, looking around. Melissa's still here, and I see Katrina as well. “Where's Nathan? Jackson? Andrea?”

“Nathan's in the intensive care room,” Melissa says softly, worry in her voice. “The doctors say they got to him in time. The poison wasn't in full effect, but it's going to take a long time for him to recover. Jackson's in casting right now, along with BA. She's fine.”

“And Andrea? I remember you saying she was kidnapped?”

Katrina turns to me, and I see that she's wearing a sling on her left arm, and she's got a bruise on her cheek that is quickly spreading. “Orloff took her. I already called my friends, but he's got a lead, and I couldn't get a shot off with the way he was holding Andrea.”

I swallow, sitting back. “And me?”

“Grade two concussion, hairline fracture of your cheekbone. From what Melissa told the docs, you've had that before?”

I nod, sitting up the rest of the way. “Years ago. I told Jackson about it. But BA's okay?”

Katrina nods, her shoulders slumping as the pain and fear start to hit her. “Melissa protected her well.”

“I knew you could,” I whisper, looking at Melissa. “You're strong, 'Lissa.”

“I have to be,” Melissa says, her voice quavering a little. “But Nathan...”

“Go to him,” I tell her, reaching out and taking her hand. “I'll be fine, and I've got things to do anyway.”

“Carson...”

I shake my head, and kiss Melissa's hand. “Go to him, 'Lissa. I'll be fine.”

Melissa nods, and leaves the room, turning left out the door. With just me and Katrina, I'm able to set aside my concern for Melissa for a moment, and look at Katrina. “Hard questions time. First, where the fuck are we?”

“An underground clinic,” Katrina says, sitting down next to me in a chair. “It's closer to New Orleans than Paradis. The doc's a good doctor who lost his license because of a drug problem about ten years ago. Since then, he's gone underground.”

“And he can do that?” I ask, surprised, and Katrina chuckles. “What?”

“There's a whole world that exists parallel to the one you know. It's not the criminal underworld, that exists in both. This underground world is nearly as capable as the regular world. In some ways it's more capable, because the people who are in it don't have to deal with the same bullshit the regular world does. In this case, there's a perfectly good doctor with a good clinic, good equipment, and all of it doesn't technically exist. When you go outside, you'll see that this place is supposed to be an office that supposedly sells soft serve machines to ice cream parlors. But, Nathan's getting good treatment. Jackson and I, our injuries are minor. We could have gotten fixed up by a vet if we wanted.”

“What do you have?”

“Jackson's got a cracked fibula, hurts like hell but he can walk if he needs to, the tibia can take the weight. He's also got some cracked ribs,” Katrina says. “My left shoulder's dislocated, with one hell of a bruise on my shoulder blade to match. Oh, and this smack in the face, which just looks ugly.”

I groan in frustration. We got our asses kicked. “Tell me we at least hurt the guy? Nathan caught him with one in the shoulder, I think.”

“I saw that, and Jackson got another glancing shot to his ribs, but he was hurt. On the other hand...” Katrina says, then shakes her head. “I thought I was good.”

“You are,” I reassure her. “But from what Andrea told me about when he attacked you before outside the clinic... he got her, right?”

“He did. But when he popped my shoulder, he put me down, and she jumped on his back before he could hurt me more. She's got balls, that's for sure.”

I nod and sit up, steadying myself as the world swims. I swing my legs off the bed and stand up. I make sure I keep my legs straight, my eyes closed, and my hand on the bed rail until I'm sure that I'm balanced.

“What are you doing?” Katrina asks, and I feel her hand on my arm. I shrug it off, but not too hard, I know she's just concerned.

“She's out there, Katrina. I'm going to find her, and bring her back.”

“Do you have any idea how in the hell to do that?” Katrina asks, not harshly, but instead hopeful. “Because I've been racking my head. I reached out to the people I know, but Vadim Orloff... he can disappear very easily.”

“There's one way I can think of,” I say, opening my eyes. “I go to Peter DeLaCoeur, I put a gun to his head, and tell him unless Andrea's delivered safe to me, I blow his brains all over the French Quarter.”

Katrina looks into my eyes, then nods. “Do you know where he is?”

I shake my head slowly, then point. “Nathan does. He's been trying to deflect Peter, I'm sure he knows.”

“He's unconscious,” Katrina says. “How are we going to find out from him?”

I smirk, and pat her on her right shoulder. “Come on. I thought you were some sort of hot shit hacker? I'm sure you can take his cell phone and figure out something.”

Katrina smiles, her eyes lighting up. “I can do that even one-handed. All right, but I'm going to need some stuff from the house.”

“So do I.”

* * *

G
rabbing Katrina's
laptop is easy since she had it stored in her bedroom. She says it's not as powerful as her home unit, but that she can do what we need with it. I'm just glad the house isn't disturbed. We're far enough from the neighbors that the pistol shots went ignored, it seems. The good part of country living is you get your privacy. The bad part is... sometimes that privacy isn't always a good thing.

Next, I go through Nathan's things, double checking that he doesn't have a second cell phone or other items that might be useful. There's a black notebook with some notes scribbled in something that I'm not sure is English, but nothing else I can use. I stick the notebook in my bag and head out quickly, not wanting to wait any more than I have to.

I head out to the barn, hopeful that Orloff didn't find my gun cabinet. I find it untouched, and I send a quick prayer to whoever's watching over me, thanking them for small miracles. Hopefully it's keeping Andrea safe as well. I open the cabinet, and look, knowing that playtime's over. These weapons were created with a very distinct purpose, and I'm going to be using them for that purpose. I need something that has a light action, big impact, and can fire quickly. As fast as Orloff is, I can't be sure I'll get another shot on him.

I know exactly what I want, and I pull it from my cabinet, laughing quietly as I look at it. It's ironic, as it's the same manufacturer that Katrina and Jackson prefer, and somehow, using the Glock 40 is just right. Loaded with full power 10mm rounds, it'll put a charging bull down with one shot. “Best of all,” I sneer with grim satisfaction as I slam home my clip of mixed full metal jacket and hollow point ammo, “I could fire this fucking thing underwater and not have a problem. Inferior, my ass.”

I go out of the barn and into the house, taking a moment to look at the damage. The smoke damage is most immediately noticeable, but it's just dye, a smoke grenade that Orloff threw through the kitchen window that we'd left uncovered to be able to see the dooryard. There's a huge purple stain on the kitchen tile, and there's a mist of purple over most of the rest, but that can be cleaned. Or fuck it, we can move, I don't care anymore. The bullet holes can be patched, and the place repainted, but I don't care. My heart is missing, and I need to get her back.

Taking a moment, I go upstairs, and find Andrea's things. In her bag I find a t-shirt that I thought was totally her—sexy, cute, and the right mix of smart and vulnerable at the same time. She said it was a Christmas gift from Katrina, and I swallow down a lump in my throat. “I'll get you back, Andrea. I promise.”

Rushing, I still don't know for sure if or when the local cops might show up, I head downstairs and out to the Honda I borrowed from one of the clinic staff. Time is of the essence, and I can't sit around letting my emotions get the best of me.