Tattoo (Take It Off #7)(6)
Author: Cambria Hebert

“When a man is offered millions of dollars for a job he didn’t even plan, he takes it.”

“When a man’s woman is bleeding, he takes care of her first.”

“Bring her.” It wasn’t really a suggestion.

Brody’s entire body stiffened. I saw the flash of horror in his eyes before he banished it away. “What?”

“You know how the crew rolls. We don’t leave our members behind. And our women are honorary members.”

Brody glanced at me, apology in his eyes.

“Let me put it this way. She comes or she dies,” the man growled.

With a tight nod, Brody switched direction and followed after the thieves.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, pain lancing through my body.

“My job,” he replied, grim.

What the hell kind of job did this man have?

He leaned in close as we stepped out the back door of the bank. “Trust me, okay?”

I didn’t agree or disagree.

It seemed I didn’t have a choice.

3

Brody

This wasn’t the first time I’d been in a situation like this. In the past, I had robbed stores, been in shootouts, stolen things, dealt drugs, participated in beatdowns, and generally broke the law repeatedly. If I hadn’t been under the protection of a badge, I would be rotting in jail.

I was no saint. Hell, I was closer to a sinner than anything.

I couldn’t even claim that I was repulsed by some of the stuff I did, because in reality, when you spend two years of your life in the company of thugs, trying to fit in with them, some of their skewed way of life rubs off.

But this was different.

Here I was climbing into the back of some minivan that only a soccer mom would drive while carrying a woman who was shot, bleeding, and needed medical attention.

Being a questionable guy was something I was used to, but dragging in someone who was completely innocent bothered me in ways I didn’t care to think about.

I knew the moment their eyes landed on the tattoo. I felt the hush race around the room and their eyes bore into my back, trying to figure out how I got such a mark. I ignored them, focusing instead on Taylor. She was pale, and it worried me.

What the hell did she step in front of that bag for? It was only money. Paper. Worthless when compared to a life.

I never should have halted when I felt that gun between my shoulder blades. I should have disarmed him immediately and taken out as many guys as I could before they got me. I hesitated. I hesitated for several reasons:

1.) I wanted them to think they were in control.

2.) I thought they might punish Taylor for my impulsive actions.

3.) If I jumped into action, they would’ve wondered who I was.

Hesitation got me in a big fucking mess.

I practically handed them control, they shot Taylor anyway, and they saw the tattoo. They saw the gang symbol that marked me as one of their own, one of the elite crew members who did enough dirty work to earn a permanent mark—a permanent place in the brotherhood on the streets.

It took me two years to earn that tattoo.

It was going to follow me around forever.

And now here I was in the back of a getaway car. At least the hostages got out. I glanced down at Taylor, her face slick with sweat, and the sheen of pain in her eyes made my gut tighten. Rage bubbled up inside me. I wanted to beat every single punk ass in this van. How the fuck did this become my reality?

I was supposed to be driving down the open road. I was supposed to be free of shit like this, at least for a little while.

But no.

Instead, I was dragged right back in and I couldn’t walk away. Taylor was tangled up in this mess now and everything I did would come back on her.

I wasn’t going to let her be punished for the bad luck that I was at her window when the bank was held up.

I would protect her.

And I would bring these fuckers down.

The symbol on my back gave me an automatic in. The badge attached to my real name gave me the authority to do what I thought was necessary. These guys thought they were getting an ally.

They were wrong.

I glanced out the window, noting we were heading out of downtown Raleigh and traveling into one of the nearby towns. The driver played it smart, not driving erratically, not drawing any kind of attention to the van. He obeyed all the traffic laws and stayed within the speed limit.

A minivan was a good choice because it looked like a mom car, not a criminal mobile. Cops probably wouldn’t look twice at it unless it was driving at unusual speeds.

Plus, it had room in the back for all the stolen money.

A million questions bounced around in my head. I wondered where we were going. How long they planned to drive. What their plans were now. But I didn’t ask because crew members always played it cool. They always acted like they had things under control. If I started acting fidgety, nervous, or questionable, it would not be good for me. Or Taylor.

I glanced down to find her looking at me. Her green eyes were tight with pain and they latched onto my face as if the only thing anchoring her to consciousness was me.

I felt the weight of her green-eyed stare like an anvil around my neck. I swallowed, trying to get some air past the tight feeling closing my throat. Usually in these situations, the only person I had to look after was myself.

And if I were honest, then I would admit the reason I made such a good undercover cop was because I didn’t really care much about what happened to me. They always say the most dangerous man is a man with nothing to lose. Well, that’s me. For years I lived by that code. For years I put myself in death’s path, pushing the limits, stepping over the boundaries between right and wrong.

It always paid off.

Yet as Taylor’s emerald eyes watched me, I felt the chains of responsibility wrap around my chest. Suddenly, I had someone to worry about that wasn’t me. Suddenly, the thought of losing the way she held on to me as if her life depended on it seemed like a very big thing.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my voice a little harsher than I intended.

Eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “You’ll see.”

“She needs medical attention,” I bit out, not caring if I sounded challenging.

Her slim, cold fingers wrapped around my forearm. The impulse to cover her light, cold grip with mine was strong, but my arms were supporting her body and I couldn’t risk taking away that support.

“You’re gonna be okay,” I told her, keeping my voice as low as I could.

Her fingers tightened around my arm.

The van took a sharp turn and I looked up. We were pulling behind an old, abandoned gas station. The parking lot was cracked with weeds growing up between the splits in the pavement. The old pumps were basically silver boxes sticking up out of the ground, long empty. Everything around the building was bare. No houses, no other buildings, no signs of life.