His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(133)
Author: Shayla Black

Static filtered in over the radio the agents had lent Sean, then muffled voices. Sean lifted it from his belt and held it ear-level between them. As they listened, the agents approached the compound, discussing the electronic gates designed to deliver a stunning jolt to trespassers. The perimeter of the compound was surrounded by fences less expensive and off-putting—simple chain link with barbed wire—but attack dogs roamed the premises and had already sniffed out the feds, barking relentlessly.

Joaquin closed his eyes. The FBI’s strategy of playing official and making nice didn’t feel right. The feds would have to force their way into this compound—and that would be more difficult now that they’d lost the element of surprise. Son of a bitch.

“We’ve got to find a way in there,” Joaquin insisted. “Now. They’re going to fail.”

“They can deal with fences and dogs. This is nothing unexpected. Be patient.”

“Would you be patient if Callie was trapped in there?” Joaquin demanded.

“I’d be whatever I needed to be in order to get her out.” Sean sent him a dark frown. “Get your shit together.”

As the other man stalked off with the flashlight, Joaquin followed, cursing. Sean was right.

Sean ascended the top of a gentle rise, then frowned. He shined the flashlight directly down, kneeling to shove aside long strands of grass swaying with the wind. “I found some sort of metal flap. It’s been painted a dark green to match the grass.” He shoved his palms under the lip and tried to lift it. “I need your help.”

If this door was a way into the quarry, they might be able to get into the compound. This might be Joaquin’s way to rescue Bailey.

He knelt beside Sean. Together they tugged and pulled. The sucker was heavy and stuck good.

“Damn it. Why won’t it open?”

“There may be a latch on the inside,” Joaquin mused. “We need a damn crowbar. I had one in my SUV. If I had thought for a second we’d need it, I would have—”

A deafening roar exploded a moment later. The ground beneath their feet rolled. A fireball lit up the sky. It had come from the direction of the compound.

Bailey.

Joaquin staggered back, staring at the twisting wall of flame in the distance. With his heart thundering, he charged toward it, icy disbelief washing through him. “No!”

Sean chased him down and grabbed him around the neck, holding him back. “Where do you think you’re going, man? That fire is probably a thousand degrees. You have to stay back.”

A blaze like that would instantly kill anyone near it. Those on the perimeter of the blast might be lucky to only lose a limb or two, but the falling shrapnel could slice skin open wide, or be sucked into lungs. Or the blaze might just cook them alive. Any of those could kill a person more slowly.

And every bit of intel they had put Bailey inside that compound. Or she had been until it blew into little pieces.

Ash and debris rained down nearby—part of a chair, a children’s toy, the handle of a rake. Sean put his hands over his head for cover and ducked. Something heavy landed in the shadows about a hundred feet away with a resounding, metallic clunk. Joaquin stood in mute horror, gaping at the flames licking high into the darkening sky and struggling to breathe.

His mind screamed that he’d lost Bailey and his life would never be whole or right again.

Sean’s radio filled with curses, another explosion, then static. Everything sounded chaotic—lots of fumbling and disbelief.

“Let’s get back to the main highway and find someone to call for backup and emergency services.” Sean pulled Joaquin away from the carnage.

He couldn’t leave Bailey dead here like she hadn’t mattered. Like he accepted that she’d simply become a part of the ground. Was he supposed to just leave behind his heart? The potential seed of his family and future?

Please God, let me have a miracle. Let her be alive.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew better.

The numbness of shock gave way to the crushing wall of pain then. Bailey was gone. Dead. No more. He hadn’t been good enough, fast enough. He hadn’t saved her. Her tragic childhood, her lie of an adolescence, her finally learning the truth of her identity—all for nothing.

Joaquin didn’t know how he’d live without her. This crippling agony felt like his father’s death, only worse. As a boy, the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness had been hard to swallow and difficult to process. As a man, this twisting anguish was impossible to comprehend or accept.

He’d. Failed. Her. No way to sugarcoat that.

Yeah, he supposed he should take comfort that an explosion had probably taken Bailey, rather than McKeevy’s blade, but he couldn’t be grateful for a single fucking thing right now.