Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(75)
Author: Joanna Wylde

I nodded quickly, eyes wide.

“Got it.”

Painter nodded, stepping across the room to open the door. He gave me one final look. “My brother deserves someone better than you.”

Nodding my head, I agreed with him. He really did.

PUCK

Boonie and I pulled up behind the club in the van. A prospect sat in the driver’s seat—he’d stay there for the duration, ready to take off as soon as we came back out. In less than a minute we’d walk over to the back of the Vegas Belles building, where our plant, Maryse, would let us in through the emergency exit by the champagne rooms. We’d debated quite a while over which route to take—the rest of the club had gone in through the front. The other exit would take us closer to the office, but would be harder for Maryse to reach, too. Not only that, any firepower in the building would be concentrated there.

Another van pulled up near the far exit. Waiting. So far as we knew, the men inside were clueless about the raid. Jamie Callaghan and his entourage had gone inside five minutes earlier. If things went right, he’d spend less than ten minutes total time in the building.

My phone buzzed.

PAINTER: Problem. Beccas in here. I put her in a private room. She’s safe, but we need to pull her out bef leaving

What. The. Fuck.

For a minute I thought my head might explode. Becca was supposed to be at school. I started typing a text back, then realized it was pointless. We didn’t have time to talk, let alone change the plan. Painter had saved my life more than once, a favor I’d returned. I’d have to trust him.

“Becca is inside,” I told Boonie. He nodded sharply, although I knew he had to be curious. A thousand possible scenarios ran through my head, each one worse than the last.

No matter how I looked at it, there was no excuse for her to be here. None. Christ, had she been working for the Callaghans all along? Impossible.

“Time,” Boonie said. We started toward the door, which opened on cue. Maryse held it as we entered, then she bolted toward the van. The prospect would protect her until it was time to go. I passed by the champagne rooms, wondering which one held Becca. Didn’t matter now—the best way to protect her at this point was to finish out the operation as fast and efficiently as possible.

Then I’d have time to strangle her in comfort.

We passed through the hallway and onto the main club floor. Painter and Gage held two groups of people hostage, already ahead of schedule. Six of them were obviously customers, terrified men who’d been herded back into a corner with several strippers and waitresses.

In the center of the floor stood four more men, hands on their heads. Two wore “Security” shirts while the others had on suits.

Jamie Callaghan’s entourage. There’d been three of them total.

If our count was right, that meant six more men were in the building. The bulk of the brothers was out of sight. According to the plan they’d gone for the office, hopefully grabbing Callaghan and McGraine and pulling them out through the back and into the vans.

“You good in here?” Boonie asked.

“Under control,” Painter replied. “Other team is already down the other hallway.”

“Okay, I’m joining them,” Boonie said. “Puck will cover me while I go back. Then he’ll do a sweep and hold the fort with you.”

“Sounds good,” Gage rumbled. One of the customers spoke up hesitantly.

“We don’t want any trouble,” he said. “This is between you guys—we haven’t seen anything. Let us go and we’ll never talk about what we saw here. I promise.”

“Sit tight and you’ll be fine,” Boonie said. “You’re right—it isn’t about you. You keep your mouths shut and in an hour it’ll be like this never happened. Of course, you talk, you die. We’ll hunt you down no matter where you go. There are hundreds of us, all over the country, so silence is really your best option.”

One of the waitresses started sobbing quietly.

“Shouldn’t have started working for the competition,” Boonie snapped, his voice heartless. “Shut the fuck up.”

She shoved her arm across her mouth, muffling the noise. Time for us to move on. I followed Boonie across the room, gun in hand. The door to the second hallway was propped open, with Ruger and Horse standing guard against the far wall. Two more bouncers lay on the floor in front of them, hands folded behind their heads.

“It’s clear,” Ruger said, nodding at Boonie. “They’re in the office.”

Boonie started down the hall as I turned back toward the main floor.

“How clear are we?” I asked, moving on to the next phase.

“Double-check the bar, then hit the champagne rooms,” Gage said. “We’ve kept count—nobody’s back there but Becca, unless someone’s been hiding since before the club opened. Clear the rooms then come back to help with the hostages.”

All according to plan.

I ran back into the hallway and started opening doors. There were six of them, and the first four were empty. Then I opened the fifth. I almost missed Becca at first—she’d tucked herself into the corner behind the door. When she saw me her face turned white.

“I can explain,” she whispered. The sight of her—half naked—should’ve set me off. Instead I went totally cold. Five years. Five fucking years I’d waited for this woman, treated her like she was glass. Held back. Now she was waving her tits in a fucking strip club. How long had she been coming here? Had she ever been in school at all?

No, she couldn’t have worked here long—someone would have seen her. None of it made sense—not that it mattered right now. I had to get her out of here and finish clearing the rooms. I’d figure out what the hell was really going on after we finished up.

Fucking bitch.

“Get out of here,” I said, grabbing her arm and jerking her into the hallway. “Go out the back door. You’ll see a van there—get inside and wait for me.”

She nodded quickly, stumbling as she ran toward the emergency exit.

I turned to the final door.

That’s when shit got real.

FOURTEEN

BECCA

I’ll never forget the look on Puck’s face when he found me hiding in the champagne room. Not disgust, or anger . . . Not even betrayal.

Much worse.

He’d looked right through me, eyes as dead as Painter’s. Up to that point I’d managed not to think about him, not to consider the consequences of my actions on our relationship. It wasn’t that I’d expected to take off for California and then come back to pick things up where we left them.