Dark Hearts (Part 4) (The Bleeding Love Series) Read online

  Robert Cartwright.

  It comes to a stop a few feet from us. The back door on the right side opens slowly.

  All three of us automatically reach for our holsters as we watch the asshole climb out of the vehicle with six muscle-bound suited fuckers flanking him.

  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his three-quarter-length wool coat and eyes the three of us with amusement for several long seconds.

  His gaze settles on me.

  “I never thought I’d witness this. The three of you working together again.”

  “You didn’t leave us much choice,” I tell him.

  “It took you long enough to come to your senses, Damon. You’ve finally accepted there’s no way out of this for you. No choice but to meet your goddamn maker. You’ve beat death more times than you should have already. Your time is up now.” He takes a step closer. “Besides, you can take comfort in the fact that Miss Halton won’t be killed. With the three of you dead, I no longer need to bother with her.” He grins then, maliciously. “Of course, she could have other uses. I’d enjoy taming that one, Damon.”

  I knew it! This is exactly why I couldn’t just hand over Andrew and Sam. I have to kill him, too. Things are never over with him. He never lets things go. Not once someone crosses him. And Alana crossed him big time up at her safe house lodge. He won’t let that lie. I wasn’t fool enough to think he would, even if he got what he wanted—the deaths of the only two living witnesses to the atrocities he committed years back with the military. The only serious threats and concerns to him.

  I don’t respond to his degrading comment about Alana. I can’t. The risk of me snapping by engaging in any conversation about her is too high.

  Instead, I glare at him steadily while keeping my eye on the six musclebound guys flanking him. I watch them break from him and start towards Andrew and Sam either side of me.

  This is it!

  Time to act.

  Everything’s perfect. Everyone’s in the exact position I need them to be to fire off the expertly aimed, rapid-fire shots I need to, to take them all out.

  I’m that good.

  Once a sniper, always a sniper.

  But then it happens.

  The fuck up I’d been worried about all this time. The thing I’d feared—something unprecedented happening that I had no chance of responding to in time.

  The thing is, I thought it would come from one of the three of them: Andrew, Sam, or Rob.

  Instead, it’s a damn unmarked white van speeding into the parking lot, tires screeching and burning rubber.

  Automatic fire rips through the area seconds later.

  It has Cartwright bellowing at the top of his lungs, “Take them. Now! Hurry!”

  All hell breaks loose.

  His guys have their hands on Andrew and Sam in the next second, wrestling their weapons off them and dragging them to the back door of Cartwright’s vehicle.

  Before I can do a thing, Cartwright’s fist comes at my face.

  My reactions trump his and I manage to deflect it, before it can make contact. As I push him back, I catch sight of four of his guys shoving Andrew and Sam into the vehicle. No! I can’t let this happen! I need to take them out! They’re all here. This opportunity will never come again! Fuck!

  “You set me up?” he roars at me.

  He gestures behind him to another two guys. They come at me.

  The grab at me, trying to force me into the vehicle as Cartwright bellows irately, completely losing his temper, “You piece of shit! You think you can fuck with me? Take him! Get him in there. I’m gonna show him the consequences of messing with me.” He leans in and snarls, “Believe me when I tell you, the pain you’ll feel at my hands will be worse than anything you’ve ever suffered before.”

  I’m struggling against the guys when I hear two sharp whizzing sounds.

  Both of them grunt and slap their hands to their necks.

  Their grips loosen. In seconds, they’re collapsing onto the asphalt, down for the count.

  “Fuck!” Cartwright mutters, diving for the passenger door quickly, before he’s next. He takes one last glance back at me, before he bellows at his driver to get the hell out of the parking lot.

  I know I can take those fucking tires out.

  I pull my gun and take aim.

  A sharp, pricking sensation pierces the back of my neck.

  As I slap my hand to it, I feel something there.

  I rip it out and see a tranquilizer dart in my hand. Shit.

  I spin around to see who just fucking shot me and ruined my well-laid plan.

  I can’t believe it.

  “Dean?” I croak out, just as everything around me starts to spin.

  He just nods and glares at me, watching silently as he waits.

  He doesn’t have to wait long.

  The dosage must be huge, because I lose the fight quickly. Dammit!

  I slump to my knees, unable to support my own weight for another second.

  Everything slips away.

  I’m out.

  Chapter 3

  ~Alana~

  Mark eyes me nervously.

  As skin-to-skin contact is made, I see him tense up.

  He needn’t worry.

  I’m not that crazy.

  I’m not going to lose my shit with the doctor examining me.

  Sure, I don’t like people touching me. Mark, Damon and Dean are the only exceptions. Well, Dean? That’s not the case anymore after the crap he pulled recently. But I’m okay right now. I’m handling the doctor touching me, because I know I need to. And he’s a medical professional.

  Besides, my mind is elsewhere at the moment. A few hours ago, I discovered that Damon betrayed me.

  Argh. I can’t go there right now. Especially not with the Damon issue.

  I’m still groggy and a little weak, because of the damn sedatives that Damon’s guys shot me up with. The only thing I’m going to expend my energy on right now is making sure my baby is okay and healthy.

  And most of that energy involves me holding in my natural instinct to break the doctor’s fingers for touching me. I have to make myself endure it. He’s trying to help me. I know that. But, right at the surface, is that skin-crawling sensation of having a man I don’t know touching me. It’s threatening to kick start my fight or flight response. And, with me, it’s always fight.

  I never run from anyone.

  Something occurs to me then. I did try to run from Damon.

  It was my first reaction when I’d found out about his betrayal. It’s a far cry from the way I’ve always done things. I mean, hell, when Mark had betrayed me, I’d shot him and threatened to kill him. And with Damon…I’d just…what? Walked off?

  I’ve changed.

  He’s changed me.

  He’s calmed me.

  “Alana,” Mark calls, breaking through my thoughts.

  My gaze snaps to his. He’s standing beside the bed, those worry lines on his face even more prominent now.

  “What?” I ask, looking between him and the doctor.

  That’s when I realize the doctor is no longer touching me. He’s packing up his supplies.

  I must’ve blocked the whole thing out and retreated into myself. It’s a form of compartmentalization I learned a long time ago that kicks in whenever someone touches me against my will. I’d first developed it when Andrew Forest had…done what he had to me. During that awful torture, I’d actually reached the point where I’d effectively managed to blackout during some of it.

  “It’s over. Doctor Sloane’s finished his exam, Alana,” Mark tells me.

  Before I can get a word out, the doctor smiles at me and says, “Everything is fine. The baby is healthy.”

  He goes on with a little spiel about the specifics, but I don’t hear it. I’d just needed so badly to hear the everything-is-fine part.

  Who the hell knew a woman like me would possess any maternal instincts whatsoever? It’s not even purely that. It’s that…t
his is a gift.

  My life and my entire adult existence has basically been dealing death. Dark. Dangerous. Dirty.

  And now…this child…it is life.

  Out of all the darkness and death, Damon and I have created life.

  It’s absolutely overwhelming. Shocking.

  But…welcome.

  I never thought it would be. I never ever imagined that I’d become a mother. I never wanted it. Never planned for it.

  But now it’s here, I realize something really shocking. I want this. I want this baby.

  The question is: is Damon going to be a part of it?

  Can I forgive him?

  He’s the only man I’ve ever trusted so completely and he betrayed me.

  Not only did he betray me, he did it in the most awful way. He was working with my worst enemy, the man I’ve wanted dead for so long.

  “All right. I’m done here,” the doctor says.

  My gaze snaps to his.

  And that’s when I see it.

  A look in his eyes.

  My instincts kick in immediately and, before I know it, I’m hastily climbing off the bed.

  “Wait,” I command, as he turns to walk out of the bedroom.

  He freezes, his back to the room. “Uh…yes?”

  The nervous waver in his voice doesn’t escape my notice either.

  I react quickly and lunge at Mark, going for his right hip holster and ripping his gun from it.

  I cock it and take aim at the doctor’s back.

  “Alana. What the fuck?” Mark exclaims.

  “Turn around, Doctor!” I bark.

  Shivering, he slowly does as I’ve ordered. His eyes widen in terror at the sight of the gun aimed his way and he raises his hands. “Please,” he whimpers.

  Mark steps up to me, but I hold up my free left hand, warning him to stay back.

  “Spill it,” I demand of the doctor.

  “Spill what?” Mark mutters, at a loss.

  But the flash in the doctor’s eyes, that guilty look right there, tells me he knows exactly what I’m getting at. Damn straight, he does. My instincts are never wrong.

  Something is definitely off here.

  “They…they threatened my family. My wife and kids.”

  “Who?” I already have a pretty damn good idea, but I need to hear him confirm it.

  “Robert Cartwright and his…organization.”

  “What were their orders?”

  “To…uh…to stall you.”

  “Stall?” Mark growls. “For what?”

  We get our answer in the next split second in the form of a huge crash down the hall at the front door. Heavy, thunderous footsteps and barked orders follow next.

  “Get down! Over there!” I yell at the doctor, gesturing with Mark’s gun to the corner of the bedroom.

  Whimpering, he hurries over there, covering his ears with his hands.

  A guy decked out in heavy-duty tactical gear appears in the doorway.

  He raises his gun.

  But he’s not fast enough.

  I fire at his left kneecap. He screams like a little bitch as his leg gives way and he crashes to a heap.

  Mark snaps into action and brushes past me. The sneaky bastard lifts his gun from my grip, using an effective and quick-as-lightning move I taught him a while back. He doesn’t break his stride as he walks up to the guy and fires a bullet through his skull.

  Right then, another appears in the doorway.

  Mark fires another kill shot and the guy tumbles lifelessly back out into the hallway. He’s dead before he even hits the ground.

  Mark eyes me and I see the same flash of regret I know is in mine. He shouldn’t be killing anymore. Not with his history of PTSD. Shit.

  But we don’t get the chance to address it as we hear more footsteps and more voices coming from down the hall. How many are there? Shit.

  Mark grabs me and pulls me to him. He pushes me out of the way and holds me protectively just behind him.

  It pisses me the fuck off that he’d pull this protective crap with me.

  “You’re pregnant!” he hisses at me, obviously feeling me tensing in his hold.

  A shot fires down the hall and he pulls us back against the wall. We both flatten our backs against it, right beside the bedroom door.

  “Stay here,” he tells me.

  He breaks from our position of cover and darts down the corridor quickly. He fires a shot and I hear a scream. He hit his target. I’m not surprised. He used to be a pretty good sharpshooter, like Damon. Well, not as good, but skilled, nonetheless.

  I’m expecting him to return to our place of cover.

  But he doesn’t.

  He’s further down the corridor before I can stop him.

  I hear thuds, crashes and cursing for the next few moments.

  Hell, if I’m going to wait here like some helpless damsel in distress.

  I make my way out into the hallway to see Mark engaged in a hand-to-hand battle with three guys.

  It’s been a while since he’s been in the field, especially in a combat situation. I can see he’s rusty.

  But I’m not.

  I might have issues going for the kill now, but I don’t have a goddamn problem inflicting damage.

  He’s battling two guys either side of him, deflecting their blows. He’s caught in a completely defensive position. It’s only a matter of time before he gets tired and then he’s done.

  There’s a guy on his back, trying to take him down as well. Such an underhanded move. No fucking respect. I hate that. Asshole.

  I kick at the backs of his knees, weakening his grip around Mark’s shoulders.

  It’s my window.

  I rip him back by his shoulders and use his mammoth weight against him to haul him into the hallway wall. He crashes into it with a hefty thud that cracks the drywall. I’m on him a second later, gripping the back of his head and slamming his face brutally into the wall. It knocks him out and he slumps down into an unconscious heap.

  “Alana! No!” Mark yells, chancing a glance to his side at me.

  Idiot! What a dangerous thing to do while he’s in the middle of battle. Yeah, he’s fucking rusty, all right.

  One of the guys he’s battling takes advantage of his momentary distraction, his fist slamming sickeningly hard into Mark’s gut. It has him grunting and doubling over.

  I react quickly, knocking Mark back and taking his place.

  He’s too busy coughing and spluttering from that brutal hit to do something misguided, like trying to stop me.

  “Cartwright wants a word with you,” one of the guys tells me. “Stand down and you won’t be harmed.”

  “What’s the matter? You know my rep, is that it?” I tell him. Yeah, he does. He’s so fucking scared he can’t even hide it. Good. He’s about to feel that fear up close and personal.

  He opens his mouth to answer, but I’m done talking.

  I roundhouse him away from me, giving me some room to move.

  His buddy comes at me then, trying to throw a punch that is far too slow to take out someone like me. I catch his arm and move swiftly to spin him around and twist it up his back. I yank hard and he screams as I hear it crack.

  I feel an approach at my back. I shift my grip and trap the guy in a choke-hold, my right arm pressing painfully into his windpipe. I spin around. I spot a black antique vase off to the side of the hallway. Just within reach. As the fool comes at me, I shove my foot into the vase and propel it into him with perfect accuracy. It crashes into his face, making him stumble and curse as it breaks into dozens of sharp pieces, slicing and piercing his skin.

  I shove the guy in my hold into him and they both lose their footing and hit the floor hard.

  I stride up to them and knock one of them out with a vicious kick to the temple.

  I don’t get the chance to deal the same fate to the other one as a gunshot rings out, driving through his head. Instant kill.

  I spin to see Mark standing there, his
gun still in firing position.

  Shit. Another kill.

  He shifts to the other guy who’s unconscious, but still alive.

  “Mark!” I cry.

  His eyes dart to me and all I see is pain. “I have to. Keeping them alive is foolish and you can’t do it anymore. You can’t…kill.”

  I walk up to him and push down on his hand holding the gun, forcing the aim to the floor. “And you shouldn’t be killing anymore.”

  “I’m protecting you…just like at that motel.”

  I shake my head. “No more, Mark. It’s not good for you.”

  A gun cocks behind us then and we both spin in surprise.

  Fuck.

  There’s another guy there, this one standing at the entrance to the condo, a Glock aimed our way. “Put the weapon down. Hands in the air,” he commands.

  When we don’t comply, he takes a step into the condo.

  It’s the last step he takes.

  A shot rings out and a bullet rips through his throat. He chokes as blood spews violently from his neck. As he slumps to the floor, frantically clutching at his wound—a wound that’s fatal and will kill him in seconds—a guy behind him comes into view.

  Jack.

  Damon’s Head of Security.

  “Jesus Christ,” Mark breathes.

  Jack gestures frantically at us. “Let’s move! Now! There are more!”

  “How the hell did Cartwright breach security here?” I ask, making my way over to him with Mark at my back.

  “I’m not sure. We need to evacuate you first and then we’ll deal with the fallout.”

  Fair enough.

  “The car’s downstairs. It’ll take you to another secure location.”

  Great. Another secure location. The secure part is becoming a joke. Every place we’ve stayed at so far has been compromised. As Mark and I follow Jack out, I decide that the time for this defensive, hiding shit is done with. It’s time to go on the offensive.

  Cartwright, you fucker, I’m coming for you.

  Chapter 4

  ~Damon~

  I wake up to a thundering headache. I remember that feeling too well. Unfortunately, it’s not my first time being shot with a fucking tranquilizer dart.