Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox)

I slide my fingers toward the left side of Knox's chest and stop where I think the heart is.

"Wrong," he says.

Then one of his hands slips under my shirt. I suck in a breath, surprised, and try not to react as his fingers slide up until his palm settles just under my left breast. Not quite where I'd pointed.

"Right here," he says. "That's where the heart is."

"Don't you think there are other ways to show me that don't involve your hand under my shirt?" I mutter, shooting a glance at Mud, who's suspiciously very interested in the road.

His hand slips out from under my shirt and finds my neck, tugging me closer.

I can barely breathe.

I shouldn't be thinking about how close we are or how warm his mouth will be if I bridge the gap. I should be thinking about the fact that we're minutes away from a hostage scene. A psychopath. A warehouse where someone I care about is being held.

Mateo's location hasn't changed since we tracked him back at the club. It's either he left the device behind or he's actually dumb enough to still be sitting there. We'll know soon enough.

The city's long behind us now. The buildings are getting wider, emptier, more spaced out. The streetlights here go dim and flash off more than they stay on. Warehouses line the road, some tagged with graffiti, some with windows punched in. The ground is uneven, and the air is thick with dust and engine smoke.

"When we get there," Knox says, hand still around my neck, "you're staying in the car."

"What?"

"I went against all my instincts bringing you here. But you don't even know basic anatomy." His fingers touch my knee briefly. "The front of the warehouse is as far as you go."

"Knox-"

"You are one hundred percent the only thing that matters to me right now," he says. "Your body. Your brain. Your heart. You. There will be no rest for you in the afterlife if you dare catch a bullet today. I will haunt you. Your entire generation is going to pay if something happens to you today. None of them will find love in this life, I assure you. They are all going to pass away single. Your father. Your mother. Your sister. I might even look for cousins too."

"Jesus," I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him. "Are you related to Mateo by any chance?"

"I'm serious. No more of this 'trying to impress me with hardcore skills' shit. I like you just the way you are."

"Knox," I say, laying my palm flat against his chest. "I love you too, but I'm not trying to impress you. I totally trust you to keep me safe. If I have you with me, why would I catch a bullet?" I look him in the eye. "Mateo's mine. Like you promised."

The car slows as we pull into the lot. I glance up just in time to see the two Escalades that left earlier already parked. The men are out, weapons up, forming a wide perimeter and silently closing in on the building. Their movements are coordinated. Like they've done this too many times.

Mud kills the headlights but leaves the engine running. Then he slips out of the car without a word.

Knox moves like lightning. Before I can think to react, he dives for the floor and grabs my gun, the one Jade left me. He slams out the door and is gone.

"Wait-!" I shout, lunging for the handle.

It doesn't budge.

What the hell?

I scoot across the seat and try the other side.

Nothing.

I slap the glass in frustration. "Are you kidding me right now?"

I can barely make out his shape through the dark tint, but I know Knox can't see me. Still, I flip him off hard enough to strain my middle finger. He turns around and actually blows me a kiss. Then he uses his finger to draw a little heart shape on the glass.

The nerve of this man.

He child-locked me.

He really child-locked me.

I slap the glass again. "KnoxxxXX!"

My voice echoes back at me like I'm yelling into a void. I press my forehead to the window and watch helplessly as he disappears into the building, the rest of the men following close behind.

They're all in now.

The door stands wide open, like a gaping mouth. And I'm stuck in here, seething. I stay still for a moment, breathing hard, my body shaking with fury and helplessness. My eyes stay fixed on that entrance, willing Knox to come back out. Or for someone to give me a reason not to break this glass.

Then I see it.

Movement.

Out of the shadows near the edge of the lot, something shifts. I lean closer to the window, squinting.

It's a man. Masked. Dressed in black, just like the ones from the video call. He's crouching low, holding a gun, and creeping toward the warehouse door. And he's not alone.

More of them start peeling out of the bushes. Three. Four. Five. All armed. All moving in near silence.

Oh my God.

They faked it. They took the cars, probably parked them far off to make it look like they'd cleared out. But they've been here the whole time, blended into the darkness.

It's a setup.

An ambush.

I duck instinctively, though the tint

should still be shielding me. My heart slams against my ribs. Do they know I'm here? No one's looking this way. Every eye is on the door Every step they take is toward the warehouse.

I grab my phone.

No signal.

"Come on," I whisper, swiping again. "Come on, come on, come-damn it!"

Network's jammed.

I toss the phone onto the seat and start scanning the car like my life depends on

it, because right now, it kind of does. I need to get out. Fast.

I check the console. The side pockets. Nothing useful. No safety hammer. No sharp edge. No help.

Dammit, Knox. You're supposed to be paranoid. Where the hell is your emergency gear?

I twist around and dig under the seats, reaching blindly into the shadows. Still nothing. Then my eyes move to the glove box. The gun. He keeps a gun in there. Or at least he used to.

I scramble forward between the seats, knees digging into the leather as I stretch for the center console. My fingers brush something metal. A key. Thank God. I jam it into the glove box and turn.

It clicks open.

There it is.

The gun is right where I last saw it, tucked into the corner like it's been waiting for this moment. I grab it with both hands. It's heavier than Jade's, rougher in my grip.

I shift back toward the window and lift the gun, careful to aim low, away from my face. My arms tremble as I hold it. I angle my head to the side and squeeze the trigger.

Nothing.

Shit.

The safety.

I flip it off with my thumb-at least I remember that much-and squeeze again.

The bang that follows is explosive, bouncing off the windows and roof like a bomb just went off inside the car. My ears ring. The glass doesn't burst right away, but it cracks, forming a sort of spiderweb shape.

I turn the safety back on, drop the gun on the seat, and start kicking.

Hard.

Once.

Twice.

Over and over.

Finally, the window gives. Glass falls away in chunks, and I don't wait. I grab the

gun and shove myself through the jagged frame, scraping my side as I land on

the pavement outside.

I glance at the warehouse.

It's too quiet.

No gunshots. No yelling. Just a dead silence that makes the hairs on my armsnoveldrama

rise.

I don't know what's happening inside. I don't know what I'm walking into. But I

can't just stand here doing nothing.

I keep low as I move, following the path the others took. My shoes crunch softly

on gravel, but I don't stop. The air smells like rust and mold.

When I get to the open door, I pause right at the edge. The inside of the warehouse, stretches out in front of me, wide and empty. It's darker than I thought it would be. The shadows cling to the corners, making it hard to tell where the walls end. A narrow strip of moonlight shines down through a crack in the roof. Dust hangs in the air like glitter.

I tiptoe in.

My eyes adjust slowly. There's no

one in this first room. Just old mail carts, some overturned shelving units, and broken crates scattered everywhere. I round a corner, bugging the wall, and pause when hear it-

Wor

Voices.

Distant. But definitely there.

I follow the sound, weaving through the maze of old furniture and abandoned equipment. The closer I get, the more it clarifies-tense voices, overlapping, no shouting yet. Just heavy words. It's coming from below.

There's a staircase.

I spot it at the end of the hallway. Rusted. Metal. Leading down into what looks

like a basement.

I move toward it.

And then, suddenly, I feel a hand.

Over my mouth.

A hard grip slams around me from behind, dragging me back against a solid

chest.

I gasp, but no sound comes out.

Something cold and hard presses against my ribs.

"Hand over your gun quietly," a voice, male, whispers. "And don't try anything

funny if you don't want to pack your guts off the floor."