Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen

Bexley

Braxton blocked my doorway with a scandalized frown. Anyone would think he had just caught me cheating, standing in the middle of my room in my underwear, doing something that I shouldn't. I tossed my phone between my hands like it was a hot potato.

“Jesus, Braxton! Don’t you ever knock?” I rounded on him with an angry snarl.

“I did, but you didn't hear because you were too busy on your phone,” he berated, then pointed at my mobile. “Is it switched off?”

I double-checked and saw the illuminated home screen. “Caz will wonder what the fuck is going on,” I complained. “She’s worried sick, all alone at my house, with no one around for miles.”

Braxton muscled into my room and snatched the phone from my hand.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Give that back!” I protested.

He used a tiny pin to poke the SIM holder free, then I watched with horror as he held it between his teeth to snap it. The tiny little thing proved to be quite a task. Then discarded it, flicking the broken pieces from his tongue.

“All of my contacts were on that SIM,” I whined. “I have no way of getting them back.”

“How many times did you contact your friend? Who else have you called since you’ve been here?” he roared with a contemptuous glare.

I didn't need an interrogation. Today’s events had worn me out, and all I wanted to do was chill in my room until dinner was ready. What was so wrong with me checking up on a friend? Caz had been living with me for a while; she had no income and no support from her family. The way he was breathing smoke through his nostrils, you would think I had committed a crime.

“I needed to make sure that Caz was okay. My life doesn’t come to a standstill just because of the Chameleon. I still have responsibilities I need to take care of, and she is one of them,” I explained, hoping to make my point. “She has to eat, Braxton. I transferred money into her bank account, so she could buy food. Not everyone was born with a silver spoon rammed in their mouth. It's been hard for her to find work. So, I said she could live with me in the meantime . . . just until she sorts herself out. I can hardly leave her destitute, can I?”

Braxton blanched. “What exactly did you tell her?”

I flapped my arms in a shrug. “Just that I had to go away on a business trip, and that my dad set me up with four guys. It’s not a complete lie, but it avoids the bare truth of what we’re really doing.”

He seemed satisfied with that, but his eyes winced with unease. “You can’t trust anyone, Bexley,” he asserted. “Someone has tracked us here. Grab your things and prepare to leave immediately.”

“What?” I gasped. “But what about my training? I’m not ready,” I stammered; fear splintered through my veins, scratching the underside of my skin with an icy chill. "You promised to teach me how to shoot."

Braxton stepped forward and pulled me into a warm hug. He rested his chin upon my head and exhaled a long sigh. His body heat seeped into my skin and I sucked in a lungful of masculine spice. It didn’t calm me like it usually did because I could sense that he was scared too.

“We’re heading to a secret location where we can lie low for a while. You can finish your training there,” he mentioned.

I hugged him tighter, and he pressed a kiss to my head. “Just because I love you, it doesn’t mean that I’ll let you off the hook. You can wrap Dominic and Asher around your little finger, but Cruz and I will punish you for breaking the rules.”

Pushing back on his chest, I glared up at him. “What do you mean, punish me? I don’t think so.” I scowled. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm a grown woman, not a child."

Braxton huffed a smirk that suggested he would have his way. “You’re not getting away with this scot-free, Bexley. It is our job to keep you safe, and what you did has put you in mortal danger. Someone has been tracking your phone calls and has pinpointed you here. We will have to set some boundaries in place to help you follow instructions. If you break the rules, there will be consequences. Severe ones.”

I swallowed a gulp, ignoring his threat. “They were tracking me? But we’re protected by the British Secret Service, aren't we?” I shook my head as the disclosure left an unsavoury taste on my tongue. “Can't they intercept the signal and find out who it is?"

Braxton lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Like I said . . . we can’t trust anyone. We’re going rogue.”

"Rogue . . . as in, we're on our own?" My stomach rolled with nausea. "I feel sick."

I staggered back as the news knocked the wind from my sails. This can't be happening. My mother was right. I was being circled by sharks; they were bloodthirsty predators, all wanting their pound of flesh. With the lines between good versus evil growing blurry by the second, how was I supposed to determine what was right or what was wrong?

Braxton's wristwatch began bleeping. A red dot flashed, illuminating the face.

"Shit," he hissed. "We need to move."

I didn't wait for an explanation, rushing around to throw on some clothes and shove my feet into a pair of boots. Braxton snatched up my handbag and stuffed the notepad into it, leaving nothing behind for the enemy to find. The Chameleon, the agency, our government . . . fuck knows how many more people wanted to get their hands on those files?

"Hurry," he urged, coiling his fingers around my wrist.

We dashed downstairs to where two of my men were anxiously waiting. Cruz tossed Braxton a handgun, and he caught it with ease.

"Where's Dom?" I asked, searching for him with frantic eyes.

The glass shattered all around us as the windows imploded. Braxton lunged for me, dragging me to the floor and covered me like a human shield. The sound of rapid gunfire swallowed my screams.

Asher and Cruz crouched low, taking shelter behind the furniture.

"Go! Get her out of here!" Cruz yelled to Braxton. "We'll cover you."

"We can't leave without Dom," I wailed, fighting against Braxton's grasp as he pulled me along with him.

The night breeze hit me smack in the face with a strong odour of gunpowder. All I could hear was a commotion of yelling, shooting, and the whooshing should of helicopter blades slicing through the air.

Dom waved from the cockpit of the helicopter, urging us to hurry. Bullets flew past us like fiery wasps with deadly stings. My hair whipped around like wild vines, stinging my face with brutal lashes. Fuelled by adrenaline, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Braxton heaved me inside and I dove into the seat, fumbling with the harness. Braxton crashed beside me, followed by Asher. Cruz wasn't behind us like I assumed he was. My heart jolted with alarm, but then I saw something phenomenal emerging from the green. It was like a scene from a Thunderbird episode — a real-life Tracy Island. The lawn split apart, revealing an underground chamber. A Boeing Chinook emerged from the ground, its twin blades spinning like samurai swords. The mansion resembled a disturbed ant's nest, overrun with soldiers dressed in black. Navy vessels lined the ocean, and military jeeps littered the beachfront in a hostile invasion.

"Hang on to something," Dominic communicated; his voice filtered through the speakers.

We veered around in the opposite direction and huge spotlights followed us. I squinted through the window, desperate to find out whether Cruz was okay. He hovered high above the house and then caught up to us moments later. I relaxed in my seat, resting my head against Braxton's shoulder and felt him bristle with pain. He grunted, and I lifted my head and saw a dark stain spreading through the light material of his t-shirt.

"You've been shot!" I panicked; my face grimaced with tears.

"It's okay, I'll live," he responded, downplaying it for my benefit.

He wasn't okay at all. He was trembling; his skin was pale and sweaty. Asher dragged a first aid kit from under the seat and set to work, digging out the bullet. Braxton's cries of pain rocked me to the core. I didn't know whether to puke or bawl my eyes out.