Ryden pretended he was playing a tiny violin. “Aw, sorry ’bout your luck.”

  “Yeah, well. At least I can see out of both eyes.”

  “You piece of shit!” Ryden launched toward the camera, only to have Saint hold him back. “When I get my hands on you, you’re going to wish you never set foot in this building!”

  It was no secret that Ryden couldn’t see out of his left eye. Fitz had never seen eyes like his. The right was a foggy gray with a ring of amber around it, while the left was half amber, half gray. Some kind of accident while in service had led to Ryden losing his sight in his left eye and being honorably discharged. Fitz never asked, as he felt it wasn’t his place. The fact Emmett would use that knowledge against Ryden was a low blow.

  Something clattered loud inside the walls, and Fitz put his hand on Saint’s arm, whispering, “What was that?”

  “Sounded like the AC,” Saint murmured. “Shit.” He grabbed a black vest and shoved it at Ryden. “He’s messing with the vents.”

  Fitz’s heart pounded in his ears as Saint quickly strapped him into a tactical vest, the weight of it a reminder of the dire situation he was in. A helmet with a visor followed, but when Saint handed him a gun, Fitz shook his head.

  “I hate guns. I’m not using that.”

  “Fitz, listen to me. Emmett wants you dead. If it comes down to you or him, you need to pull the trigger.”

  “I’ve never fired a gun!”

  Saint placed the gun in his palm and positioned his fingers around the handle. Was it called a handle? He knew nothing about guns!

  “See this? This is the safety. Just move it with your thumb. When you press the trigger, press it like you mean it, and make sure your hand is below this part here. This is the slide, and it’s going to snap back when the gun is fired to eject the empty case. It’ll automatically reload a new cartridge. You’re going to feel a kickback, and it’s going to be loud. There are seventeen rounds in this.”

  “What if I drop it?”

  “Pick it back up. The gun has safety features to prevent accidental misfiring.”

  “Saint, I can’t do this…”

  Green smoke flowed out from the vent, and Ryden turned to Fitz. He looked like a soldier, just like Saint. The vests fit them like they were tailored for their muscular bodies, their postures without flaw as they stood tall, shoulders back, stance confident. Fitz caught a glimpse of himself in the floor-length mirror attached to one of the lockers. He looked like he was playing dress-up, the fuzzy sleeves of his green cashmere sweater a ridiculous contrast to the black tactical gear, his swooping bangs flattened against the side of his face by the helmet.

  “I look like SWAT Barbie,” Fitz muttered.

  The equipment was heavy, the gun in his hand foreign and terrifying, but as the room started to fill with smoke, Fitz realized he had no choice. If he wanted to live through this, he was going to have to try his damned hardest. All he had to do was avoid Emmett until the guys arrived. He wasn’t alone.

  Saint and Ryden both took position in front of him. Looking over his shoulder, Saint winked at him. “We’re going to get through this. Whatever happens, you get to an exit.”

  “But—”

  “You get to an exit,” Ryden ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

  Fitz nodded. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and readied himself. In front of him, Saint and Ryden crouched low, and Fitz followed their lead.

  “Run for cover,” Saint whispered, reaching for the door handle.

  “Wait. Do I close one eye?”

  Ryden frowned. “What?”

  “To shoot.”

  “See the clock?”

  Fitz followed Ryden’s gaze to the clock across the room. “Yes.”

  Hold your arms out and make a triangle shape with your fingers.”

  Fitz did as he was told.

  “Now close your left eye. Is it still in the middle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Open it and close your right eye. Did the clock move?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re right-eye dominant, so when you fire, close your left eye.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Here we go.” Saint threw the door open, and they hurried out, Fitz behind Saint as they ran for the doorway that led to the training area. They’d almost made it when Ryden shouted.

  “Bomb!”

  One second Fitz was running, the next his feet were off the ground as a blast propelled him through the air. He landed on his stomach on one of the mats, a heavy weight dropping onto him and knocking the wind out of him. The weight got heavier as debris fell onto whoever was on top of him. Fitz covered his head on instinct, his eyes shut tight as his ears rang and the world seemed to come down around him. Thick smoke and dust filled the room, making it nearly impossible to see. Gasping and coughing, Fitz struggled to get air into his lungs. He pushed against the floor, teeth clenched as he carefully tried to roll off whoever was on him.

  “Saint? Ryden?” His voice came out hoarse.

  “Get up slowly or I’ll put a bullet in him.”

  Fitz froze. He put one hand up, the other on the floor. His fingers touched something hard, and he lifted his gaze to Emmett, who wore a gas mask on his face and stood less than a foot away, a gun aimed at the man on top of Fitz.

  “Come on. Get up.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Fitz shoved his gun underneath his vest as he crawled out from under… He turned his head. Ryden. He was out cold, slabs of ceiling and wall on him and around him. “Can I just check to see if he’s breathing?”

  “Who the fuck cares?”

  “I care,” Fitz spat out. If Emmett hadn’t shot him already, it meant he had different plans for Fitz and didn’t intend to kill him just yet. At least he hoped that was the case.

  “Fine. Hurry up. The police and SWAT are already here.”

  Fitz checked Ryden’s breathing and let out a sigh of relief. At least he was breathing normally. He glanced around and spotted Saint on his stomach a few feet away.

  “He’s alive,” Emmett said with a sigh. “Move it.”

  Fitz put his hands up and slowly stood to face Emmett.

  “Take the helmet and vest off. If you try anything, I will shoot him, and then I’ll shoot you. Hurry up.”

  “I’m just reaching for the straps.” Reaching back, Fitz moved the gun from beneath his vest to the waistband of his jeans beneath his sweater before pulling on the straps. He removed his helmet, then pulled off the vest and dropped them both to the mats.

  “Move. Hurry up.” Emmett motioned toward the stairs. “All the way up.”

  Fitz headed for the stairs. There was nowhere to go, nothing to hide behind. He frantically looked around him, but they were in the training area, which meant nothing but mats. Emmett jabbed him between the shoulders with his gun.

  “I said hurry the fuck up.”

  “I can’t understand you with that stupid mask.”

  With a frustrated grunt, Emmett removed the mask and dropped it on the floor. “Now move. Fast.”

  Fitz hurried through the emergency exit door and up the stairs, Emmett close behind him every step of the way. The building only had four floors and a basement. It didn’t take long for them to reach the top. Another explosion reverberated somewhere below, and Fitz stopped.

  “That wasn’t one of mine. Shit. Move!”

  They were almost to the roof. What the hell did Emmett have planned? Why not shoot him if he wanted Fitz dead?

  “This is all a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Shut up. This is my tribute to Jack, who’s dead because of you.”

  Fitz shook his head. “No. That’s not true.” He didn’t believe it for a moment. Whatever had happened, Jack was alive. Fitz had every faith in him, Joker, and the rest of the guys. Jack was going to come back to him.

  “I tried to warn you to stay away from him, but you wouldn’t listen. You took him from me.”

  Fitz spun around. “He was never yours.”

  “I was here first! You didn’t even want him. You certainly didn’t deserve him. The things you said to him?”

  “Were none of your business. Our relationship is none of your business.”

  “You don’t have a relationship! Look at you. Who wears sweaters in Florida? Scrawny-ass bitch with stupid hair.”

  Fitz arched an eyebrow at him. “I think we both know my hair is gorgeous.”

  “You think because you’re pretty, you can bat your lashes and men will fall at your feet? Jack’s smarter than that. He would have gotten bored with you eventually.”

  “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

  “Shut up! Open the fucking door!”

  “Why? What’s the point?”

  “The point is, shooting you is boring. I want your death to be memorable for Jack. It’s the least I can do after his friends ruined my very romantic gesture at the pier. Now move.”

  Fitz turned and had to shove at the door with his shoulder. The tropical storm was in full swing, and he could barely see a thing. The wind howled and whipped against him, the rain immediately drenching him. He put his arms up and kept his head down as the wind threatened to knock him over.

  Emmett shouted something, but Fitz couldn’t hear him. Realizing this, Emmett grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the helicopter parked at the end of the roof. What the hell did he have planned? He slid open the door and shoved Fitz inside just as the door to the roof burst open.

  “Jack!” Fitz screamed at the top of his lungs as Jack, followed by Joker and the Kings, flooded out onto the roof, backed up by a small army of King’s former soldiers turned bodyguards and SWAT officers.

  Emmett closed the helicopter door and turned to Fitz with a growl. “Doesn’t matter. Every time he looks at one of these, he’s going to remember your blood splattered all over it. You—”

  The war cry Fitz let out sounded foreign to his own ears, so no wonder Emmett hesitated when Fitz launched himself at the guy, grabbing the gun in his hand. They struggled with the firearm, and Fitz fought with everything he had. This bastard wanted to kill him in Jack’s helicopter. Oh fuck no. Slamming his head forward, he head-butted Emmett, the gun in his hand going flying.

  “Ow! Fuck!” Fitz reeled back, and Emmett did the same. Fuck, that hurt.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Fitz had to agree with Emmett on that one. They always made it look so easy in the movies. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that hurt. Shit. Fuck.

  The gun!

  Fitz reached behind and pulled his gun from under his sweater just as another explosion shook the rooftop, knocking them both into the back seats. Emmett scrambled into the front, and the helicopter roared to life, another small explosion going off somewhere. What the hell was happening? How many explosive devices had Emmett planted in the building? Fitz was jerked sideways, then slammed into the roof as the helicopter bounced. He lurched forward as the helicopter tilted forward, the roof almost seeming to ripple.

  “What the hell are you doing? Are you insane?” Fitz shouted as he grabbed Emmett’s arm.

  “You’re going to die, Fitz, even if I have to take everyone else with us too.”

  Fitz pointed the gun at Emmett, who laughed in his face.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t know how to use that. Plus, this roof is one more detonation away from collapsing.”

  Fitz stared at him. No.

  “Drop the gun, Fitz. Come on. We both know you’re not going to shoot me. You lost your shit when you saw Jack was packing. And he’s trained for it. Come on.”

  Fitz moved the safety like Saint had told him.

  “Fitz, even if you could shoot, you wouldn’t be able to hit the Chrysler building if it was in front of you.” Emmett lifted his hand, revealing a device.

  Grabbing the device from Emmett with one hand and pulling the trigger with the other, Fitz flinched at the deafening sound. He expected the helicopter to drop with the rest of the roof as he stared into Emmett’s wide eyes. Fitz followed Emmet’s gaze down to the center of his chest and the spreading crimson stain. Before Fitz could snap himself out of it, the helicopter screeched, and Fitz was thrown back.

  The pilot’s door opened, and Emmett was dragged out. Jack hopped in and quickly powered down the helicopter, then climbed through the seats.

  “Fitz? Fitz, baby, talk to me.”

  Fitz lay on the floor of the helicopter, one hand raised and tears in his eyes.

  “Take it. Take it!”

  Jack ever so softly took Fitz’s hand in his. “Sweetheart, Sacha and Chip found the remaining devices and disarmed them. That’s what took us so long. Trust me.”

  “I do. And I love you. I love you so much,” Fitz said through his tears.

  “And I love you, Fitz. So much. Let go of the detonator.”

  Fitz’s hand shook, but a smile spread on his face at Jack’s words. He very slowly and carefully handed Jack the device in his hand. When he let go, he could have cried when nothing happened.

  “Jack!”

  Jack gathered him up in his arms and hugged him tight. “I got you, sweetheart. I got you.”

  “Oh my God.” Fitz cried into Jack’s neck, his body trembling out of both fear and joy that Jack was alive and in his arms.

  “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

  The door opened, and a drenched Joker shook his head at them. “How about you two do that indoors away from the fucking hurricane?”

  Jack chuckled. “Fair point. Come on, sweetheart.” He took Fitz’s hand in his, laced their fingers together, and led Fitz outside. A couple of King’s guys ran over to secure the helicopter while Fitz, Jack, and Joker made a dash for the doorway, where the Kings waited for them. The warmth that flooded Fitz at seeing them all there was overwhelming, and he threw his arms around Red first, then Ace, Lucky, and finally King, who patted his back.

  “We’re happy you’re safe,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you warm and dry.”

  Fitz nodded. He turned to Joker, who eyed him suspiciously.

  “You’re going to hug me, aren’t you?”

  Fitz grabbed his face and planted a big kiss on his lips. Everyone whooped, and Jack laughed. “Thank you, Sacha.” Whatever had happened, Fitz knew Joker had done everything in his power to get Jack safely back to him.

  “Don’t call me that,” Joker grumbled, his cheeks pink. He shook his head at them before heading downstairs.

  Jack took Fitz’s hand in his again, and they followed the guys downstairs. As much as Fitz wanted to throw himself at Jack and kiss him all over until he couldn’t breathe anymore, they had to evacuate the building. Four Kings Security headquarters had taken quite a hit, but it was still one of the safest places around, so the structural damage had been minimal. It still needed to be inspected, and a hell of a lot needed to be fixed, including Jack’s office, which Emmett had blown to bits.

  Thankfully, Emmett’s knowledge of explosives had been limited, and he hadn’t accounted for any reinforcement the Kings had made to the building when they first purchased it. If security was going to be their business, then their headquarters was going to embody their mission statement.

  Mason met them at the police station, his connections there from when he’d been a detective still strong. Fitz had dried off and changed into a pair of black Kings sweatpants and a sweatshirt, thanks to King having recently picked up an order from a new local printer he was trying out. Emmett had died from the gunshot wound to the chest before the paramedics arrived, and both Saint and Ryden had been taken to the hospital. Lucky had gone to check on them and called to let everyone know the two would be okay. According to Mason, the police were still searching for the waiter Emmett had blackmailed. Soon after, a detective had questioned Fitz and taken down his statement of everything that had happened, from the night at Colton’s where photos of him had been taken up until he’d fired the gun at Emmett.

  Fitz’s entire body shook, partly due to the cold AC, the other part down to being in the police interview room. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. Shooting Emmett had been in self-defense—the man had been on the verge of blowing them all up—but it was no less scary. Having lived through the ordeal was bad enough, but then he’d been forced to relive it as he described everything in excruciating detail for his statement. He’d almost lost Jack, was nearly killed on the rooftop. The door opened, and Jack walked in. Fitz jumped to his feet and threw his arms around Jack, his eyes closing at how warm and solid Jack felt against him. Not caring that someone might be watching them, he kissed Jack, melting against him as Jack returned his kiss.

  Laying his head on Jack’s chest, Fitz closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I thought I’d lost you. He told me you were dead.”

  “He wanted to hurt you,” Jack replied softly, running a hand over Fitz’s back.

  “He wanted to kill me.”

  “But you’re safe now. He can’t hurt you.”

  “I killed him. He looked so… surprised. I can still see him when I close my eyes.”

  Jack pulled Fitz back enough to meet his eyes. “It’s going to take time, and help. I’ll be there with you every step of the way. I promise. I can even come with you to therapy if you want.”

  Fitz nodded. He’d been so close to Emmett when he’d pulled the trigger. There was no question he’d be visiting his therapist for a while after everything that had happened. When the dust settled, his life was going to be different, the way he looked at everything would be different, but he would get through this like he did everything else in his life. He also had a whole support system to help him.

  “Maury and I were going to talk to Sil, now that the police have finished taking his statement. Want to know once and for all what the hell happened?”

  Fitz nodded. He was grateful that Jack was including him. Despite the nightmare, Fitz had questions. He followed Jack into a different interview room, where Maury stood leaning against a small table next to Sil, who sat in the chair looking miserable.