If only the fucking phone would ring.
What were they doing to Cam? Was his twin in pain? Unconscious? Cam was definitely still alive, because without him, Bellisario had no leverage. Still, Dahlia’s words kept bouncing around in his skull.
Do you have any idea what Giuseppe does to the people who cross him?
Jesus fucking Christ. He was going to explode if he didn’t do something. Any-fucking-thing.
Marcus stepped into his path, which just pissed him off, like throwing accelerant on an already out-of-control fire. He didn’t think, just reacted to the anger and annoyance and took a swing.
Marcus ducked the punch—fucker was fast on his feet—and grabbed Vaughn’s arm, twisting it up behind his back. He shoved Vaughn into a desk as Reece and Jude both jumped to their feet, their chairs flying back and banging into the wall.
Vaughn hit the desk hard enough to have pain singing through his abused ribs. Fuck. He pounded a fist on the desktop in frustration, but stopped struggling.
“Are you done?” Marcus asked.
“I’m done,” he agreed and the pressure lightened on his arm. He straightened and sneered at Marcus as he pressed a hand to his sore ribs. “You only got the drop on me because I’m not at full strength.”
“Sure. You tell yourself that, big guy.”
Vaughn stepped forward, fully intending to pummel that smirk off Marcus’s face.
“Boys,” Libby snapped, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Now’s not the time for a testosterone pissing match.”
Vaughn glanced over at her. She and Shelby had taken up posts next to Eva, who had worn herself down during the endless minutes of waiting and now stared off into space with tear tracks dried on her cheeks.
Libby was right. Punching Marcus, as satisfying as it would be, wasn’t going to bring Cam home any faster.
Vaughn drew a breath and shook out his hands. “I need some air.”
He didn’t wait to hear any of their responses, and he pushed through the door into the now empty parking lot. February slapped him in the face, but he welcomed the bite of cold and tugged on the collar of his shirt. The office had been too stuffy, too packed with tension and fear. At least out here he could breathe.
He checked his phone’s screen again even though he knew it hadn’t rung. Damn. He stuffed it into his pocket and paced the sidewalk.
All they needed was a location. And as soon as they had one, he was gone. He’d tear the place down brick by brick to find his twin and then he’d bury Giuseppe Bellisario in the debris.
Nobody threatened his family and got to walk away unharmed.
A door shut softly across the parking lot. Still spoiling for a fight, he whirled toward the sound and found Dahlia beside the car she’d stolen from him, twisting her hands together in front of her.
For one shining second, elation bubbled up out of all the other poisonous emotions roiling inside him, because she’d come back to him.
She’d come back.
But that bubble of happy popped the moment she opened her mouth. “Vaughn, I-I came to explain—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” He turned away, pissed off all over again. He should have known she’d not come back to help. Altruism wasn’t in her nature. “But I would like my fucking gun back if you’re done threatening me with it.”
She ducked into the car and reappeared with his weapon, holding it out in a peace-offering. “I was just scared.”
He stalked forward and grabbed it from her. “Yeah, you don’t trust me. I get it.”
“But I do, Vaughn.” She moved closer. Her scent wrapped around him, something both sweet and tart like strawberries, and he steeled himself against the memories of her rising up over him, riding him so slow and easy as he drowned in that beautiful scent.
She set her hands on his waist and stood on her toes. Her lips were soft over his, gentle, a barely there caress that still sent shocks through his entire system. He didn’t move even though everything male in him screamed to accept what she was offering.
She lowered back to flat feet and stared up at him. Searched his face. He made damn sure nothing of his feelings showed there. He wasn’t about to let her know just how much she’d hurt him.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever come close to trusting,” she said so softly, it was barely a whisper.
“Yeah? You have a shitty way of showing it.”
She dragged her lower lip through her teeth, then nodded, dropped her hands from his waist, and stuffed them into her jacket pockets. She must have stopped for new clothes at some point, because she now wore jeans and a dark red sweater under a motorcycle-style jacket instead of the drugstore sweatpants and t-shirt he last saw her in. She looked good, her face makeup-free and her newly auburn hair wind tousled.
Christ, he didn’t want to still be attracted to her, but he was.
He turned away. “Leave.”