He didn’t make it. All three of the other men were needed to yank Tate back before he could take the terror boss off his feet with a swift kick. Tate had been ready to execute the move, but was jerked back just before he could swing his leg.
Lara never saw the hand coming toward her face because her eyes were on Tate; the man in front of her landed a powerful blow to her cheek. Her eyes teared from the stinging pain, and she tilted toward the side. Unable to keep her balance with her hands tied, she collapsed on the concrete floor sideways, only to be yanked back to her knees seconds later by her hair. “You move again and she gets punished for it,” the leader grunted. He sent a warning, merciless glance at Tate.
Her head still whirled and her vision was blurry from the forceful blow her face had taken. Her skull had connected with the concrete when she’d fallen, which had further scrambled her brain. Lara stared at the erect penis in front of her face, almost glad her eyesight was fuzzy.
Don’t think about it. Just do it. If I throw up on him while he’s forcing me to suck him, he can’t blame me for that. I just need time. Just a little more time and I know the team stationed around the airport will get in. I have to keep Tate alive.
“I swear to God that I’ll cut your dick off and shove it down your throat if you don’t let go of her,” Tate growled.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Marcus’s voice sounded across the room.
Keep everybody happy just a little longer.
Her captor jerked on her hair again to bring her face to his groin, and Lara struggled not to heave.
Then, suddenly she was free, released in a hail of gunfire that had her hitting the floor on purpose this time. She turned her head, terrified to look at Tate, but she had to know whether he was still alive.
Tate was free, and not only was he alive, but he’d obviously grabbed one of the men’s guns and disarmed the other two. He held the weapon that had sent a hail of bullets straight into her attacker, the man lying dead on the floor not more than five feet away from her. He was panting and obviously furious, his eyes as hard as steel as he watched Marcus and the other two men fly out of the storage room. Both of the men at Marcus’s side hesitated and picked up the guns that they had taken away from her and Tate.
Two of the guns they had were her weapons, so Lara knew they were both completely loaded.
“FBI! Drop your guns! Now!” The screaming male voice came from the entrance door.
Thank God. The team was finally here and inside the hangar.
The man who had grabbed her Glock 23 raised it toward the booming voice, and gunfire rang ferociously in the cavernous building.
Tate sprinted and flung himself on top of her, knocking the wind out of her body as he surrounded her head with his arms. Lara was stunned when she realized that he was protecting her with his body, making certain she wasn’t hit by stray bullets.
The shooting stopped suddenly. The gunman with her Glock was dead on the floor. The other men raised their hands over their heads in surrender.
“Agent Bailey?” one of the agents called.
“Here,” she answered loudly. “Don’t shoot the guy on top of me. He’s one of the good guys and he’s injured. Please help him.” Her voice was desperate. Tate was covered in blood, and it was all his own.
“I’m good,” Tate told her in a low voice beside her ear. “You okay, baby?”
He was good, but he was far from healthy at the moment. Lara could hear the pain in his voice, but he wasn’t going to show it. “I’m all right,” she reassured him as he came to his feet and lifted her gently into a standing position and quickly untied her hands.
“You’re bleeding and the bastard hit you so hard he left a handprint on your face,” he answered, enraged. He touched a finger lightly to her cheek and he swiped away a little blood.
Lara looked over at the dead man. “He’s wearing a ring. I think it just caught my skin,” she said dismissively as she reached out to rip his T-shirt and get a look at his wound.
Tate had blood soaking his T-shirt, on his face, and large stains on his jeans. There were also a few puddles on the floor. “You’ve lost too much blood. You need help.” She put a hand firmly over the laceration that was right between his chest and collarbone, and put as much pressure as possible on the stab wound to stop the bleeding. She used her other hand to give her counter pressure on his back.
One of the team of agents ran over to them. “I think we have them all contained, Agent Bailey. There were seven total?”
“Yes. Including the dead guy on the floor. The use of deadly force was necessary,” Lara told the tall, dark-haired agent who looked to be in his early thirties in a sharp, businesslike voice. “This is Tate Colter. He’s Special Forces and he helped me out. He needs treatment. He was stabbed by one of the perps.”
“You need us to carry you out to the car, Mr. Colter?” the agent asked, suddenly realizing the amount of blood Tate had lost. “We’ll get you to the hospital.” The agent glanced at Lara. “You look like you need to get checked, too. Your face is a mess.”
Tate grunted. “Nobody carries me unless I’m dying or dead. Right now, I’m neither one of those things.” He put an arm protectively around Lara. “Let’s go.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to hold pressure here,” she told him angrily as his protective hold dislodged her hands from holding tension on his wound.
“It’s fine. I want a doctor to look at your injuries. Let’s get to the car,” he growled as he steered her toward the entrance. The agent trailed right behind them.
Tate stopped suddenly near the door, his eyes murderous as he watched his brother approach, being led to the exit in handcuffs by a federal agent.
Lara’s breath hitched and time seemed to stop as the two brothers finally looked at each other. She could feel Tate’s whole body shudder as he slowly lowered his arm from around her shoulder and approached his brother.
Marcus looked as though he was barely affected by what was taking place, but his eyes were assessing as he watched Tate walk over to him.
Without a word, Tate drew his arm back and let his fist fly, punching his brother squarely in the face. The agent behind Marcus needed to steady him to keep Marcus on his feet.
“That’s for betraying your country and letting Lara get hurt—you selfish prick,” he said in a husky, menacing voice before he turned his back on Marcus and returned to Lara’s side to grab her hand.