Single Mom’s Firemen: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

The first address that Harriet gave us is a dud.

But the second one has us casing an apartment on the shady side of Dallas, smack in the middle of Drug Dealer Central. The building we’re looking at doesn’t really stand out. It’s old brick, much like all the others on this block. On the third floor, however, there are lights on, and we know that there are several of Colby Nash’s associates living there.

“Harriet said they let Colby stay here when the BOLO first came out,” Eric mentions.

We’re still in his car, armed to the teeth and ready for action. Wyatt insisted on wearing slim Kevlar vests beneath our clothes. I certainly couldn’t disagree since we don’t really know what we’re walking into.

“They might be able to point us in the right direction,” Wyatt says with a subtle nod.

Night is about to fall. The local dealers are starting to come out, anxiously glancing both ways before they start walking and disappearing behind corners.

“Is there any movement up there?” I ask.

Eric is watching the place through his night-vision capable binoculars. Military-grade, with spectacular zoom capabilities. “Yeah, I’m counting three. Big, burly, grey hoodies.”

“Keeping a low profile, I presume,” Wyatt says.

“One of them is leaving.”

“You can see the apartment door from here? Amazing,” I mutter. “So that leaves two.”

“Yes.”

Our goal is to go in and do as little damage as possible. Though the predator inside me is screaming and scratching at the walls, ready to destroy everything in its path. Evening covers the sky in dark shades of blue, a spatter of stars blinking. I wonder if Halle can see the sky from where she is. I pray that she’s still alive, that the kids are okay. I never imagined I’d feel this way. So lost and scared, so angry and helpless, at the same time. We promised her that she would be safe with us. She promised us that she wouldn’t go anywhere without us.

We all got comfortable. We can’t blame the two cops that were keeping a close tail on her either. They did their best. The Dallas PD informed us shortly after Halle and the kids disappeared that the officers immediately got back in their SUV and gave chase but were unable to keep up and lost them during the pursuit.

Colby was out of sight and the odds of him going for a third attack were slim to none, especially after the FBI and Texas Rangers became involved. He’s ruthless and relentless. We won’t have any peace until he’s dead and buried. There’s no other way this ends. There’s no other way I want this to end. As long as the bastard draws breath, Halle and the kids will be in danger.

Even if we put them all in prison for life, I won’t be able to sleep soundly at night knowing they’re still alive.

“Chase, we’re ready,” Eric says.

I can feel his eyes drilling into the side of my head so I look at him. He’s visibly concerned about me and I can’t blame him. I’m concerned, too. My trigger finger is itching, and there is so much rage bubbling beneath my surface that I pity the fool who makes a wrong move. That’s all I need. One wrong move, and I will fucking snap. I won’t stop, either. I won’t stop until we find Halle and the kids, until the three of them are safely back under our roof while the Nash family is reduced to dust and silvery ashes. I don’t like this side of myself but they’ve awakened the monster. Harriet and her psycho son. They poked the bear and now they’re gonna have to deal with it.

“I’m ready,” I tell Eric.

We get out of the vehicle as soon as we spot the third fella walking out of the apartment building and making his way down the street. I don’t know who he or his buddies are, but I do know that they’re associates of Colby’s. I presume they have ties to the mob in one form or another. Or maybe they’re independent contractors, so to speak. The kind of people that Harriet calls in when she wants something done without caring much for the consequences. They certainly don’t strike me as high-end hitmen or premium bodyguards.

The street is fairly clear. Only the regular riffraff, the dull working drones, the occasional vagrant. They’re all too busy trying to score or stay out of sight to even care about us as we cross the street and go right into the apartment building.

It all works to our advantage.

There’s no intercom. It’s no man’s land here.

“Oh, shit, it smells,” Wyatt is the first to complain.

It stinks of piss and stale cigarettes, of spilled alcohol and other unsavory things. “This place hasn’t seen a superintendent in years,” I mutter.

“Nobody wants anything to do with the building or the people who live in it,” Eric says.

“Shouldn’t we call Charlie already?” Wyatt asks. “We’re getting closer to Colby, now. He needs to know. We could use some backup.”

“Not yet,” I tell him.

We stop at the bottom of the staircase. It reeks even worse over here. “I’ve got him on speed dial,” he says, turning to look at Wyatt. “We’ll call him when we have a line on Colby. Until then, it’s best if he keeps his resources for the overall investigation. This is personal.”

“It’s also insane.”

“Yet here you are,” I chuckle dryly, trying to hold on to one last smidge of humor before I unleash my demon on those two unsuspecting assholes upstairs.

Wyatt gives me a hard look. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. This is our woman.”

“That she is,” I say.

Halle has become our absolute bliss. I know that I can count on my brothers just as much as I can count on myself to see this through to the end, no matter what.

“Let’s go,” Eric calmly announces.

I’m ready.

We follow him up the stairs, keeping our heads down but our eyes and ears wide open. A couple of neighbors pass us by. They give us brief glances but they don’t say anything. To us they don’t even exist. We know exactly where we’re going and what we’re doing here. Men on a mission.

The lights get dimmer as we ascend to the second floor. The smells seem to fade a little bit, too. An ominous sensation persists in the back of my head. I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this.

“Apartment forty-five,” Eric whispers as we cautiously make our way up.

The third-floor hallway has a broken light. The neon buzzes incessantly, scratching my brain. It adds to my uneasiness, but I take a deep breath and focus on the next step. Slowly and carefully we approach the apartment, positioning ourselves on either side of the door. The brass numbers are barely hanging on from their rusty screws. We steer clear of the peephole.

Wyatt keeps an eye on the hallway. From what we’ve seen there are other residents on this floor. We need to keep it as discreet as possible.

Eric takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. “Pizza delivery,” he says, loud enough for the men in apartment forty-five to hear him.

I take my gun out of its holster, my taser within reach for additional backup. My muscles are taut and heated, my nerve endings firing at high speed as tiny droplets of sweat bloom on my temples. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but it feels the same as always. My body remembers the drill.

“We didn’t order any pizza,” one of the men says as he opens the door.

His first mistake. Eric shoves him inside with enough strength to throw him against the wall. I go in next, gun drawn and cocked as the second guy pops up in the living room, one hand nervously looking for his weapon somewhere along the line of his pants.

“Don’t even think about it,” I hiss, finger tight on the trigger.

Wyatt shuts the door behind us.

The second guy gives me a hard glare and insists on pulling his piece out. I have no choice as Eric struggles to contain the first goon. Silencers have been fitted on every weapon we’re carrying.

Thwup.

I fire a shot into the second guy’s knee. He screams out in pain and falls to the floor. I rush to his side as he drops his gun. I kick it across the room as he bawls, his face red, tears streaming down his tattooed cheeks. “Stop, for fuck’s sake.”

“What the fuck did you do?” the first guy croaks while Eric has his forearm pressed harshly into his throat.

“Don’t move,” my brother warns him, then gives me a troubled look.

Wyatt is downright furious. “Chase, what the hell?”

“I told him not to,” I casually reply. My dark side has fully emerged, and I am too tired to fight him anymore. It’s been so long, it’s almost refreshing. I might regret it later but I keep telling myself that I’m doing this for Halle. “He did anyway.”

“Who are you?” the first guy gasps.

Eric sighs and pulls him away from the wall, then tosses him across the floor and over his buddy. “We’re the ones asking questions. You’re the ones answering,” my brother says. “Chase, hold off on firing your weapon.”

“I will if they sit tight,” I mutter.

“We’re sitting tight!” the first guy says, his hands up in a defensive gesture.

I take a long, hard look at both of them. Hood rats, at first glance. Baggy pants, oversized hoodies, all sorts of tattoos covering their faces and necks, their knuckles and fingers. It’s mostly prison ink, from what I can tell. Various gang affiliations. I recognize a couple of them, I’ve seen them before.

“You boys run with a lot of crews, huh?” I ask, half-smiling. My calmness under these circumstances visibly irritates my brothers. They know what’s coming. “The Sixers, the Silver Cowboys… y’all were busy bees.”

“We don’t run with them anymore,” the first guy says. “Look, man, he’s bleeding! Call an ambulance or something!”

“We’ll get you both taken care of once you answer our questions,” Eric replies. “Put pressure on the wound in the meantime.”

Wyatt comes into the living room with a handful of kitchen rags and gives them to the injured man. “Here, use these.”

His buddy helps him out, and we spend the following minute listening to his panting and moaning. There’s not a smidge of sympathy left in me for these people, not when I know who they associate and collaborate with.

“Colby Nash,” Eric says. “He stayed here.”

“We don’t know him,” the first guy replies too quickly.

Immediately, I raise my gun and aim for his friend’s shoulder. “I can put a whole in every major joint.”

“Alright, alright!” the first guy says. “Fucking hell!”

“Colby Nash. He stayed here,” Eric repeats his statement. “Where is he now? Crimson Lane or the warehouse down on 56th and Jefferson?”

The injured man gives me a sour look. “Who wants to know?” he asks, gritting his teeth as he struggles to withstand the unbearable amount of pain he’s in. “We deserve that much.”

“You don’t deserve shit,” I reply. “Just tell us where we can find him. We know he stayed here. We know you covered for him. I assume he paid well but did he pay you enough to die today if you don’t tell us where he is?”

“Chase, I’ve got this,” Eric warns me.

I ignore him. I don’t have a care in this moment, not as the injured guy looks at me with all that hate, itching to kill me. He’s stirring something deep within me, the beast that has been sleeping for so long. The beast that dreamed the sweetest dreams when I wrapped my arms around Halle’s curvy, delicious body. When I listened to her breathe as she slept beside me. When I heard her laughing. The beast within is coming back to the surface and he is raging. He wants her back. I’m afraid I can’t stop him. He’s been scratching at the window for too long.

“I just need an answer,” I calmly say as I approach the injured man.

“Dude, we’re cooperating, just give us a second,” the first guy says. “Paul here… he’s confused, he’s hurt. We’ll tell you what you wanna know.”

“Shut the fuck up, Dwight. We’re not telling them anything,” Paul cuts him off, defiantly staring at me and my gun. “He’s not gonna kill us.”

Before Eric or Wyatt can react, I fire a second shot. It goes through his shoulder, covering his friend in a generous blood spatter. “You’ve got enough kitchen rags there to work with,” I say. “But he’s gonna bleed out unless you give us what we came here for.”

“You’re insane!” the first guy snarls.

But my guy Paul is already turning pale, gradually realizing that he played the wrong card with us. We may look clean, definitely not from this neighborhood, yet it doesn’t make us softies. I crouch so I can get a better look at both of them, so I can feed on the fear glistening in their bloodshot eyes.

“Colby Nash took the woman I love and her children away. I will not hesitate to splatter you all over this apartment until you tell me where I can find him,” I say, my voice low and cold.

“Chase,” Eric tries to pull me back into the light but he knows me too well.

“Crimson or Jefferson?” I ask.

“The faster you answer, the faster you’ll get your ambulance,” Wyatt chimes in, showing them his phone, ready to dial 911. “Come on, fellas, he ain’t playin’.”

“Jefferson, alright?” Dwight says, close to tears. “We know he was going to stay at the warehouse on 56th and Jefferson. It’s secluded enough, and he’s got easy access into the city from there.”

“Was that so hard?” I ask.

The second guy shakes his head. “No, wait…” He doesn’t look too spry, though. He’s hemorrhaging and losing more and more of his color. I doubt he’s got more than five, maybe six minutes left before he passes out. I don’t feel a damn thing for him. “He’s not at Jefferson.”

“Crimson, then?” Eric asks. The tone of his voice has shifted. He knows that the guy is on his way out of this world too.

“No,” he replies, his eyes struggling to stay open while his buddy holds him close. “Darcy Street. His grandma’s place. Mrs. Nash’s momma…”

I give Eric a curious look. He shows me Harriet’s note. It’s the last possible address. At least she got it right on the fourth try. “The place is abandoned,” he says. “No utilities, nothing. It’s practically derelict.”

“Yeah, that’s why,” Paul manages, unable to keep his head upright anymore.

“Call an ambulance,” Dwight says. “You got your answer.”

Wyatt is already on the phone, delivering a short but efficient messages about what the paramedics will find when they get here. “It’s go time,” he says after he hangs up. “They’ll be here in eight minutes.”

“Hang in there, Paulie, buddy,” Dwight tries to raise his friend’s spirits, to keep him conscious.

All I can do is shake my head as we walk out, leaving them behind. “He doesn’t have eight minutes,” I whisper as we go down the stairs, our guns holstered and our sights set on the next destination.

“You don’t seem too bummed out about it,” Eric grumbles.

“I’m going to do whatever I have to until we find her.”

My brothers know better than to tug my sleeve right now. I’m well aware of what I’m doing. Of the repercussions. Of the toll it will take on my very soul. But I’m also aware that it’s the only way I’m going to keep myself from spiraling completely out of control. It is better to let the beast roam freely and get his pound of flesh than to risk losing him into a crowd of potentially innocent people.

“I just saved us some precious minutes,” I tell my brothers as we get back in the car.

Red lights flash in the distance as an ambulance’s wail gets louder. Eric pulls out and onto the road, his boot pushing the pedal to the metal as we bolt past them, leaving this gritty neighborhood behind. I’m sure Dwight will remember this moment for the rest of his life. Paul is probably already dead. I will suffer in my own way once the nightmare is over. Provided I survive. Maybe I’ll join Paul in hell, who knows. It’s a price worth paying if it gets Halle and the kids away from Colby Nash for good.

“At what cost?” Wyatt asks, his jaw locked in anger.

“I’m sorry, brother,” I reply. “It’ll be my cross to bear.”

“We let you do it,” Eric says.

It’ll be theirs to bear, too, I guess. We have plenty of those between us, skeletons gathering dust in our closets. We ended lives for our country, for freedom and justice.

A life was ended this time for justice but also for love.

A line was crossed. There’s no turning back.