Outcast Cowboys by Sarah Masters

Author:Sarah Masters [Masters, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Erotic Romance Fiction
Publisher: Totally Entwined Group Ltd
Published: 2015-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“What the fuck?” Ross’ mouth hung open in shock. His boss was Balaclava? “Get your phone out. Answer it. Slowly does it.”

His heart rate scattered, sending palpitations through his chest, bringing on little streaks of pain that radiated into the tops of his arms. His head buzzed with possibilities, none of them good, and he fought to clear his mind of everything except what was going on now. He couldn’t risk being distracted by questions and answers that hurt—answers that were confusing.

Balaclava moved his bound hands to his jacket. Dipped one inside the pocket. Ross braced himself for another gun to be brought out, but the man produced a phone. The ringtone jarred his nerves, shrill, biting through the air with rabid teeth. Ross pressed the ‘End Call’ button on his.

Balaclava’s kept ringing.

Thank fuck for that…

“Boss?” Balaclava said, then, “Yeah, in a spot of trouble. I did. Musket’s dead, like you wanted.” A long pause. “Someone was with him… No, he’s still alive… I can’t bring him in… He’s got the upper hand.”

Fipps—if he was the one on the phone—was probably having a shit fit.

“At the Thames,” Balaclava said. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Ross gave him a filthy look, daring him to give their precise location. Without hearing the other side of the conversation, he had no clue whether Fipps had guessed. Men could be being sent here right now.

Ross snatched the phone, ended the call then slipped the mobile into his pocket. There could be text messages on there, ones that might incriminate Fipps and his gang. Ross couldn’t bring Musket down now so he’d bring these motherfuckers down instead.

“Get up,” Ross said, jerking the gun. “Walk to the van.”

Balaclava obeyed, his steps slow and heavy. Ross trained the gun on Balaclava’s calves—better to shoot there and just injure than kill, killing any information with him.

At the van, Ross swung the back door open then shoved Balaclava inside. “Sit. Put your legs together. That rope there. Get it for me.”

Once again, Balaclava did as he’d been told and reached across with both hands for the rope. Ross kept watch then took the rope, ensuring an adequate knot was tied around the man’s ankles. He didn’t need the bloke in a position where he could run or kick out and get the better of him.

“So have we got Fipps or someone else on the way here?”

“Like I’d fucking tell you.” Balaclava spat, a glob of phlegm landing on the van floor.

Ross hid his revulsion, using it to fuel his anger. “You’d better—if you want to live.” Had he sounded menacing enough?

“Yeah, and even if you get away he’ll come and find you.”

Apparently he had sounded menacing.

“He doesn’t know who I am. Does he?”

Ross had to hope Fipps and his gang hadn’t been keeping close tabs on him, just Musket. Not that it mattered if they turned up at his address. The one he used for undercover work had security, cameras and a panic button should anyone break in and try to do him over.

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