When Nick strained forward, Reece locked his arm around Rachel’s throat. “Try it, dishwasher.” His teeth flashed in a brutal challenge. “Do it, man. Take me on.”

“Cool it.” Reece’s attitude toward the woman was making Cash nervous. “Come on, we came for the money. Just the money.”

“I take what I want.” He watched as T.J. scooped the contents of the till into his sack. “Where’s the rest?”

“Slow night,” Zack told him.

“Don’t push me, man. There’s a safe in the office. Open it.”

“Fine.” Zack moved slowly, passing through the opening of the bar. He had to control the urge to fight, to grab the little sneering-voiced punk and pound his face to pulp. “I’ll open it as soon as you let her go.”

“I got the gun,” Reece reminded him. “I give the orders.”

“You’ve got the gun,” Zack agreed. “I’ve got the combination. You want what’s in the safe, you let her go.”

“Go on,” Cash urged. His hands were sweating on the gun he held. “We don’t need the babe. Shake her loose.”

Reece felt his power slipping as Zack continued to watch him with cold blue eyes. He wanted to make them tremble. All of them. He wanted them to cry and beg. He was the head of the Cobras. He was in charge. Nobody was going to tell him any different.

“Open it,” he said between his teeth. “Or I’ll blow a hole in you.”

“You won’t get what’s inside that way.” Out of the corner of his eye, Zack saw Rio shift from his prone position. The big man was braced for whatever came. “This is my place,” Zack continued. “I don’t want anyone hurt in my place. You let the lady go, and you can take what you want.”

“Let’s trash the dump,” T.J. shouted, and swung his gun at the glasses hanging over the bar. Shards went flying, amusing him enough to have him breaking more. “Let’s kick butt and trash it.” He grabbed up a vodka on the rocks and slurped it down. Then, howling, he hurled the glass to the floor.

The sound of the wreckage, and the muffled cries of the hostages on the floor, pumped Reece full of adrenaline. “Yeah, we’ll trash this dump good.” Over Cash’s halfhearted objections, he fired at the overhead television, blasting out the screen. “That’s what I’m going to do to the safe. I don’t need a damn woman.” He shoved Rachel aside, and she overbalanced, landing on her hands and knees. “And I don’t need you.”

He swung the gun toward Zack, savoring the moment. He was about to take a life, and that was new. And darkly exciting.

“This is how I give orders.”

Even as Zack braced to jump, Nick was springing to his feet. Like a sprinter off the mark, he lunged, hurling full force into Zack as Reece’s gun exploded.

There were screams, dozens of them. Rachel swung out with a chair, unaware that one of them was her own. She felt the chair connect, heard a grunt of pain. She caught a glimpse of the mountain that was Rio whiz past. But she was already scrambling over to where Zack and Nick lay limp on the floor.

She saw the blood. Smelled it. Her hands were smeared with it.

The room was like a madhouse around her. Shouts, crashes, running feet. She heard someone weeping. Someone else being sick.

“Oh, God. Oh, please.” She was pressing her hands against Nick’s chest as Zack sat up, shaking his head clear.

“Rachel. You’re—” Then he saw his brother, sprawled on the floor, his face ghostly pale. And the blood seeping rapidly through his shirt. “No! Nick, no!” Panicked, Zack grabbed for him, fighting Rachel off as she tried to press her hands to the wound.

“Stop! You have to stop! Listen to me—keep your hands there. Keep the pressure on. I’ll get a towel.” With prayers whirling in her head, she scrambled up to her feet and dashed behind the bar. “Call an ambulance,” she shouted. “Tell them to hurry.” Because terror left no room for fumbling, she clamped down on it. Kneeling by Zack, she pushed his hands aside and pressed the folded towel on Nick’s wound. “He’s young. He’s strong.” The tears were falling even as she felt frantically for Nick’s pulse. “We’re not going to let him go.”

“Zack.” Rio crouched down. “They got away from me. I’m sorry. I’ll go after them.”

“No.” Revenge glittered in his eyes. “I’ll go after them. Later. Get me a blanket for him, Rio. And more towels.”

“I’ve got some.” Lola passed them to Rachel, then dropped a hand on Zack’s head. “He’s a hero, Zack. We don’t let our heroes die.”

“He got in the way,” Zack said as grief welled into his throat. “Damn kid was always getting in the way.” He looked at Rachel, then covered her hands with his over his brother’s chest. “I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t.” She heard the first wail of sirens and shuddered with relief. “We won’t.”

Endless hours in the waiting room, pacing, smoking, drinking bitter coffee. Zack could still see how pale Nick had been when they rushed him through Emergency and into an elevator that snapped shut in Zack’s face.

Helpless. Hospitals always made him feel so helpless. Only a year had passed since he’d watched his father die in one. Slowly, inevitably, pitifully.

But not Nick. He could cling to that. Nick was young, and death wasn’t inevitable when you were young.

But the blood. There had been so much blood.

He looked down at the hands that he’d scrubbed clean, and could still see his brother’s life splattered across them. In his hands. That was all he could think. Nick’s life had been in his hands.

“Zack.” He stiffened when Rachel came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders. “How about a walk? Some fresh air?”

He just shook his head. She didn’t press. It was useless to suggest he try to rest. She couldn’t. Her eyes were burning, but she knew that if she closed them she would see that last horrible instant. The gun swinging toward Zack. Nick leaping. The explosion. The blood.

“I’m going to find food.” Rio pushed himself off the sagging sofa. The white bandage gleamed against his dark brow. “And you’re going to eat what I bring you. That boy’s going to need tending soon. You can’t tend when you’re sick.” With his lips pressed tightly together, he marched out into the hallway.