Page 74 of Unchained

Leonetti dropped his hand. “I knew you’d say that.” He leaned to the side to look at the guard between Brooks and the door. “Bring them in.”

“Let us go!” A woman’s sharp scream pierced the air. Two people were shoved inside the tent, thick burlap bags over their heads.

“Take them over there,” Leonetti instructed with a flick of his wrist.

One guard set out two chairs, back-to-back. They seated the prisoners and tied their hands.

“Please! What is this about?”

The helplessness of the plea pulled at Brooks’s heartstrings. He turned his attention to Leonetti, who nodded at guards with a self-satisfied smirk. “All right, where’s Camryn?”

The guards looked at each other. The one with dark hair swallowed. “The others should have her here by now.”

Brooks’s gut twisted violently. Nausea crawled up his esophagus. If Nash and Cam were dead, he’d go insane. He should have run with Cam, should have made sure she’d gotten to safety.

Leonetti marched over to the guards. He bent his head, and his arms moved in the air between them in frustration. Their hushed voices were barely audible.

“Find her,” Leonetti hissed loudly.

Brooks balled his hands into fists, stretching the plastic at his wrists. Cam was smart. She could be hiding—

His gaze went to the tent’s back door. The zipper crept open, inch by inch. His body turned to stone. Leonetti was too engaged in reprimanding his guards to notice.

Swinging his eyes to the wounded guard, Brooks held his breath while the man pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen. The zipper moved farther. A hand eased inside and parted the material, revealing Nash’s face. Nash lifted a finger to his lips and then motioned with his hand, clarifying that they had the tent surrounded.

But where the fuck is Cam?

Brooks glanced to the side. Leonetti was still engrossed in his conversation with his guards. But the wounded guard would catch him. Bringing his attention back to Nash, Brooks widened his eyes in warning. Nash ignored his urgent stare and eased his way into the tent. As stealthy as a ninja, Nash bolted to the cover of the shelving unit at Brooks’s back.

Yes.

Nash’s firm grip caught his forearm, and cool steel brushed against his wrist. Snap. The zip ties fluttered to the floor. Brooks opened and closed his fists then rolled his shoulder.

“Thanks,” he breathed.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Freeze!”

Brooks stiffened. The injured guard in the chair lifted a shaking hand toward Nash. “Someone’s inside!”

Leonetti’s guards moved across the tent, guns trained on Nash.

“Drop your weapon!” one of the men bellowed.

Nash scrunched his face. He raised his hands, so his gun was in the air.

“On the ground!” They rushed him.

Brooks darted forward, catching one of the guards in a rear chokehold. Nash’s eyes widened, and eagerness flashed in them. He bolted from his surrendered position and tackled the second guard, taking him to the ground. Nash pounded one punch after another into the man’s face and gut.

“Enough!” Leonetti screamed. A vein bulged in the center of his forehead.

Brooks pulled back harder on the guard’s throat. The man kicked, and sharp breaths blew against Brooks’s forearm as he released the last bit of air in his lungs.

“Brooks,” Leonetti said, his voice full of warning. “Let them go before I shoot those two prisoners.”

Nash stopped. “Who’s that?” The guard in his hold scampered away.

---