Page 163 of Piece Us Together

Ash gives the order. “Move to second positions.”

I half-rise from my prone position and grip the ledge I was hiding behind to lower myself down the side of the building. It’s a short enough drop, only jarring my ankles for a few seconds before the sting fades. Keeping my rifle on my back, the safety off on the Glock in my hand, I creep down the alley toward the first window. The light inside of the room is dim where it shows through the thin slit of the cheap curtains.

I press my thumb just beneath the frame and nudge. The window gives a quarter of an inch. “Unlocked,” I announce.

“Mine too,” Ash says a breath later. “Everyone ready?”

“Ready,” I confirm. Travis and Keats follow.

“Be smart. Be safe. Let’s bring ’em home, boys. Three, two, one—breach.”

I push the window up, slowly enough to be quiet, fast enough to manage possible reactions. It’s easy to heave myself into the room then. Someone whimpers to my left as my feet meet the wooden floor. I shift my Glock back to my dominant hand and turn. It’s a girl. Maybe a woman, on the younger side. She’s pale and sickly thin, a silk slip hanging off her frame, dirty with bodily fluids. Her eyes flicker to the door.

“Shh.” I tuck my gun into its holster, keeping the safety off in case I need to draw it quickly. “We’re here to help.”

“No one helps,” she says in a cracked voice.

“Ido,” I promise her. “I’m Maison and this is exactly what I do. You want to get out of here?”

Her wide, terrified eyes go to the door again. Then the window. “How?”

“We’ve got a guest on the move,” Keats warns, tracking a heat signature. “Headed down the hall.”

We can’t guess which room. I put my finger to my lips and settle against the wall where the door will swing. She watches me but says nothing. I realize from this point of view that she’s shackled, her left ankle to a ring on the concrete wall.

Keats has just a second to warn, “One,” and then the door is swinging open and a man is stepping in. I let him approach the bed, his stupid ass not even looking behind him as he lets the door close with a single push.

He says, “Aren’t you a pretty little—” and I’m bringing my arms around, one hooking around his neck, a hand clamped over his nose and mouth.

The woman cries out, but I don’t worry. A reaction like that probably doesn’t draw much attention in a place like this.

“Handled,” I say into the mic as I carefully lower the body to the floor. “I’ve got a restraint. Plan B?”

“Plan B,” Ash agrees.

Muffled, I can hear Travis saying, “—don’t mind waiting,” as he pretends to be a customer looking for a good time.

“I know you’re probably all kinds of hurt, but is there anything life-threatening? Are you bleeding heavily? Anything emergent?”

She blinks at me for a moment, like she can’t fathom how I can be asking such questions. Then she looks down at herself, taking stock. “No. No, I—no. Nothing—nothing emergent?”

“Okay, I have to go—”

“Don’t leave!” she cries. “Wait, no, I can be hurt. I’m hurt. Don’t leave me!”

“Shh. Hey.” I hurry over to the bed, not taking offense when she flinches. I crouch beside it, hands still up. “I’ll only be a few minutes. I’m not leaving the building, I promise. I’ll be back for you. I will, okay? I have to help the others.”

She starts crying harder. “P-promise?”

“I swear to you. Okay? I’m coming back for you, I swear.”

“O-okay.”

I give her what I hope is an encouraging smile, then turn toward the door.

“Is the hall clear?” I ask over comms.

Keats responds, “All clear.”

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