Page 21 of Rescuing Rebecca
“You’ll have it.”
“How?” She blurted, the unexpected turn of events throwing her off her game. “Alexsandr gave me five days. After that, Roman gets to put a bullet in my head.”
“A bullet’s too good for someone like you.” This time, the asshole did look her way, and the hatred his gaze held chilled her to the bone. “Live by the blade. Die by the blade. Seems fair, don’t you think, Maya?”
Already intimately familiar with the level of agony caused by the razor-sharp edge of a steel knife slicing through skin, muscle, and bone, she shivered as a shock of ice-cold fear slid down her spine.
She recalled every ounce of pain from each stab. Remembered the warmth of her blood seeping between her fingers as she tried to stop the steady flow from too many wounds. Felt the crushing weight of her heart slowing, and her body giving in to the inevitable while her brain struggled to stay alive and alert.
Yes, she understood what it meant to die by the blade. More than most.
“That’s never going to happen,” Nik said, his steely voice a testament to his conviction. “Roman and I have some things to discuss, love.” With the toe of his shoe, he dragged her discarded shirt in her direction. “Go get cleaned up and have something decent to eat. I’ll find you when I’m done.”
“But—”
“Now, Maya.” He didn’t look her way. He didn’t need to. When Nik issued a rare order, she generally listened. It helped her get closer to him. Allowed her to manipulate his feelings toward her to her advantage.
Yes, Nik was her friend.
He was also her enemy.
And she couldn’t allow herself to forget the difference between the two.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Less than seven hours since his phone call with JP, Grant finished gathering the last bits of essential clothing needed for the upcoming mission. Extra socks, boxers, a couple of T-shirts. He’d done this plenty of times before. Packed his shit on short notice. Stuffed his meager belongings into a worn-out duffel bag.
The actions were the same, but today, he’d also done something different.
Maybe because he was older now? Because he’d had a few close calls in a row? Because of the serious potential for the world to go to shit? Whatever the reason, for the first time in his life, he’d written the if I die letter.
Yeah, aside from paying off Jenny’s debts, his sister didn’t want his help. And his niece Sarah? She barely knew him. Didn’t matter. His grandfather had raised him to do the right thing. Always. To stand up and step in to help those who couldn’t help themselves.
And if something happened to him on this mission, Grant couldn’t leave them unprotected. Sarah was just a kid. A year or two younger than Davis. She didn’t deserve to suffer because of her mother’s gambling addiction. He had to protect her. Dead or alive. So, he’d written the letter and addressed the envelope to the one man who had the power to keep his estranged family safe.
As the leader of the Joint Task Team, Adam was the man they followed. The man they trusted with their lives and the lives of those they loved. Talk about pressure. He carried the weight of command and the very fate of the world on his shoulders, and Grant had never seen him miss a step or fumble a decision.
He trusted no one more, so if he bit the bullet on this op, he knew he could count on him to do whatever he deemed necessary to keep Sarah alive. Unless they failed to rescue Rebecca, secure the code needed to stop Dominion, and everything went to shit in a handbasket as his grandmother used to say.
Or was it hell in a handbasket?
Fuck. Whatever.
They weren’t going to fail. They couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow it.
He tossed the last of his things inside his bag and reached for the phone vibrating in his pocket. A quick scan of his thumbprint revealed the message from Cody.
Let’s roll, asshole.
Fucking Babbitt. Always in a hurry to swing his big dick and stir up shit.
He zippered his duffel closed as the sound of running footsteps drew near. Three seconds and one rapid knock later, Davis poked his head around the corner of the open door. “Cody wants to know if you need help carrying your bag.”
Grant snorted and shouldered his load. “You know he’s just messing with you, right?”
The lanky teenager grinned and shrugged a bony shoulder. “I like helping.”
Understatement of the century. An old soul with a heart of gold, the kid would do just about anything for the people he loved and the men he respected. A product of the child welfare system, he’d grown up shuffling from one foster home to another. Until he’d run away and somehow found his way to Adam at the age of fifteen.
