Page 9 of Gambit
The team works quickly, enhancing the image. It’s not much, but it’s something—an anomaly in the pattern of the night. Could it be her? Could this be the lead we’ve been scrambling for?
“Track it,” he says.
They don’t need to be told twice. Their hands move with renewed purpose, driven by the sliver of hope that has ignited in the room. We’re close, I can feel it, and if there’s a chance, any chance at all, we’ll take it. We’ll tear this world apart brick by brick until we find her. I’ll tear it apart with my bare hands if I have to.
I slam my fist onto the workstation, the sting barely registering as the waiting gets the better of me. James’s hand lands on my shoulder in solidarity. They all feel the same, but they’re better at being ice-cold and focused. That’s just not my thing and never will be. Eliza’s in danger; this isn’t just another operation; it’s personal.
Time is slipping away, each second a thief stealing hope. But I can’t afford despair, not when Eliza’s counting on me, on us. This isn’t just about saving the heir to the Hughes empire; this is about saving the woman who holds a piece of my soul.
“Anything?” I ask again, probably pissing everyone off, but I don’t give a shit.
“Not yet,” Raphael murmurs.
The clock on the wall mocks me with every tick. I stand still, my gaze fixed on the grainy images flickering across multiple screens. The room is silent except for the hum of computers and the soft click of keyboards as the Carver’s surveillance team works with precision.
“Just got permission to enter the satellite. Annnnd… got the car at the time of the abduction,” one of them finally mutters, and we all turn to glare at the screen.
“Fuck,” I mutter as we watch Franks dumping Eliza’s motionless body in the boot of his car. “He fucking drugged her, that fucking cunt. I’m going to rip his fucking balls off…”
“He’s going to get worse than that,” Raphael grits out, interrupting me.
“I’m at the end of the dirt track, there’s nothing.”
“So he veered off. Check the fields. This guy is not messing about.”
“He’s had two years to plan this,” Tarquin murmurs. “He waited for the exact moment when it would hit us the hardest.”
“Come on, come on,” I mutter.
I lean against the back of the sofa, arms crossed tight over my chest, trying to contain the rush of blood thundering through my veins. My mind whirls with possibilities, all the what-ifs and maybes that don’t mean a thing until we have something solid.
“Check this out.”
We lean over again. On one of the screens, there’s a spot of light, something moving erratically. “There,” the leader guy says, his finger almost touching the monitor. “Zoom in on that.”
The image grows larger and clearer. It’s a car, headlights cutting through the dark like two determined eyes on a mission. My pulse kicks up a notch, adrenaline flooding my system. This could be it—the break we’ve been scrambling for.
My gut twists with dread and anticipation, but I push it down. There’s no room for fear here, not when every moment counts.
“Track it,” I murmur the obvious, my voice low but fierce.
We all watch, fixated, as the car veers off the dirt track, tearing across the fields instead, lights flickering off in the dark. It’s rogue and unexpected—the kind of move you make when you’re desperate to avoid prying eyes.
“Alright, let’s get to work. Pull up every camera feed you can. We need to track where it came from and where it’s heading. This isn’t just about following a car; it’s about piecing together a route back to Eliza,” Raphael states.
Seeing movement near the door, I look up to see Rafe disappear. He’s been silent for the last half an hour, but now that progress has been made, he can breathe out again. We all can.Damon isn’t going to skin us alive if we find his daughter and bring her back and never utter a single word of what happened ever again to anyone who might tell him.
Looking back at the screen, it is split into a dozen smaller windows, each one showing a different slice of hell. I watch the team, their eyes scanning relentlessly, picking apart every pixel for any trace of the bastard who made the biggest mistake of his life by taking her.
“Here.” A tech points to a section of the video in which a car drives past a petrol station—the same car that took Eliza.
“Fucking finally.” I exchange a glance with Raphael, and he nods once. We are going to find her now; we just need to keep tracking that car and not fucking lose it. We cannot lose her again.
6
ELIZA
Still on the bed,wrists zipped tight behind me, my face throbs where Franks left his mark, a stinging reminder of his punch. My dress hangs open, useless fabric parted like a broken promise, exposing what I can’t cover or clean with my hands bound. His cum stuck to me in a disgusting coat of filth that is making my skin crawl the longer I sit here. Helpless.
