Page 37 of My Masked Stalker
With that, he hangs up, leaving me fuming with rage. I’ll wear their blood like a trophy of war.
“Kill?” Ethan’s voice brings me back to reality again. “I think I know where they are. We can probably get there before they leave.”
I nod, already dialing Damien’s number. “Gear up.” When the call connects, I spin around, heading to Ethan’s gear room. “D. I need you to be ready, man. She might be hurt.”
“You know I will be, Killian.” My other brother’s voice works its magic on me, like it always does. “We’ll get her back whole.”
Once we hang up, I pull stuff off shelves, adding them to what’s already on me: my Glock, my Ka-Bar, and my Ghoststrike. I take a few mags, a spring punch, breaching charges, and some flashbangs. We’ll need to break in and take advantage of the chaos. I don’t know how many men Kovalenko has guarding Emily, but I guess we’ll be outnumbered three to one. Cakewalk.
Ethan and I are in the car, driving to Red Hook, well before the exchange time. The abandoned refinery E uncovered is on the eastern side, about two and a half clicks from the waterfront, and we’re on the approach when we notice a black SUV barreling toward us.
In the pre-dawn light, I see two men in the front seat, Kovalenko on the passenger side. Time slows as I turn my head when the SUV screams past, locking eyes with Emily through the tinted glass.
We’re silent for a split second before I explode, my hand slamming against the dash. “Fuck! Turn!”
Ethan spins his Audi RS7 around before I’m even done talking, the screech of tires deafening, the centrifugal motion pressing me against the door. Then he floors it, knocking me back against my seat, the turbo engines roaring as we spit forward like a missile.
“Get in front of them,” I order. “We’re doing the Kabul move.”
“Shit,” Ethan hisses. “You sure, man?”
“Just do it!” I growl, already getting ready to jump out.
Ethan overtakes the SUV, then hits the brakes while turning the wheel again, drifting around in front of them. The SUV has no choice but to stop, or it’d crash into us. I’m already halfway out of the Audi, though, climbing onto the roof. I aim my Glock and shoot low on the driver’s side, my bullet putting a hole in the windshield and the man’s gut.
“Don’t dent my baby!” Ethan shouts, and I ignore him, turning and sliding down the front, using the momentum to slam into the SUV’s windshield feet-first. My boots hit the cracked glass with bone-jarring force, and the windshield caves as I crash through. Emily’s scream of terror pierces through my body harder than any bullet ever did, but I lock it down, already aiming at the thug next to her, blowing out the back of his skull with a tap of the trigger.
Kovalenko’s next. I take a moment of pleasure at seeing his slack-jawed expression, the absolute disbelief painted on his face. Then I pull my Ghoststrike from my belt sheath and ram it into the side of his neck before twisting. Arterial blood sprays my face when I pull the knife back, and I relish in Viktor’s gurgles. I promised myself I’d bathe in his blood, and I’m a man of my word.
The rear window shatters, drawing my attention. Ethan’s arm snakes through, yanking the door open to drag a stunned Emily into his arms while I pivot to finish off the driver, giving him the same end I gave Viktor.
Once I’m the only living thing left in the car, I crawl over the corpses and burst out, drawn to Emily like a homing beacon. Three steps and I have her, burying my nose in her soft, honey-blonde hair. She’s sobbing as she collapses against me, Kovalenko’s blood transferring from my tactical jacket to thehoodie she’s still wearing, until we’re both painted in red like a fucked-up baptism of violence.
22
EMILY
Iflinch when Killian’s friend, Damien, probes the area around my thighs where my kidnapper’s fingers dug in hard enough to leave a chain of bruises. I grip Killian’s sheets in my fist.
“I’m sorry, Emily,” the medic says quietly. “But I have to ask… do you need an internal exam?”
I blink up into his soft-blue eyes until the meaning of his words hits me.
“N—no,” I stutter. “He didn’t… Only on the outside,” I finish lamely.
“There’s nothing ‘only’ about sexual assault, Emily,” Damien says icily. I see something moving behind his eyes, some kind of shadow that scares me, but it’s gone before I can put my finger on it.
When he continues, his words are softer. “If you need counseling, I know a great doctor. She mostly works with battered women in abusive relationships, but I’m sure she’d take you in.”
I try to smile at the handsome blond with the intimidating height and muscles, who’s been nothing but caring toward me. “I’d like that,” I whisper, then take his hand into mine, despitethe latex glove covering it. “Thank you.” My words are somewhat guttural as I try to fight another bout of tears.
“Are you stealing my girl, Hale?”
I turn my head to Killian, who’s leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, his arms crossed. Despite the harsh words, his expression is carefully neutral, like he’s trying not to spook me. Maybe he knows it’s hard enough looking at the room where I struggled against my kidnappers.
Damien snorts, patting my hand before extricating himself and taking his gloves off with a snap.
“No offense, Emily, but fuck it if I’ll put myself in your shoes, Kill.” He picks up his supplies and returns them to his bag. “Women are a weakness. Too fragile.”
