Page 97 of Saving the Last Heir
Closing the door behind me, I moved through the lower portion of the house, straining to hear anything. Above me, the sporadicthud-thud-thudof footsteps were fairly audible, along with muffled voices. There were so many. This was already more difficult than I’d thought it might be, and I’d anticipated it being bad. Hanging my head, I pulled the other item I’d brought along out of my opposite pocket—a black ski mask with two holes in it for my eyes.
I tugged the mask over my head, the tight-fitting, stretchy material conforming to my face. Looking up, I caught a reflection of myself in the unshattered side of the glass door. Ilookedlike what I was. An intruder. A wraith of the night, here to swoop in and destroy a family. Tearing my eyes from my reflection, I looked down at my hands—the implements of destruction. Bitter tears stung at my eyes as I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my back pocket—the last of my tools—and pulled them onto my hands.
I inched the stairwell door open and crept up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I pressed my ear to the door, listening for movement. Everything on that side sounded quiet. From what I could remember, this door led into the main kitchen. If everyone was in the den watching the game on the big-screen TV Christian’s dad had in there, then hopefully no one would be in the kitchen. Twisting the knob slowly, so as to make no noise, I unlatched the door and swung it inward.
A broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties stood less than five feet away. A radio earpiece snaked down from his ear into his black suit jacket. He’d just taken a bite of a sandwich when he saw me, eyes going wide with surprise.
Fucking shit!
I moved.
For centuries, the alpha of a shifter pack was always supposed to be the strongest warrior. In the days of old, other packs would try to go to war for territory, personal animosity, and resources. Now, in the modern world, fighting wasn’t nearly as prevalent as it had been even a hundred years ago, but that didn’t mean an alpha wasn’t supposed to be able to fight. I’d been trained by the best winged dragon shifters in the world—until they all vanished, that was. Putting my skills to the test, I lunged at the man.
The security guard dropped his sandwich and grabbed for the microphone button at his collar. I slapped the hand away and tore the earpiece off him. The guard swung at me, his fist flying toward my face. With all the strength a wyrm shifter could muster, it would shatter my nose.
Dodging to the side, the fistbarelygrazed my cheek, which forced him off balance. My opening given to me on a silver platter, I chopped down on the side of his neck with the edge of my left hand, slammed my right elbow into the bridge of his nose with enough force to break it, and punched him in the jaw with my right—three quick strikes in less than three seconds. He was out on his feet, and I had to scramble forward to catch his hefty body before he crashed to the ground.
Stifling a grunt, I dragged him toward the door to the basement and eased him to the ground on the first stair, doing my best to stay quiet. When I released his body, gravity took over and he slid slowly down the steps on his back, his head thumping on each stair as he went until he lay in a crumpled heap on the bottom landing.
A shout erupted behind me, and I whirled around, expecting another guard to be rushing me. Instead, the kitchen was empty.
The screams were coming from the den. The game. It sounded like there were at least a dozen people in there. I heard both male and female voices, and I worried Bryn would be in there with everyone else. The only thing I had going for me was the fact that the girldespisedsports. I had to hope and pray she’d taken refuge in her bedroom.
Kneeling behind the island, I checked my watch. The men outside had been getting some fresh air and smoking a cigar during halftime. If the game was back on, that meant I had about twenty-four minutes to finish this. There would be time-outs, fouls, and commercial breaks that could make the game go longer, but I couldn’t count on them. No, I needed to be out of here with Bryn in the next twenty minutes, or I was screwed. As much as I needed to use stealth, I needed to go fast as well. Those two things typicallydidnotgo hand in hand.
Leaving the kitchen, I headed in the opposite direction of the den where all the sound radiated from. The house had two staircases, and the rear was used less often. Hopefully, it would be deserted now.
Moving with cautious speed, I exited the kitchen and made my way through the small breakfast room and a narrow hallway that opened to the rear stairway. The front stairs were more grand in appearance—wide steps, wood and wrought-iron handrails, with thick plush carpeting. In contrast, these rear stairs were more utilitarian. Simple polished wood with a plain pine handrail attached to the wall. Standing on the third and fifth steps respectively, were two more members of the Bauer security team.
Halting my approach, I jerked back into the shadows of a guest bathroom, but not before one of the guys spotted the movement.
“Did you see that?” a deep baritone voice said.
“See what?” a nasal voice responded.
“Somebody in the hall,” the deep voice said.
I glanced back the way I’d come. I could run for it, but then I’d still need to get upstairs, and they’d hear me. There was only one way up, and it was through these guys.
“Dave, where the hell are you going?” Nasal voice said.
“I’m checking it out. Get your ass over here, Lucas. You’re getting paid for this too.”
“Ugh,” Lucas said with a huff. “Some rich prick is probably taking a dump in the bathroom, bro.”
Steeling myself for what was to come, I waited until the bigger man—Dave—rounded the corner. My movement startled him, but instead of freezing like a deer in headlights, his instinct was to jump backward. This caused him to trip on his shoes and fall on his ass, taking him farther out of my reach.
“What thefuck,” the thinner guy—Lucas—said.
I’d hoped these guys were security in name only, but when Lucas moved forward as smooth as water and as fast as lightning, I realized they were skilled. A fist swung at my face, and I barely managed to twist my neck enough to allow the knuckles to graze my jaw rather than hit with full force. That strike very well might have put my lights out.
I crouched low and twisted, slamming my elbow into his stomach. A huff of air burst from his mouth, followed by a groanof pain as he clutched his stomach. I rose to finish him off with a punch, but Dave pulled my right leg out from under me. I hit the floor, my cheek bouncing off the hardwood, sending a flash of white across my vision and pain rocketing through my skull. Dave was on me in a second, trying to wrap me into a chokehold. His burly arm swung around under my chin and across my throat.
The guy was immensely strong, and when he cinched his arm tight, the blood pressure in my head shot up, turning my face red. Lucas was still gasping and gagging in front of me on his knees, but he pawed at his throat, trying to get to the radio.
No!
Pushing myself up with Dave clamped onto my back, I managed to rise all the way to my feet even with the extra two hundred pounds. My vision blurred, the edges of my sight going black as he cut off my oxygen. Dull shots of pain erupted along my thighs as Dave slammed his knees into me, trying to drive me back to the ground.
