Page 111 of Holiday Hostage
They stood in a group, guns slung around behind them and heads bent together.
“This’ll be fun.” Tarron nudged me and grinned. “Left, right, or center?”
I took in the group, the lack of structure to their setup, and matched Tarron’s smile. “Looks like ole Jack can’t keep good help. I’ll take left.”
“I get the guy on the right.” Reed cracked his knuckles. “I remember him. We have a thing that needs clearing up.”
We tapped knuckles and broke apart. My heart drummed a steady beat in time with my measured steps.
No time for adrenaline to kick my ass.
I funneled it into giving me a fuck-all attitude that shut off my emotions and pain and let me do the job.
The guys ahead never saw us coming.
Whoever trained them did a shit job, or they simply couldn’t be bothered enough to obey Jack’s orders.
I cracked the rifle stock against the big blonde’s head, and he dropped like a stone.
Between the reinforced zip ties I put on his wrists and ankles and the fact I tied him up at the side of the building in one of my best hog ties, he was going abso-fucking-nowhere.
Reed held the door open for me and Tarron.
I ducked left, he took right, and Reed went down the center.
We kept our steps light and quick, clearing the first floor in under a minute.
When we reconvened at the door, Reed angled the muzzle of his rifle toward the rickety metal steps leading up to the next level. “Up or down?”
That was our biggest hurdle.
If Jack had her on one of the upper floors, we had him pinned down.
If she was below us, and we went up first, he could sneak out if he realized his mission was compromised.
“Split up.” Tarron nudged me in the back. “Two go up. One goes down.”
“The hell we will.” Reed shouldered his rifle and scowled at Tarron.
I held up a hand to stop them. They’d kept their voices low, but it was too big a risk to keep going. “Jack’s numbers seem to have dropped off significantly, but we can’t be sure those were the only men on guard.”
“Those steps are gonna be hella loud.” Reed tipped his head toward them. “Maybe that’s the point. He’d hear anyone trying to approach.”
I scanned the hallway and the open doors that had revealed nothing more than torn-up carpet and a rat-infested hole in the wall.
The stairs barely had a railing, and a few of the steps had missing screws that allowed the metal to shimmy out of position.
I crept toward them. A steel door near the base bore the tattered remains of an old sign that looked like it used to say BASEMENT, but half the letters had either worn off or been scratched off over time.
A deep voice echoed from the other side of the door. “I’m sick to death of hearing your bitching and whining. One more word, and I’ll put the gag back in your fucking mouth.”
Adrenaline shot through me with a punch that sent my head spinning. I recognized the voice. I waved Reed and Tarron over, tapping my lips with one finger to make sure they understood the need for stealth.
“And I’m fucking tellingyou,that you have the wrong person. You’ve had the wrong person all along. If you want your damned ransom, you need to talk tomyfather, Frank Rivers.”
Payton’s fiery spirit sang in her words, in the absolute way she spoke without any trace of fear. “Whoever this arm’s dealer is that you think is my father, you’re wrong. You can send him a million ransom notes. He’s not going to answer, and he sure as hell won’t pay, becauseI’m not his daughter.”
She said it loud and cold, in a tone that worried me because this wasn’t the first time she’d tried this conversation.
