Raven’s Hunt (Raven’s Security #3)

Prologue

Eastern Cordillera,

Fifty klicks northwest of Bogotá, Colombia,

Eighteen months ago…

The dull, yellowed light blinked out three seconds before the men upstairs started yelling.

Tierney O’Rourke jolted upright, the chain shackled around her right wrist rattling against the metal frame of the rusty cot for one, heart-stopping moment before she grabbed the length and lifted it clear of the edge.

Darkness swallowed the damp, concrete cell, the heavy shadows a jarring change after weeks of having that single, bare bulb forever swaying overhead, spinning the room in nauseating circles.

The utter blackness accentuated the staccato rhythm of the rain hammering the roof, the latest in a string of storms that had rolled through the compound since she’d woken in the locked room a month ago.

But there was something different about the way the thunder boomed across the sky, shaking the foundation with each rumbling beat.

A charge in the air she hadn’t felt before.

As if the mountain, itself, had declared war on the mercenaries holding her captive.

Somewhere, in the yard outside, the backup generator coughed then sputtered without catching, leaving a void in the air she knew wouldn’t go unanswered.

It had choked and spat a dozen times over the past week when the unrelenting rain and wind had blown through the compound like an omen, but it had always kicked back on.

Until now.

Upstairs, one of the men barked out orders with the kind of tone that demanded action.

Boots tapped overhead as the floorboards creaked, raining down dust motes that floated in the dim glow from the narrow window above her head.

The one that had teased her with a hint of hope.

Too small to escape from, but enough to see the road to freedom beyond the muddy grounds.

Tierney pushed to her feet, catching her weight on the wall when the room tilted, sliding left and right a few times before stabilizing slightly off kilter. Pain lanced through her stapled thigh, the metal pieces pulling on her flesh as she took a step, steadied herself.

The simple movement stole her breath, her broken ribs protesting every shallow inhale, as fire burned through her shoulder where shrapnel had torn it open the night everything had changed.

But this time, she welcomed the agony — used the stabbing pain to sharpen her senses.

Keep her conscious when the weakness creeping into her muscles demanded rest.

For thirty-six days, she’d burned through fever, fought the rot in her thigh, and shivered through the kind of cold that settled in her bones, never quite leaving. All while the men who’d annihilated her team in the ravine kept her breathing just long enough to heal.

A targeted hit. Just not for the reason she’d assumed.

Tierney had braced herself for torture the moment she’d woken in the cell.

Interrogation. Pain with purpose. Questions asked until answers became irrelevant.

But the medic had simply patched her up, then walked away.

The wrongness of that had festered under her skin, until a few words bled through the floorboards…

Buyer.

Delivery.

Merchandise.

That’s when it had hit her. She hadn’t been spared because she was valuable to question.

She’d been spared because she was valuable to sell.

The realization had hollowed out part of her soul, leaving behind only rage and a ticking clock.

By dawn, they’d move her. If she was still in this cell when the transport arrived, she’d vanish into a world far worse than this one.

Footsteps hammered outside the cellar stairs. The mountain had finally given her an opening, and she was about to drive a knife through it.

A flashlight beam cut under the door, the bright light making the top of the old wooden stairs glow a sickly gray.

Metal scraped as a key hit the lock, the telltale screech of the hinges sounding above the needling rain.

She had about five seconds between when the door swung open and the guard descended the stairs before he’d be at her door.

Tierney gathered the length of chain between her hands as she limped across the room, stepped into the blind spot beside the frame. It wasn’t much. Maybe a foot of space, but enough to hide her until she had a chance to strike.

She held her breath as she flattened her back against the damp stone. No doubt, the guy would expect the broken version of her. The one who’d barely moved. Not the woman who’d taken the guilt and the grief and burned it into blistering rage.

Who’d show him exactly why she was worth so much money in the first place.

The wooden steps groaned, a series of squeaks tracking the guard’s progression. Boots scuffed the floor outside the barred door, that flashlight beam bouncing off the metal, only a fraction making it past the billets.

He cursed, keys jingling just beyond the doorway before the lock turned over, everything settling with a final thunk.

The door shook, the rusted hinges protesting as he opened it an inch at a time, one hand braced on the metal, the other tracing the room with the flashlight.

The beam swept along the wall, hit the empty cot, then froze.

The guard grunted, swung the light to where the chain had been anchored to the metal leg bolt, inhaling as the length coiled along the floor, the links glinting amidst the surrounding darkness. He tensed, reached for his knife, as she lunged forward — the cold metal grasped between her hands.

Her leg dragged, buckling enough she tripped a step, smashed into his back as she fought to catch her balance. The creep stumbled forward, lost his grip on the flashlight and it tumbled to the floor, rolling several feet away, that beam tracing circles along the far wall.

Their combined weight drove them against the cot, the stench of smoke and cheap cologne overpowering the usual scent of wet cement and stale blood. He tried to shake her off, but she recovered enough to wrap the chain around his neck and pull.

Harsh gasps cut the still air as he got his feet under him, lifted her off hers before reeling backwards, slamming her against the wall.

White dots exploded behind her eyes as pain tore through her shoulder, her ribs trapping her next breath in her chest. Pain rippled down her thigh, every muscle cramping, as he stepped forward, then launched backwards, again.

Her head cracked against the concrete, streaks of black edging her vision before she planted her bare feet on the wall, shoved. He tipped forward, smacked onto the floor with a sharp thud. Tierney got one knee in the center of the guard’s back, used it to lever her weight up and away.

The man thrashed beneath her, landing a few hits to her ribs, nearly shaking her loose as he got one hand wedged between the chain and his neck, released enough of the tension to suck in a breath.

Her muscles ached, her strength waning before she changed tactics — scrambled for his sheath, freed the knife, then stabbed him in the throat.

Blood arced across her shirt, a series of wet, gurgling rasps sounding above the roll of thunder before he collapsed on the floor, blood quickly pooling beneath him. The storm raged outside, men shouting above her, as the guard’s legs twitched a few times before stilling.

Her hands shook, her thigh a fiery inferno as she braced her weight against the wall, sweat slicking her forehead and neck, the wind howling through the cracks in the cellar, chilling her skin until simply releasing the chain took conscious thought.

The steel links rattled against the concrete, that flashlight still rocking back and forth, casting crazy shadows along the cement.

Tierney let her head tip back, each breath like liquid fire, until the worst of the shaking had stopped. A wash of blood warmed her thigh, some of the staples had popped free, but at least she hadn’t died.

It took a minute to lever off the wall, stand without falling on her ass or blacking out.

Another had passed by the time she’d found his keys, juggling them in the air a few times when her fingers refused to cooperate, before unlocking the shackle, dragging him over to the cot and tossing him onto the ratty mattress.

It was messy, with blood smeared across the floor, but from a distance, the other guards might believe she’d hunkered beneath the cover.

She waited out a wave of nausea, hands still trembling, her thigh protesting every step as she tugged on the asshole’s jacket, tucked the keys in the pocket, then removed the knife, wiping the blade clean on his shirt before strapping the sheath around her good leg.

She limped over to the flashlight, cursing when her skin pulled taut against the staples as she grabbed it off the floor, holding it close as she stumbled toward the door.

It groaned as she closed it behind her, hoping the sound was lost to the storm, before heading for the stairs.

Voices sounded farther off in the compound, the floorboards still creaking as men stomped around the house.

The occasional flashlight beam lit up the slit beneath the door, brightening the top step before moving on.

She climbed the stairs in slow, painful increments, using her left leg to carry most of her weight until she grabbed the handle. Listening, she waited for the next crash of thunder before slivering it open, hiding the screech of the hinges in the rattle that shook through the walls.

Darkness filled a short hallway, with more stairs heading to an upper level off to her right. Lightning flashed in the windows at the far end, illuminating a row of boxes in another room.