Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
OLIVER
There isn’t time to think about the guilt.
About how it’s all my fault this is happening.
I can’t let myself think about how terrified Shea must be, trapped in a car with a dangerous enemy.
I have to block out the look on her face when she was dragged away from me and thrown into that car. When she was roughly gagged and restrained by a man who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.
I can’t let myself remember the cries of pain she tried to stifle or the tears she tried to hold back, and the agonizing reason why.
Even then, she was trying to protect me.
There isn’t time to focus on how damn scared I am that something might happen to Shea before I can get to her.
If I let myself really think about how fucked this situation is, I won’t be able to focus to get us out of it.
But it’s so damn hard to shove down all the emotions trying to explode out of me. Worry. Fear. Regret. Guilt. Rage.
Rage.
It’s an inferno spreading through my body, white-hot and deadly.
That these men dare to threaten Shea? Scare her? Cause her pain?
I’ve never felt such fury.
Instinct is shouting at me to act now. To use the skills I honed through all my training to disarm the men sitting in front of me, to fling them out of the car and take over, and chase after the man who has Shea.
Waiting is the worst kind of torture. Knowing Shea’s in the car in front of me, but not being able to see her. Not knowing what’s happening to her. Not knowing if?—
No. I refuse to consider it.
Apart from that, logic tells me without Shea, these men have no leverage over me. The threat of hurting her is the one thing guaranteed to make me talk. To share the secrets I’ve sworn to take to the grave.
I would die before giving up the identities of the assets who trusted me.
But would I let Shea die?
No.
I would do anything to save her.
But to do that, I need to use the same cool rationality I use on the job. I need to think through everything before I act, running through possible scenarios and outcomes.
Which means, no matter how badly I want to take action now, I need to wait. Make sure my strategy is sound. And be absolutely prepared to move without hesitation, because once I start, the only two things that can stop me are victory or death.
In the fifteen minutes I’ve been in the car, I’ve used that time to take stock. To quietly observe and formulate a plan while trying to tamp down my emotions.
What do I know?
Quite a lot, actually.
Of the two men in the car with me, I recognize both of them. First, Sergey Antonov, the man who went after Shea at her house. Hired help, as I suspected, based on the other man riding along with him.
And the other?
Alexi Sokolov. Right-hand man of Ivan Romanova.
With his presence, everything else makes sense.
Now I know why they went after Shea. Now I know what they want with me.
During those months I spent in Russia, one of the assets I managed was an employee of Ivan Romanova, the multimillionaire owner of a chemical production company in Moscow. Romanova caught the CIA’s attention because they believed he was working with extremist groups in the United States, selling them compounds that would allow them to make chemical weapons.
We wanted him stopped, of course, but Romanova was smart. By the time I got involved, the CIA had eyes on him for over a year, but still hadn’t found anyone on the inside to provide proof. Then I found Dmitri. He had been with Romanova for years, but only recently had learned the truth of what was going on. He learned about the extremist groups and their eventual plans to stage attacks on college campuses around the U.S.
Dmitri had a daughter attending college in California.
So he approached one of our case officers. Offered to help. And he slowly started to feed us information in hopes of taking Romanova down.
When I left the CIA, they still didn’t have enough evidence to get approval to take action. And given that Alexi Sokolov is here, no doubt hoping to force me to give up Dmitri’s identity, it’s a safe bet that Romanova still hasn’t been caught. But he must know the CIA is onto him, and now he’s desperate to find out which person in his organization is working against him.
So I know the who, and the why.
Now I just need to figure out how. How am I going to rescue Shea, and hopefully not end up dead myself? Because while I’m more than willing to sacrifice myself for Shea, I really hope it doesn’t come to that. I want a life with her. A home. Maybe even a family. And I’m not ready to give that up just yet.
It’s all going to come down to perfect timing.
There are still just three cars—in the lead, the one with Shea, with one of the men driving it. I’m in the middle, with Alexi and Sergey, and the final car is following about a quarter mile behind us.
Four men that I know of. And the sooner I can disable them once we get to our destination, the better.
“Hey!” Sergey turns around in the passenger seat to glare at me. He backhands me, his heavy ring crashing into my face and sending a rivulet of blood running down my cheek. “Why are you so fucking quiet? Shouldn’t you be making some noise or something?”
Alexi glances at Sergey with a look of contempt. Then he punches Sergey in the arm. “Idiot! He’s gagged. How is he supposed to make noise?”
Sergey blinks at him. “I thought he’d be moving around or something. Trying to get free.” He pauses, then adds defensively, “Not that he could, I tied him up really tight.”
“You’d better have,” snaps Alexi. “I gave you one job. Make sure he can’t get loose. If you fuck that up…” His eyes flash at me in the rearview mirror, flat and black like coal. “You already fucked up taking the girlfriend before. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you back then.”
“But… I wasn’t…” Sergey sputters. “It wasn’t my?—”
“Shut up!” Alexi slaps him across the face. “Maybe I should gag you, too.”
Watching their interaction only solidifies my plan. It’s clear Sergey is the weak link, so I’ll go after him second. Alexi is the more dangerous one, so I need to neutralize him first.
I won’t try it now, not while we’re traveling sixty miles an hour down a country road with forest on both sides. But as soon as we get to wherever Alexi plans on taking us, then I’ll spring into action.
“This is all your fucking fault,” snarls Alexi, his eyes narrowed as he glances at me in the rearview mirror again. “This was supposed to be a quick job. Grab your girlfriend, force you to give up the traitor, and dump both your bodies in the Hudson River. I planned to be here for three days, max. But no. Your girlfriend decides to be a damn hero.”
He pauses. Smirks. Then, speculatively, “She is beautiful, isn’t she? I can see why you’ve been stuck on her for so long. Maybe I should try her out before I kill her.”
This fucker .
If he even touches Shea…
Sergey barks out a rough laugh. “How do you like that, Kingston? Would you like to watch us with your girl? I bet that would be motiv?—”
“As if I’d let you have a shot,” Alexi snaps. “Remember who you are, Sergey. I’m the boss here. I decide. You don’t touch anyone unless I tell you to.”
Sergey scowls at him, looking more like a chastised child than a full-grown adult. Petulantly, he replies, “It was just an idea.”
An idea he won’t be acting on, because I’ll kill him if he does.
I may kill him anyway. And I won’t lose a second of sleep over it.
Alexi’s attention shifts back to the road, and after another half mile or so, the car begins to slow. A narrow road comes up on the right, and he flicks on the blinker—which is a bit ironic, given the circumstances—and turns onto it.
The road is rough, littered with potholes and cracks, and as we travel down it, the trees seem to be closing in on us. At my best guess, we’re headed towards Bald Mountain, or rather, one of the houses located at the base of it.
As we wind along the road, I make some quick calculations. We’ve been on the road for about twenty minutes now, and Shea triggered her alert just before that, so Blade and Arrow has to be well on the way already. At my best guess, they’re fifteen minutes behind us, which is helpful, but not enough to ensure Shea’s safety.
No. I’ll have to do that.
After just a few minutes on the road, Alexi signals to turn again, this time down a worn dirt driveway. There are wide ruts in the dirt, tire tracks from large trucks carrying heavy machinery, which makes me think we’re not headed to an ordinary house.
My suspicions are confirmed as we approach a construction site tucked deep in the woods, a house half-built, all framed out with walls and a roof but with the windows still missing. Ahead of us, the first car—the one transporting Shea—is parked close to the entrance of the house. I can’t see if she’s in there, not from this distance, and my heart leaps to my throat.
What if she’s already hurt? What if she’s unconscious in the back of the car? Just because Shea was okay when she was put in there doesn’t mean she is now.
What if she’s inside the house already, terribly injured? Tortured? Violated?
What if their plan is to torture Shea in front of me?
Fuck.
Now is not the time to panic.
This is when I need to keep it together.
As we come to a stop, a phone buzzes from the front seat. Alexi rummages in the middle console amid food and candy wrappers before he finds his phone and snatches it up. In Russian, he barks, “What?”
He goes quiet as he listens. Then he says briskly, “Good. Don’t touch her yet. We’ll be inside in a minute.”
Don’t touch her yet.
It’s not proof of Shea’s safety, but I’ll take it for now.
And it’s also the signal for me to move, while he’s still distracted.
No hesitation.
Nothing in my life has been more important than this.
Before I move, I allow myself one quick scan of my surroundings.
House to the north, about a hundred feet away. Front door at the center, with a few makeshift steps heading up to it. Woods all around, with no other houses in sight.
And inside the car, Alexi to my left, and Sergey to my right.
I can do this.
I must do this.
Breathing through my nose, I take a deep breath. Exhale.
Go. Now.
As soon as Alexi ends the call, I pull my wrists out of the broken zip ties. Because one thing these two assholes didn’t think to do was check if I had any tools on me, like the tiny blade I always keep in my back pocket.
Then I lunge forward, my fist snapping out, smashing into the side of Alexi’s head.
He jerks forward, dropping the phone.
Before he can react, I punch him again.
He goes limp in his seat, his head sagging forward.
Sergey yelps. “What the?—”
But he can’t get anything else out because my arm is wrapped around his throat.
Squeezing.
I’ve never choked a man out before, never needed to, but I damn well know how to do it. He struggles a little, but he’s no match for my strength and sheer determination. Within ten seconds, he’s unconscious, and I hold on for another five seconds for good measure. Not long enough to kill him, although I consider it. But he could be useful later as we build a case against Romanova—I can definitely see him flipping to save his own ass.
It hasn’t even been a minute, and both men are incapacitated. But this isn’t close to being over yet.
The last car isn’t here yet, and I need to intercept it before the driver realizes what’s going on. Before he can alert the man inside the house that there’s a problem.
So I quickly remove the zip ties around my ankles and leap from the car, yanking the gag from my mouth as I do so. Then I rush around to the front seat, where I spot a mostly-full bag of zip ties nestled among the crumpled wrappers in the console.
Shit. If Shea weren’t in danger, their incompetence would almost be laughable.
My gaze moving between the two men and the rear-view mirror, I restrain them much more effectively than they did me. Once I’m satisfied they aren’t going anywhere, I grab both their guns and phones and duck down below the front of the car.
Now I have to wait again, which is even more torturous because I know Shea is right there , and everything in me is desperate to get to her.
As I crouch in the dirt, waiting, the momentary lull in activity makes it harder to keep my mind from wandering to terrifying, dangerous places.
Places where I get into the house only to discover I’m outnumbered ten to one. Places where Shea isn’t okay when I find her. Or my attempt to stop the fourth man fails, and my entire plan is ruined.
No.
Concentrate on the things I know. The things I can see. Things I can hear.
Like the silence coming from the house, which at least means Shea isn’t being hurt right now. The soft rustling of the trees and faint calling of birds. And?—
The rumbling of an engine working its way up the driveway.
All my muscles tense.
I hold the stolen gun low and ready, my finger tight around the trigger, a whisper from firing. Not that I want to, not yet, but if it’s him or me, I’ll do what I have to.
Less than a minute later, the third car pulls to a stop. The engine turns off, and shortly after, feet hit dirt.
Footsteps move towards the car, accompanied by the sound of light breathing.
My breath stills.
The man comes around the car and peers into the driver’s side window. In Russian, he says, “Hey.” His voice pitches up in alarm. “Alexi? What the ? —”
Now.
I launch myself at him.
All the years of martial arts practice culminate in this moment.
Throat punch. Arm chop. Leg sweep.
In an efficiency of moves, I have him pinned on the ground. And once again, I wrap my arm around his neck to knock him out.
My heart is racing, but my blood feels ice cold. Rage has been replaced by cold determination.
Rushing now, I use the zip ties to restrain him. Then I gag him with the same torn shirt I used for the others and take his weapon, too.
Three down. Hopefully, just one to go.
But this is the riskiest part. Because now Shea’s in the mix. And this guy won’t hesitate to use her as a shield.
Keeping low, I jog towards the house, trying to keep out of view. As I get closer, I can hear the rumble of a man’s voice; not angry, but definitely irritated.
Once I get to the exterior wall, I edge along the side of the house, heading for one of the windows a bit further down. Through the glassless window frame, the man’s voice comes through. “Where the fuck are they? Alexi said he’d be right in.”
Shit. I can’t let him go outside.
Do I go in? Risk a standoff? Or try to take a shot from out here?
Rising the slightest bit, I peer through the window.
Shea!
She’s sitting on the floor, still gagged and restrained, her face pink and wet with tears. And fuck, she looks so damn scared. So vulnerable.
Fuck.
But she doesn’t seem injured. Not yet, at least.
And behind her, about five feet away, is the man who took her. He has a gun, but it’s held down and loose in his hand; he obviously doesn’t think Shea is a threat.
He’s the only one in there.
I have to take the shot. And I have to make it.
Am I good enough to hit him from here? If I were in target practice, I’d be completely confident. But this is life or death. If I miss, he could kill Shea right in front of me.
If only I trained as a sharpshooter, like Niall. He’d be able to make this shot blindfolded.
I can’t doubt myself now.
Then.
I remember something Shea said. About my parents. And hers. How they’re always here, watching out for us.
Maybe it’s the height of irrational optimism, but right now, I think Shea’s right.
This is going to work.
On a held breath, I stand up. Aim. Sight my shot.
His head is turned slightly away from me, but Shea’s isn’t. She sees me, her eyes flickering with recognition and relief, but she keeps her expression neutral.
In the moment before I fire, my future hangs in the balance.
A future with Shea.
I fire.
The bullet strikes him in the shoulder, the one holding the gun.
He shrieks in pain.
The gun drops to the floor.
I fire again, this time hitting the other shoulder.
He falls to his knees and screams, “Fuck! Fuck! Help! I need help!”
Go. Go. Go.
In a full-out sprint, I race into the house and over to the bleeding man. Then I kick the gun away, adding a second kick to his midsection for good measure.
Shea wriggles away from him, scooting herself across the dusty floor. Her gaze is locked on mine.
Once the man is restrained—thanks to even more zip ties—I crouch down beside her and pull the wad of fabric from her mouth. My words fall out in a rush as I say, “I’m so sorry, honey, I’m so sorry. It’s going to be okay, I’m so sorry.”
“Oll.” She stares at me for a second before bursting into tears. “You’re okay.”
“Of course I am.” My hands are shaking as I try to cut through her restraints, and I have to take a second to steady them. “Are you alright? Did they hurt?—”
Fuck. Her wrists. They’re all red and swollen. Those fucking assholes pulled them too tight.
“I’m okay.” As soon as her wrists are loose, she touches my cheek. “But you’re not okay. You’re bleeding .”
“I’m fine.” Once her ankles are freed, I pull Shea up and into my arms. She shudders as she sags against me, still crying, and buries her face in my neck.
“I thought they hurt you,” she sobs. “I was so scared.”
Oh. My heart.
There’s nothing I want more than to hold Shea for hours. To breathe in her soft scent and feel her snuggled against me, to reassure myself that she’s really here, and really okay.
“Come on,” I tell her while stroking my hand down her hair. “Let’s get outside to wait for Blade and?—”
But I’m interrupted by the roar of an engine. And then another.
Shea tenses. Her whole body starts shaking. “There aren’t more, are there? Oh, please?—”
“Kingston! Shea! Are you in here?”
My lungs start working again.
Cole.
“I’d say he’s okay,” another voice adds with a hint of amusement. Zane, from the sound of it. “Considering he took out three guys single-handedly.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur into her hair. “We’re okay.”
“Kingston!” Kane this time. He sounds like he’s running. “You’d better be okay. I don’t want to have to find another partner.”
Still outside, Cole calls out, “Zane. Keep on these three pieces of shit. Although it doesn’t look like they’re going anywhere for a while.”
Shea peels her face from my neck and peers up at me. “We’re really okay?”
As Cole and Kane run into the house, I give them both a quick chin lift. “Check this asshole. I shot him twice.”
Cole passes by us and claps me on the shoulder. “Damn glad you’re okay, Ollie.” His lips twitch. “Maya would be devastated if anything happened to you. And I’d be pretty upset, too.” He pauses, his voice gentling as he says to Shea, “You too, Shea. Everyone’s been worried about you. I’m really glad you’re safe.”
Gathering Shea into my arms again, I press my lips to the top of her head. “It’s all over. And it’s time to go home.”