Chapter 15 #2
One by one, my team follows until the five of us are situated in the ceiling, crawling through the dusty cavity until we have a bird’s-eye view into the store below, getting a look at our suspect and the well-being of the hostages for the first time.
A young man, maybe in his early twenties, paces the store, and it’s clear by the new addition of Diesel’s team hovering on the other side of the doors that he’s suddenly not feeling so brave.
He’s clutching a blade in his hand, and while I can’t make out any other weapons, I’m not able to rule them out.
From my vantage point above, I can make out at least seven hostages. All women, two minors, but there could be more in the dressing room or hidden behind the counter. Until I get down on the ground and survey the store properly, I won’t truly know the extent of this situation.
“BACK OFF,” the suspect screams through the store, his words directed at my men outside, and judging by his jerky movements, erratic behavior, and too wide stare, I have to assume he’s either high on coke or meth.
“I just want to talk, man,” Diesel says in a calming tone.
In this situation, he’s the voice of reason, but truth be told, there’s nothing Diesel would want to do less than to talk it out.
He’s a broody motherfucker who would prefer to race in, guns blazing and save the hostages.
Unfortunately for him, hostage negotiations are part of the job, and he’s actually pretty fucking great at it.
He could sweet-talk anyone into believing that life in maximum security prison is nothing but a summer vacation.
The suspect shakes his head, looking frantic, and in a rush of panic, he reaches for the closest hostage.
He violently yanks a young woman into him, locking his arm around her body and holding his blade to the base of her throat.
She whimpers in fear as another woman on the ground screams in horror.
“I SAID BACK OFF,” the man screams, his voice cracking and making it clear he’s got no fucking idea what he’s doing.
He’s desperate, and that makes him dangerous.
A cool, calm, and collected suspect generally knows what they want and can be reasoned with, but men like this have no idea what their end game is. They’re motivated by emotion and will act out the moment they feel just the slightest pressure.
With the situation heating up, I hold my hand up by my face and turn back to the rest of my team before indicating for them to keep going. I’m not about to lose anybody on my watch, and certainly not because of this asshole.
Quickly making our way through the ventilation system, we come to the store’s changing rooms, and I get straight to work removing the large ceiling tile and silently sliding it aside.
Someone gasps from down below, and I peer through the hole, finding three more hostages, each of them cowering in fear, hidden well in the changing stalls.
They appear to be a group of friends, older teens if I had to guess, and I hold my finger to my lips, willing them to remain silent as I grip the edge of the ceiling cavity and begin lowering myself into the store.
I drop the rest of the way, landing without a sound before promptly moving to the entrance of the changing rooms and getting a view of the store beyond.
One by one, my men fall into formation behind me, and as Diesel continues his hostage negotiations like the fucking pro that he is, my team swiftly moves onto the main floor of the store, not a single one of us making a sound.
We move with stealth and precision, the type of flow that can only come with years of intense, crucial training. Even now after being at the top of my game for the past decade, I won’t dare skip out on my training. We’re always bettering ourselves, always finding new ways to excel as a team.
We fan out under the radar, covering every corner of the room until we have him surrounded.
“What’s your name, man?” Diesel asks in that too calm tone that could convince me to jump straight into an active volcano as he holds the suspect’s attention.
The suspect narrows his gaze as though trying to figure out Diesel’s angle, but coming up with nothing, he gives in. “Ry—Rykin.”
“Rykin, I’m Diesel,” he says. “I bet this isn’t how you intended your day to turn out, huh?”
Rykin scoffs as I survey the situation with a keen eye, watching his response to each of Diesel’s questions. “That’s an understatement.”
“Listen, I’m here to help you. You don’t want to be here. You seem like a good kid. How about we find a solution that gets everyone out of here without anybody getting hurt?”
Rykin stares at Diesel before glancing back at the hostages, only his gaze lingers on the young woman cowering in front of him, tears streaking down her cheeks. “No,” he says, a manic desperation flashing in his eyes. “No. It’s too late for that.”
“Why’s it too late, Rykin? Talk to me. I’m right here. All you have to do is let these people go, open the door, and then we can talk it through, figure out how to get what you need.”
“No,” he says more firmly, his grip tightening on the hostage in his arms, and he presses the blade to her neck so tightly that she whimpers. “NO. SHUT UP. I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING. YOU’RE TRYING TO GET IN MY HEAD, BUT IT WON’T WORK. IT’S TOO LATE.”
His hands tremble, and the hostage becomes frantic, her eyes darting around the store, trying to figure out her own game plan.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as my team discreetly inches closer, more than ready to take action as it becomes increasingly clear that Rykin isn’t going to entertain negotiations.
“Why don’t you let me in?” Diesel prompts, stepping closer toward the locked door, and making a show of releasing his weapon, trying to appear as an ally. “You don’t want to hurt these people.”
Rykin’s breathing becomes labored and erratic, and his gaze darts around the room, trying to figure out an escape, but I’ve seen that look a million times before. If he’s going down, he’s taking as many hostages with him as possible, but I won’t let that happen on my watch.
The woman locked in his hold is going to be an issue though.
She’s too worked up, too scared, and just as I make a slight movement, trying to catch her eye to let her know we have the situation under control, she makes her move, slamming her elbow back into Rykin’s gut with one hell of a battle cry.
The people around her gasp in horror as Rykin lets out a pained scream, his eyes snapping to the woman almost as if in slow motion. She shoves him away, his bladed hand inching away just enough for her to throw herself forward.
She crashes to the ground and immediately tries to scramble away, but Rykin is too close to the fucking edge, and without hesitation, he throws himself after the woman, the blade coming down in a shallow arc.
BANG!
My weapon rings out with a direct kill shot right between Rykin’s eyes. His body goes limp before he’s even hit the ground, and all I can do is shake my head, all too aware of the paperwork that’s going to follow.