Chapter 35
CHAPTER 35
P at gripped the wheel, his knuckles white. The comms crackled, and Anna’s voice cut through the static.
“Falcon’s gone.”
Blade cursed under his breath. “How the hell did that happen?”
“CTD had him locked down, but the bastard must’ve had an escape plan. Security feeds show a second SUV pulling up to the back of the house. He slipped out the rear door and was gone before they could react.”
Pat slammed his fist against the dashboard.
Fucking hell. They’d had him.
“His phone’s offline,” Anna added. “He’s going dark.”
“Nah, he won’t run,” Pat growled. “Not until he’s finished what he started.”
And that meant Ryan.
Blade switched frequencies. “All teams, be advised. Falcon has escaped custody. We’re on our way to the extraction point. Move now.”
Pat floored the gas, the engine growling as they sped through the city. Every second counted. If they didn’t get there first, the kid was dead.
The industrial district loomed ahead. Darkened warehouses, rusting fences, broken glass reflecting the city’s distant glow.
Pat swerved into a side street and killed the lights, rolling to a stop next to a derelict building.
Liberty Air Warehouse was written in faded lettering along the side.
A perfect name. A perfect place to disappear a body.
Blade pulled out his scope and swept the area. “That’s our spot.” He nodded toward the warehouse Al-Jabiri had named. Graffiti covered the walls, windows shattered, metal shutters corroded with rust. No security, no cameras.
The perfect killing ground.
Pat checked his weapon, making sure the suppressor was secure. “CTD is five minutes out.”
A dull gray Ford Transit rolled into the lot, headlights off.
Blade slid a fresh mag into his Glock. “We’ll be done in two.”
Pat tensed. Two men got out, the metallic gleam of their weapons catching the dim glow of the streetlights.
They dragged Ryan from the back seat. The kid’s hands were bound, duct tape over his mouth, a nasty gash on his temple. But he was breathing. Still alive.
Al-Jabiri had told them one hour. That meant he’d be here.
Right on cue, a black SUV prowled into the lot, its headlights off, moving like a predator in the dark. The engine gave a low rumble before cutting out, the vehicle idling for a beat as if surveying the scene. Then the driver’s door swung open, and Al-Jabiri stepped out.
Pat kept his voice low. “I’ll take Falcon. You get the others.”
Blade smirked. “Gladly.”
They moved like shadows, circling the perimeter.
One of the men kicked Ryan behind the knees, forcing him down onto the asphalt.
Al-Jabiri, piston in hand, strode across toward him. “This is because your bitch mother wouldn’t cooperate.”
Pat steadied his aim. A single headshot would end it.
Too easy.
He wanted the bastard to suffer.
Lowering the sights to Al-Jabiri’s shoulder, Pat squeezed the trigger.
A muffled pop echoed through the night.
Al-Jabiri jerked, spinning sideways as the bullet punched through flesh and bone.
The two gunmen released Ryan and spun toward the sound. Pat braced for the inevitable, ducking behind the side of the building as gunfire erupted.
Bullets tore into the brickwork around him, dust and shards of concrete flew everywhere. A ricochet clipped his weapon, sending it spinning across the pavement.
Shit.
Blade was already moving.
Four controlled shots rang out and two bodies hit the ground. Double taps. Precise. Final.
Ryan curled up on the asphalt in shock, his eyes huge.
Al-Jabiri struggling to his knees, groaning. He felt around him for his pistol. Pat was faster.
He slammed into the terrorist, sending them both sprawling across the parking lot. The gun skidded away. Al-Jabiri snarled, lashing out.
Pat drove his fist into the bastard’s face. Bone crunched. Blood sprayed.
Al-Jabiri retaliated, kneeing him in the gut. Pat grunted, barely feeling it. He was running on something else now. Rage. Adrenaline.
Vengeance.
He punched him again. And again.
That was for Astrid. For Jasmine. For Ryan.
Al-Jabiri sagged, coughing blood, his breaths wet and ragged.
Pat kept going until he felt Blade’s heavy hand clamp down on Pat’s shoulder. “Easy.”
Pat paused, chest heaving.
Behind them, Ryan sat trembling.
Pat wiped a sleeve across his mouth, his knuckles throbbing.
“Is he dead?” the boy asked.
“Unfortunately not,” Pat said, turning to Ryan. “He just wishes he was.”
Blade, checking on the unmoving forms of the kidnappers, shook his head.
Just then, sirens could be heard descending on the warehouse.
Pat turned to Ryan. “You’re safe now.”
The boy didn’t move.
Pat reached for him, helping him to his feet. “It’s over. They can’t hurt you again.”
“My mom—” he stifled a sob.
“She’s okay,” Pat assured him. “We got her out in time.”
He nodded, although his eyes filled with tears. “I thought she was?—”
“No,” Pat interrupted. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”