28. Draven
Chapter 28
Draven
I stop my bike a block from the location where they’ve taken Lola, while Pete and Ciaran park behind me in Ciaran’s SUV.
“We go on foot from here,” I state. “Tell your guys to stay back. I don’t want them storming in there and creating chaos before we’re ready.”
For an FBI guy, Pete takes the order pretty well. The only sign I get that he might want to punch me is a flexing of his jaw. I don’t give two shits if his ego is hurt. The FBI will have to suck it up. I’m in charge whether they like it or not. That’s my woman in there.
“Rein it in, Draven,” Pete growls. “You might have clearance, but you’re not the FBI.”
Okay, maybe he didn’t take it as well as I originally thought.
Ignoring the warning, I jog down the street on the balls of my feet, phone in hand, glancing every few seconds at the stationary red dot. I won’t know her exact location until I get inside and figure out the layout of the building, but she’s already been in there twelve minutes, which, by my calculation, is eleven minutes too fucking long.
The three of us silently approach the rear of the rundown structure—an old manufacturing facility that used to make furniture but has long since gone out of business. A sign of the times with everything being imported from cheaper countries these days.
I exhale slowly and examine the lock securing the property. Easy street. Within seconds, I have it picked. Opening the door, I let out a relieved sigh when it doesn’t squeak. Pete taps on his phone, likely giving an update to his team waiting nearby. I slide my gun out of its holster, although I’ll only use it if absolutely necessary. I don’t want to alert these bastards that we’re here, and they’re fucked. I hold up a finger, peer inside, scan around, then slide through the door.
Once again, I check Dayton’s app. It points to a rickety old staircase in the corner of the wide-open space that leads downward. With my senses on heightened alert, I cock my ears for any kind of sound. Beckoning to Pete and Ciaran behind me, I creep over the bare concrete, then I scan left and right, watching for a sign we’ve been spotted before we’re ready to take these fuckers down.
I glance at the screen again. There’s no dot.
There’s no fucking dot.
It’s gone. Vanished.
I shake my phone. What the fuck does that mean?
“What’s the hold up?” Ciaran whispers.
I show him my phone. “I lost her.” I shut down the app then reopen it in case it’s a blip. Still no red dot.
“Fuck,” I bite out, sliding my phone into my pocket and pointing to the stairs. “We go down.”
Treading carefully on each step, I eventually make my way into the basement. The lighting flickers overhead, illuminating moss-covered walls and uneven flooring. A scurrying sound to my left draws my attention—a thin tail disappearing into a hole in the wall.
“Watch where you’re going,” I whisper. “Fucking rats.”
Keeping our backs to the wall, we sneak along the hallway. We’ve almost reached the end when I pause. Someone is approaching, so I shoot a glance at Pete and Ciaran. They nod to confirm they’ve heard it, too. The footsteps get closer, and whoever is coming is whistling, oblivious to the three of us lying in wait.
He turns the corner, and I grab him, slam my hand over his mouth, and bring my other arm across his throat. His feet scramble for purchase, but ten seconds later, his body slumps. Pete points to an opening set back from the hallway, allowing me to drag the guy inside before Pete snaps on a pair of handcuffs. He won’t be out for long, but hopefully it’s enough time for us to find Louise and call in the cavalry.
Returning to the hallway, I use my memory to guide me. I’ll kill Dayton when I get a hold of him. He warned me there may be a glitch in the tattoo’s performance, but I hadn’t expected it to fail completely.
Finally, voices drift toward us, getting closer, and there’s at least three.
We all stop. Taking out three men at once will draw attention, but we’ve no choice. Tightening the grip on my gun, I hold my breath, but then the voices fade. I poke my head around the corner in time to see four men—not three—disappear through a doorway.
We wait a few seconds to make sure the men don’t return.
I’ve only taken four steps when a woman’s agonizing cry rips through the air.
Lola.
I sprint in the direction of the sound, my feet pounding the concrete. It doesn’t matter if they hear me now. I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.
“Shit,” Pete expels.
“Showtime,” Ciaran says.
Racing toward the sound, I kick open the metal door. The scene before me colors my vision red. Louise is naked and handcuffed to a hook in the ceiling. Blood drips down her cheek, there’s a bruise blooming on her side, and her hair is damp and matted.
I instantly recognize Shala standing in front of Louise. He spins around and lunges at me, but I get off two bullets, one straight into his limp fucking dick, the second into his chest. He goes down, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Ciaran takes out the second man. A third makes a run for it, but Pete grabs him and snaps on a pair of handcuffs. The bastard got off lightly. I’d have put a bullet in his brain.
Louise lifts her head and locks her steely gaze on me. Relief swims in her irises, and she tries to smile, but it comes across as more of a grimace. Guilt races through my veins, but there’s plenty of time to beat myself up for not getting to her earlier. Right now, my woman needs me, and I’ll kill anyone who tries to stop me from getting her out of here.
“You took your time,” she mutters. “Get me down. Beresford. He was just here.”
“On it,” Pete says, making a move for the door.
“No!” Louise yells. “He’s mine. Get me the fuck down.”
“Search him for a key,” I bark at Ciaran, jerking my chin at Shala lying crumpled on his side with a dark stain coloring his groin and his blue shirt.
Ciaran searches Shala, but there’s nothing.
“Try the others.” I wrap my arms around Louise’s waist and hold her up to take the strain from her shoulders and back.
She hisses and mutters, “Fuck”.
“Hurry up,” I bark.
“Got it.” Ciaran passes me the key to the handcuffs, and I unlock them. Within a second, Louise falls into my arms, holding me tightly around my neck.
I glance around, looking for her clothes, unable to see them. Shit.
“Go find her something to put on,” I say to no one in particular.
Ciaran reacts first, darting into the hallway, while I shrug out of my leather jacket and cover Louise with it as best I can. She tugs it around her body and shivers.
“I need a gun,” she rasps.
“Lola, don’t be ridiculous. You need to go to the fucking hospital.”
“I’m fine,” she hisses. “It’s a few bruises and a cut to my cheek. Maybe a cracked rib. I’ve had worse. You arrived before Shala could do any serious damage. Now, give me your fucking gun. I’ve earned this.”
I trade a glance with Pete, who shrugs. “Unless my guys get to him first, I say let her have her revenge.”
Ciaran appears, holding what looks like a pair of coveralls. “Best I could do,” he says.
Louise leans on me as she tugs them on, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. I push her hands out of the way and take over. Once I’m done, she holds out her hand. “Gun.”
“Fucking annoying female,” I mutter, even as pride fills my chest. She’s a warrior, my woman. A fucking warrior. I hand over my weapon, then demand Ciaran’s firearm in return.
“I’ll stay here with him,” Ciaran says, pointing his chin at the one man we have in custody.
Louise limps to the door, clutching her side. Nothing can keep her down, not even being beaten and kidnapped, even if we had planned for them to take her. But if I’d known they’d do this to her before we managed to get here, I’d have locked her up and thrown away the fucking key.
“This way.” I point in the direction I’d seen the four men go, guessing one of them must have been Beresford.
Louise hobbles down the hallway, pausing occasionally to catch her breath before pushing on once more. Several times, I almost order her to stop, then think better of it. Injured or not, she’s perfectly capable of kicking me squarely between the legs. She’s running on pure adrenaline, though, and as soon as this is over, she’ll crash.
And I’ll be ready to catch her.
Another rickety stairwell leads to the upper floor. Louise takes the stairs two at a time, her arms straight out in front, leading with the gun. Beresford and the others must have heard the gunfire, and there’s a possibility the FBI already have them in custody. Pete must have messaged them as soon as I took down Shala.
I’m right. As soon as Louise and I reach the main floor, I spot two agents racing toward us from the opposite side of the warehouse, and the four perps skid to a halt.
“Beresford!” Louise bellows.
He spins around, his eyes widening when he sees the three of us. Before either us or the FBI can act, he snatches one of his associates, locks his arm around the man’s throat, and points a gun at his head.
“Beresford!” Louise calls out again. “Let him go. It’s over.”
“Back off!” Beresford yells. “All of you, back the fuck off, or I’ll kill him.”
Go ahead. One more piece of crap off the streets.
Unfortunately, law enforcement doesn’t work that way.
Louise holds up her hand, her gaze locking on one of the FBI agents approaching Beresford, and an understanding passes between them.
“Okay,” Louise says, crouching. “Okay, stay calm. We’re putting down our guns. See.” She sets it on the ground but keeps her finger on the trigger.
“And them,” Beresford says, spinning to face the agents. There are more of them now. At least eight.
Pete nods to his men, giving the order to stand down. They all lower their guns to the ground, too.
Beresford pivots back toward us, and his grip loosens around the man’s throat, the butt of his gun no longer tight against the guy’s temple.
Louise moves quickly, and she pulls the trigger twice. One bullet enters Beresford’s wrist while the second penetrates his thigh. He screams, drops the gun, and collapses to the ground.