Chapter 16
Kipp
I hate wrapping pipes, but I love laying it.
Ha.
I’m gonna be such a good dad.
I’ve already got enough jokes to take home an F1 style trophy.
Maybe I should get myself a “Best Dad Joke” mug for work?
Wonder if Nolan would be jealous.
We could have matching mugs?
Tossing the weatherproof tape onto the countertop precedes me reaching for my vibrating phone; however, the sight of three, well-built men dressed in all black coming into view prevents me from answering it.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” I professionally greet while using my peripherals to scour the area for the closest potential weapon. “How may I help you?”
“We’re looking for someone,” informs the buzz shaved male in front as the other two move into what appears to be a flanking position. “Female.”
“Strip club’s on the outskirts of town due to zoning laws.” Inching the adjustable wrench into my possession slyly occurs. “Follow the main road out of here for about five miles. Can’t miss it.”
“Humor.” He removes a phone from his pants pocket unphased. “Unusual.”
So is his robotic response.
“Do you know the whereabouts of this woman?” questions the raspy voiced older man at the same time he displays a picture of my fiancée for me to view. “She might respond to the name Brittany or Bethany or Bunny.”
Does she have other names?
Are those the ones she tried to hide herself under that that prick somehow discovered?
Crashed?
Burned?
“No,” leaves me without emotion prior to forcefully gripping the object.
Which is a lie.
Of course, I know exactly where she is.
Nolan and I both do.
And we were both fucking against it.
Unfortunately, after an ugly, Grand Prix level of collision, we were forced to accept defeat.
Bunny went to hang out with Posie, and I agreed to stay here.
Work.
Winter storm prep between customers.
Remain close to my cell in case she needed something or someone.
Shit.
Was that her calling?!
“She’s pregnant.” The trespasser searches my stare for a response during his henchman’s repositioning. “And missing.”
“Unfortunate.”
“For someone.” His head tilts slightly to the side. “That’s why we’ve been hired to retrieve her.”
“Exciting,” slips free in the same monotone of my other replies.
“I’m a specialist in the field.”
“Congratulations.”
“My team has a perfect track record.”
“Records can be broken.”
“Mine won’t.” The interrogator turns the device back towards him, swipes, and offers me a new photo to stare at. “Do you know the whereabouts of this man?”
Not exactly.
Last thing I remember is him falling over a cliff to make some animals a wonderful winter buffet.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, vultures.
It takes every ounce of energy inside me to pump the snarky brakes rather than the accelerator. “ No. ”
“He may have introduced himself as Mr. McAdams or Brad if he were attempting to be less formal.” Hard eye contact is maintained. “He’s her husband.”
This time there’s not stopping myself from snarling, “ He. Is. Not. Her husband. ”
Victory isn’t seen in his expression despite being heard in his tone, “I thought that might get under your skin, Woods.” Arrogance accompanies him tucking his cell back out of sight. “As I mentioned only moments ago, I’m very good at what I do.”
“You can fuck off and be very good elsewhere.”
“Not until we’ve searched the premises for the target.”
“She’s not a fucking target. She’s a person. ”
“ To you ,” he smugly clarifies. “To me she’s just an assignment to complete.” The unidentified assailant casually motions his head to the man on my left. “Check upstairs.”
“Yes, sir,” his bearded lackey acknowledges prior to turning to execute the order.
The instant a step is taken, I swing the wrench around to strike him in his side; however, it’s me that’s met with pain in mine.
One punch to my kidney arches my back in agony.
Exposes my chest to additional vulnerabilities.
Forces my hold on the tool to vanish, leaving me disarmed.
Defenseless.
Phone man executes a second, hard pound to the space right above my stomach further cutting of my ability to breathe, something he keeps from being possible by insisting with a mere head tip that the younger, shaggy haired male wind an arm around my neck from behind.
Jam his forearm into my throat.
Lock his hands together to prevent me from escaping.
Moving.
“You know what makes me an expert in retrieval, Woods?” He nonchalantly picks up the fallen wrench.
“I’m willing to do what others aren’t.” Cockily tossing the tool around in the air is done next.
“I’m willing to go where others won’t.” Once the adjustable end is the direction it’s supposed to be, he meets my watering stare.
“And I’m willing to get the job done in blood whether it’s mine or someone else’s.
” A powerful swing of the object is delivered to my ribcage causing my body to uncontrollably crumble. “ Today, it’ll be yours. ”
Twitching around is obviously pointless.
Yet I do it anyway.
Throw my weight back.
Attempt to create distance.
Room for air.
A single breath.
He simply tightens his hold a second time while his boss unleashes another strike to the opposite side.
Hisses can’t be had externally but are ceaselessly happening internally.
“Funny thing about people, Woods.” A third blow lands on top of the last. “The more pain they’re in…
the more likely they are to tell you what you want to know.
” He rotates the damaged location again.
“And the closer to death they get…” this slam sends new, excruciating pain racing up my spine, “the more honest they are.” His backhanded whack creates an audible cracking sound.
“That was one of your ribs in case you were wondering.”
Between my obstructed windpipe and increasingly unbearable pangs in my chest, it becomes almost impossible to keep my eyes open.
Mind alert.
Thoughts on anything that isn’t the misery seeping into each and every nerve ending.
“Where is the female target?” calmly inquires the attacker.
Safe.
Somewhere not here, not where they can grab her, not where they can just do to her or our baby what they’re doing to me.
My lack of response receives me two more hits to the side that doesn’t have a broken bone.
Yet.
“Where is the female target?” repeats the man in charge, voice along with demeanor eerily composed.
No.
I won’t say shit.
I’ll die first.
“You’ve got bigger balls than your file made it sound, Woods,” the assaulter compliments, “but I’ve got a track record to keep, so…” cold metal is unforgivingly wedged into the severely damaged territory prompting my body to strain itself while trying to flee, “ where. Is. The. Female. Target? ”
Resistance to speak continues until another crack buckles my knees, “ Fuckkkkk! ”
“Where is she, Woods?”
Tears threaten to leave the corners of my eyes.
Unfortunately for him, the answer he desperately wants never does.
“ Where- ” the repeated question is abruptly cut off courtesy of him pushing a button on his earpiece. “ Speak. ”
Regardless of my inability to hear it, the gear shift in his expression tells me everything I need to know.
That I was hoping wasn’t gonna happen.
Couldn’t happen.
The fucking reason we didn’t want Bunny somewhere without one of us.
“Deliver the female target to the extraction point,” he instructs at the same time he steps back. Post another push of the button, he matter-of-factly states, “You can dispose of Woods here.” The tool he was using is thoughtlessly thrown to the side. “He’s no longer needed for questioning.”
The shaggy haired man immediately strengthens his hold to his maximum capability, unbothered by my flailing elbows and pounding fists and choked gasps. Spots begin to litter my vision as thoughts of what could’ve been hit top speeds to reach the front of my mind.
Images of Bunny in a wedding dress.
Nolan tugging at a bowtie.
Holding our newborn son.
Pretending to let him drive while working on someone’s car.
Arguing over who takes him to kindergarten.
Picks him up from soccer practice.
Walks him down the aisle.
The aisle I’ll never get to.
Two loud pops suddenly reverberate around the garage, an action that results in my neck being granted freedom.
One large gasp is anxiously taken in tandem with my attacker falling to the ground in his own agony. “ Shitttt! ”
“Consider those warning shots,” a surprising voice coldly states prompting my bleary stare to relocate to him.
“My next use of force will be deadly ,” Garcia smoothly announces with a smug smile.
“And legal according to the penal code.” His Beretta remains positioned at the retrieval specialist’s forehead.
“I’m an attorney.” The corner of his lip kicks upward. “ Trust me. ”
Rather than put up any sort of fight, he simply surrenders his hands while backing away. “We’re done here.” What sounds like the door to our apartment shutting is followed by him instructing the other male, “Assist Gamma 2 to the vehicle. The female target has been acquired.”
“No,” Garcia instantly refuses during my efforts to regain my footing. “Gamma 2 stays for questioning regarding ‘the female target’.”
“ It’s Bunny, ” is croaked through gritted teeth. “ They’ve got Bunny. ”
“Affirmative.” Yet again, the man in charge maintains his unbothered disposition. “And you may ask Gamma 2 anything you want, but he won’t answer.”
“ The more pain they’re in… ” I coldly repeat his phrasing at the same time one hand is braced on the counter for support, “ the more likely they are to tell you what you want to know. ”
Garcia keeps the weapon along with his stare fixated on the enemy who retorts, “Yes. But they have to be alive to talk.” There isn’t even time to furrow my brow. “Your family will be well compensated Gamma 2.”
Our attention swings to the wincing male on the floor just in time to see him shove something in his mouth.
“ Nooooo! ” screeches Garcia in tandem with darting forward, leaving the others an easy opportunity to escape. “ Don’t- ”
What happens next is somehow more and less brutal than anything I’ve ever seen in a spy thriller.
One minute the dude not much older than me is upright and breathing and able to give us information yet the next he’s seizing and shaking and vomiting, head pounding uncontrollably against the edge of the structure I’m leaning on.
Fuck…
If they’re willing to leave one another to die like this…and then willing to fucking die like this …what exactly are they planning to do to our fucking fiancée ?