Chapter 40
Forty
Ledger
“Rhett, Santi, come in,” Wes says over the walkie-talkie.
There’s some feedback before Rhett answers. “We’re here.”
“How much longer until you’re in position?”
“We need about five more minutes.”
“Good. Ledger?” Wes asks next.
Grabbing the walkie-talkie on my hip, I bring it up and answer, “Same.”
I glance to my right. I can’t see very far thanks to the thick woods, but I know the others are out there, spread out but making their way toward me and the house Blair’s being held in.
The three of them left the cabin first, parking their trucks on the property where Santi and Rhett play their game.
From there, they’ve been making the trek on foot.
It was the simplest and safest option for the three of them to fan out from the top of the fishbowl and head toward the house rather than us all park along the road near the house, cluster together, and barge onto the property.
“Alright, unless someone says otherwise, the plan is a go,” Wes says. “Everyone turn down the volume on your walkie talkies and stay vigilant.”
The reminder to go quiet is for Rhett and Santi.
They’ve never been on a mission like this before and this isn’t like one of their games.
We don’t know how many men we’re about to go up against, but we know they’re trained and highly dangerous if they got the best of Anchor and Blair.
It’s why it took so long for us to get out here.
Blair’s in trouble but if we want this rescue mission to go well, we had to prep those two before heading out.
Stay out of sight until it’s time—even then, take cover often.
Keep moving.
Be unpredictable.
Keep everyone’s attention.
Be your bloodthirsty selves.
The last demand came from me. Rhett and Santiago might not have been in the military and know to work as an efficient team, but what they do know is chaos, death, and pain.
Their lack of military experience is also an advantage here. Rhett’s ability to look death straight in the eye without flinching will make him practically invincible. Santi’s competitive streak and viciousness when it comes to his kills will make him unpredictable in the best way possible.
Wes will watch their backs while he picks off his own kills.
He might not have the best long-distance aim between the two of us but he’s a hell of a lot better at handling quick moving targets than me.
Those three are the best distraction team I could’ve hoped for under the given circumstances.
Anchor said there were at least fifteen men to contend with which means we’re outnumbered and probably outgunned—something Anchor continuously pointed out when we left him behind, fuming and sputtering in outrage. Who knows how many more guys Dixie has on hand?
Thankfully, we’ve got mayhem on our side.
My feet make hardly any noise as I make my way closer to the house. The truck is parked as close as I could get it without drawing attention to it but that was still two miles away. Making the trek to the house through the woods is swift but unfortunately time consuming.
It’s been over twelve hours since Blair was taken.
Anything could’ve happened to her in that time.
My chest tightens and my body warms as rage wells up. Insanity follows right behind it.
No one touches my goddaughter and lives to see another day. Blood will rain down on the small town of Caddawalk by the time I’m done here. My hands tremble as adrenaline spikes through me.
It’s that little motion that jerks me out of the murderous impulse beating at me.
I can’t lose my cool, not now. It’ll only make me sloppy and result in my own death before I make it to Blair.
Sucking in a deep breath, I push it all down until I can hardly feel a damn thing. Numbness is a blessing. It’s what I need to cling to if I want to make it to Blair and get us both out alive. Anchor’s better at turning emotions off—but when I need to, I can be just as empty as my best friend.
Creeping through the woods, my gun at the ready and my head on a constant swivel, I know I’m getting close to the house. I stay far away from the driveway leading toward the building, knowing that there are probably sentries hidden in the shadows to stop anyone from barreling down it.
As I approach, I catch sight of the first one. He’s leaning against a tree just out of sight of the driveway, watching it as he hums quietly to himself.
I could leave him and continue on. He hasn’t seen or heard me.
But I don’t.
I’ll feed the trees in these woods the blood of all the men who took my woman from me—starting with this motherfucker.
Pulling my blade from my boot, I creep up behind him. He doesn’t see his death coming. My blade slices across his throat as smoothly as a warm knife through butter as I slap my other hand over his mouth to keep his gargled cries down. He slides to the ground and goes limp.
The minute he’s dead, I’m on the move again.
I make it another few yards before I run into the next two guards.
They’re chatting loudly, talking about some football game taking place tomorrow.
The bets they made will never come to fruition.
The first one gets stabbed in the side of his neck from behind.
The other man’s eyes widen, realizing what he’s witnessing and reacting far too late.
By the time his hand reaches for his gun, he’s a dead man. My knife goes flying and lodges in the back of his throat through his gaping mouth. As he collapses, I collect my knife and continue onward.
A few steps more and I hear chaos whip through the trees.
The screams start first.
Those screams weave through the trees like the autumn breeze.
They’re filled with pure, unadulterated agony and I love it.
It’s music to my ears and inspires me. My next three kills are made purely with the intent to make it hurt and to match the sounds Rhett and Santi are creating somewhere in the distance.
A few minutes later come the sounds of gunfire. It’s rapid and erratic.
Someone’s shouting orders but I don’t think there’s a damn person in these woods following them if the screams and directionless gunshots are anything to go by.
I smile.
It grows wider when a grenade goes off.
Static comes in over my walkie-talkie and Rhett’s voice comes over the airwaves. “Santi got too excited.”
“Shit, did he cum? Right now?” Wes asks exasperated. “That man needs a plug.”
“What? No! I meant he prematurely used the grenade—”
Rhett’s cut off as Santi’s laughter spills over the feed. “I did a little. Pulling the pin on that thing was thrilling.”
More gunfire erupts and conversation over the walkie-talkies dies. Reaching down, I turn off the walkie as I scan the house. I’m too close to get caught now.
The house is nothing grand. According to some online research it’s a three-bedroom, two-bath house—no basement or second floor.
The siding needs to be redone, there’s a bird’s nest sitting on top of the chimney and most of the shutters are either gone or hanging on by a thread.
According to public records the owner just recently let it go to foreclosure.
That means, this place is empty. Or rather, it should be empty.
There are four guys hanging by the front door, seven more lingering along the driveway.
They’re all alert with their guns raised—listening to the horrific cries of pain coming from the woods.
Moving in silence, I make it nearly all the way around the house before returning to my original spot.
Strange… There's no one moving inside the house.
Is this a trap?
I hesitate.
There’s a lot of men outside but why isn’t there anyone inside?
Something isn’t adding up. There’s three black SUVs parked out front.
Each one has a driver either sitting inside the car or standing beside one.
The seven armed men are creating a tight circle around the vehicles—is Dixie in one of them? Or are they waiting for someone inside?
It feels like a trap.
“Fuck, how much longer do you think we got before we can roll out?” a sentry asks his pal anxiously as I creep closer to the front door. “If that’s Anchor, we’re all dead. We should be moving out now.”
“It can’t be him. How would he know where to find us?” a second sentry hisses.
A third shushes them both. “I just searched how long it usually takes and it says it can be anywhere from a few minutes to a goddamn hour.”
The first man groans. “We don’t have an hour. Do you hear that shit going on?”
“It’s already been thirty minutes—should someone go check?” the fourth man pipes up.
“Yeah,” the first snorts derisively. “How about you go in and do it?”
The second shakes his head. “No way.”
“You know…” the third guy hedges. “The boss will be mad but we could just light a match. That shit is supposed to be highly flammable.”
“He’ll have your balls.”
The second sighs loudly. “Well, if you don’t want to check and don’t want to light this place up, we just have to brace ourselves for trouble and wait for the cue to leave. The money is worth the risk at this point.”
My brows knit together as I scowl. What are they talking about?
Another grenade goes off, much closer this time. All four guards flinch and raise their guns higher. I go for my own gun. Reaching back, I pull out the silencer from my utility belt. Carefully, I twist it on, keeping all four men in sight.
Before I can lift it, the barrel of another gun presses against the back of my head. The hard steel against my skull doesn’t scare me as much as the thought of failing to save Blair.
“Call your friends off,” the man behind me snarls. “Now, before I—”
I whirl around, grabbing the man’s wrist at the same time, and raise it just as he fires off three rounds. Keeping hold of his arm, I jerk the man forward so that my knee can meet his gut and my head can meet his nose. Disarming him, I use his own gun to end his life.
Shouting near the house tells me my cover’s been blown.