Chapter 40 #2
Slipping back into the darkness I put distance between me and the house only so that I can come up on the other side of it a few minutes later.
When the unattended side door comes into view, I make a break for it.
I kick open the door and instantly bring my gun up, ready to kill anyone on the other side.
There’s no one.
Tense and on high alert, I grit my teeth and cautiously move through the laundry room that I’ve entered. There’s a short hallway, empty and dark, that I make my way down next. I pause just before the threshold of the next room. Flattening myself against the wall, I listen for any signs of life.
It’s silent.
Quickly, I turn the corner with my gun up and ready.
There’s no one here. There’s not even any furniture.
Leaving the room, I continue down the hallway.
The smell of dust and moth balls permeates the still air.
It’s so thick, it's nauseating. I can practically feel the dust coating my throat as I take calculated steps forward.
Each step is slow and steady. Something as small as the squeak of a floorboard could give away my presence and get me fucking shot.
I enter a dining room next and find it just as empty as the last two rooms. Pausing, I strain to hear something, anything, that will tell me there’s life in this house.
Other than the thundering of my heart, there’s absolutely no sound.
Unease creeps up my spine. If this is a trap, I’ve taken the bait—so why hasn’t anything happened?
Determined to find Blair, I force my feet to move to the next room.
In the kitchen, there’s no one but I pause when I notice a change in the air.
It’s so subtle, I didn’t notice it earlier, but in this room it’s hard to miss the smell of gas.
My eyes slide over the old gas stove and—yup.
The knobs have been turned to allow the gas out, but the burners aren’t on.
Scowling, I look behind me to make sure no one’s sneaking up, then head over to turn off the burners.
Leaving the kitchen, I go search the rest of the house for my godchild.
A few minutes later, the house has been cleared and there’s no sign that Blair was ever here. Outside, the gunfire continues and another explosion goes off, shaking the ground. Santi must be close by. I hope the others are too, for his sake.
I double check the house, determined to make sure I’ve checked every fucking square inch of this place. When I come up empty-handed again, I double back to see if there’s an entrance to an attic space.
There’s not.
“What the fuck?” I hiss under my breath.
Did I miss something?
Is she not here?
My heart leaps into my throat and for a second the hallway spins. Bile creeps up my throat. If Blair isn’t here, where the fuck is she? I’m not leaving until I have her back. If I have to tear the world apart to find my godchild, I’ll do it.
Suddenly my legs buckle and I have to reach out to steady myself. The hallway tilts and for a second, I think I’m going to gag.
Fuck.
The gas.
I need to get out of here.
But I’m not leaving without Blair in tow.
Shaking my head, I dispel the fear, anger, and despair to reassess the situation. Blair’s definitely here somewhere. Santi tracked Anchor’s phone to this location. There are guards posted all around the house. This has to be the right place.
There’s only one door I haven’t checked behind and that was at the front of the house.
My footsteps, still quiet, are quick as I retrace my steps as I head for the laundry room. Rather than stop in there, I grab the handle of the door beside it and yank it open.
On the other side of the door is the garage.
The air in the space is thick and cloudy but not enough to hide what’s inside. In it, sits an idling SUV. The interior lights are on and a back door is open. Beside it, and trailing up to the door I’m standing at, is a thick bloody trail.
At the end of it, bound and gagged, bloody and bruised, is Blair.
She’s laying on her side, her head twisted to look up at the ceiling. Her eyes, half open, are red and dull—trained on nothing in particular.
The world beneath my feet drops away. All the emotions that I’ve tamped down in order to focus on finding her, well up.
A sound—somewhere between a groan of despair and cry of agony—spills past my lips.
At the same time, a frisson splits down the front of my chest—my soul fracturing in real time.
My heart crumbles as it implodes on itself.
She can’t be fucking dead.
Nonononononono!
I’m at her side in an instant. I drop to my knees beside her and, carefully, I roll her onto her back. A choked grunt stays locked behind my lips as I press my fingers to her neck and don’t immediately find a pulse.
After a second, though, I feel it. It’s faint, but there.
“Oh god,” I rasp as I get my arms beneath my godchild to lift her off the ground. “I got you, Blair. You gotta stay with me now, okay? Do you hear me? Stay with me, Blair!”
Just as I get to my feet, a door bangs open somewhere within the house and shouts from unfamiliar voices ring out.
Fuck.
Stepping into the garage, I shut the door as quietly as I can. It’s pointless because just as the door clicks shut, the garage door begins to open.
Fuck!
Quickly, I flip through my options. I can either run back into the house where there are only god knows how many men inside ready to gun me down, or I can wait for whoever is on the other side of that garage door to shoot me in the head.
Those aren’t great options. In fact, they fucking suck.
Then another option pops up.
Holy fuck. Would it work? It’s definitely risky.
I glance down at Blair who lays motionless in my arms. The muscles in my chest constrict in fear. She needs help now and I can’t do shit unless we get out of here. The only way that’s even a slight possibility is through this third option.
But if it doesn’t work, we’re dead.
Then again, if I don’t do something now we’re still dead.
I make the decision before I can over think it.
Heaving Blair up, I throw her over my shoulder.
In almost the same motion, I’m tugging a grenade off my hip.
With an arm around Blair’s waist, I rush toward the opening garage door.
As I make it to the far side, as close to the exit as possible, lift the grenade up to my lips, use my teeth to pull the pin, then I toss it over my shoulder.
I don’t wait for the garage door to open completely.
Flinging myself under the opening door, I make it out and up onto my feet without much of an effort. There’s a shout of alarm but I don’t stop as I lunge behind the nearest tree. Gunshots ring out and bullets pepper the air around us but thankfully they only hit the ground or nearby trees.
My grunt of surprise is overpowered by the roar of an explosion.
A normal explosion from a grenade would’ve been enough to level the house. Add the fumes from the running SUV and gas from the stove?
The explosion is out of this world.
The blast is so powerful that even behind a tree it throws me and Blair several feet away.
I wrap my body around hers, protecting her from impact as we hit the ground and roll.
I purposely roll on top of Blair to keep the heat and shrapnel of what was once a house from hitting her.
The air grows hot and thin—breathing becomes nearly impossible.
A tree falls somewhere close by and branches begin slamming down to earth.
There are blood curdling screams and another small explosion as one of the SUVs—the one closest to the house—reacts to the flames and heat.
I curl around Blair tighter.
“Don’t worry, I got you, Blair, I got you,” I mutter over and over as the blast seems to go on forever.
Screams and wails of agony follow the explosion but they’re muffled by a loud ringing in my ears.
The minute the heat subsides, I force myself to move. With a grunt, I get to my knees and scoop Blair back up in my arms. She hasn’t stirred once but her glossy eyes have closed. I don’t have time to consider if that’s a good thing or not.
I push aside the urge to check her pulse again. There’s no time. She’s still in trouble and will be until I get her safely back to the cabin. I get to my feet. I stumble a little, feeling the burns from the explosion along my neck, arms and legs acutely. Just as I’m steady on my feet, someone says,
“Nice try, asshole.”
I turn around slowly to find a young mercenary standing there with his gun pointed at me. His face is red with burns and his clothes are singed.
His smug smirk makes me want to tear his fucking head off.
Behind him are five other men looking just as battered and burned as he is, their guns all trained on me.
God-fucking-damnit.
“That girl in your arms just made me a rich motherfuckin’ man. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk away with her. Her corpse is mine.”
“Hold on, Beauford,” a voice says.