The hallway is dim and quiet. A heavy candle scent hangs in the air, trying to cover the stale odor of sweat and blood.
We move through the house one room at a time. Brooke keeps her breathing quiet and her steps light. She knows how to move through a space without drawing attention.
Light spills from beneath a door at the end of the hall.
Voices come from inside. Men, talking and laughing.
The laughter cuts off when a wet cracking sound breaks through the room. A girl lets out a weak cry.
Brooke’s eyes harden. She opens the door without hesitation.
We enter together.
Two men stand inside the room.
A young woman is tied to a chair in the center. Her wrists are bound behind the backrest and her ankles are secured to the legs of the chair. One of her eyes is swollen shut. Blood runs from her split lip down her chin. Her head hangs slightly forward as if she is struggling to stay conscious.
One man holds a knife streaked with fresh blood.
The other leans close to the girl’s face, speaking to her in a quiet, mocking voice.
Brooke raises her pistol.
The first man turns his head at the movement.
Brooke fires before he can react.
The suppressed shot cracks through the room. The girl flinches violently in the chair, the legs scraping against the floor as her body jerks. The bullet punches through the man’s chest. He drops where he stands.
The second man snaps toward Brooke, his hand flying for the gun at his waistband.
I throw my knife.
The blade leaves my hand in a straight line and sinks into the side of his throat. His body locks up as the steel drives deep. He grabs at his neck, choking as blood pushes between his fingers. He stumbles backward and collapses hard against the floor. His legs kick once before the movement stops.
Brooke moves to the girl immediately. When she reaches the chair and sees the ropes, she holsters the pistol and pulls a knife from her pocket.
“It’s okay,” Brooke whispers. “We’re getting you out. Stay quiet.”
The girl tries to speak but only a thin breath escapes her mouth.
Brooke cuts through the ropes at the girl’s wrists first. Her arms fall forward, shaking from the strain. Brooke slices the rope at her ankles and steadies her as she slumps forward.
“You need to listen to me,” Brooke says firmly.
The girl nods quickly, eyes wide.
“Go outside,” Brooke continues. “There’s a man named Beau waiting near the dock. He’s here to get you out.”
The girl stares at her for a second, trying to process the words.
Brooke grips her shoulder once. “Go. Now!”
The girl pushes herself to her feet and moves toward the door, unsteady but moving.
I retrieve my knife from the floor and wipe it on the dead man’s shirt. I don’t look at their faces again. I keep my focus on the hall.
Brooke steps back beside me.
