Page 41 of Brutal Truths

“No heat. Malfunction. You’re going in blind.”

Not ideal. Would be nice to have infrared, but such is life.

I nod and hold up three fingers. Three men took Isabel. They could still be inside. There could be more, which is why we’re taking this slow.

“Moving in. See you on the flip side.”

“Roger that,” Pauly responds. “I’ve got eyes out here. T’s on the roads.”

Taking a deep breath, we move. I take the lead, Lane right on my rear. With practiced ease, we breach the house, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath our weight.

Tension settles in fast. This could be an ambush—it likely is—but I don’t slow down. I don’t hesitate. Whatever’s waiting inside, we’ll handle it.

As we’re clearing the house, something crashes above us, voices breaking through right after. Then a loud high pitch scream. A woman’s scream. The stairs are right there, and everything in me wants to take them two at a time.

But I don’t. Not yet. Not blind.

We finish the floor, and the second we’re clear, Lane moves for the stairs. I’m on him, tight, covering his back as the others fall in behind us.

At the top, we pause, taking in what’s waiting for us. There are several doors, all closed. Each room will need to be searched. No shortcuts.

He reaches for the handle of the first door when another one opens halfway down the corridor.

Lifting our guns, we ready ourselves to take out any fucker who shows himself.

Chapter 12

Isabel

Fifteen Minutes Earlier

My eyes dart around the room, searching for anything I can use against this man. Anything that might give me an edge. It’s time to dig deep. Do whatever it takes to get away.

He’s bigger than me. And I’m not at full strength. If he gets close enough, it won’t take much for him to overpower me.

“Did you enjoy your meal?” Marvin rubs his hands together in a circle as he stalks toward me. “I made it special for you.”

His foot kicks the glass still lying on the floor, and he grunts in irritation. “What? You don’t like apple juice?”

“Not particularly.” I sidestep to the right, keeping distance between us as my attention lands on a large vase atop the dresser. “Nor do I care for bologna.”

That gets his attention. His head rotating slightly, giving me the opening I need to reach the dresser.

“What a shame. I’ve learned over the years that apple juice is great at disguising the bitter taste of roofies. Still working on the sandwich part. Hard to hide it without leaving a trace. I’ll figure it out. Maybe a little spread to ensure it sticks.”

His nonchalant attitude about drugging me only fuels my temper. Now I really want to hurt him. How many other women has he done this to?

Men like him don’t deserve mercy. They deserve to suffer the same fate they’ve inflicted on their victims. Poetic justice at its finest.

I move as fast as I can, but it’s not quick enough. The vase is heavier than I expect, but I manage to lift it and send it hurling straight at him. It falls short, landing at his feet, shattering into fragments on impact.

Undeterred, he clicks his tongue. “Breaking you in is going to be fun.”

“Fuck you.”

His lips curl into a wicked grin, and my mouth goes dry.

“Oh, you will… one way or another. Keep fighting.” I feel his eyes moving over me. “It makes the game so much more enjoyable. I love it when a woman fights back.”