Page 51 of Straight Shooter

Rhett’s temper boiled over. “You fucking cocksucker!” He jabbed Eric in the nose. Pain ricocheted through his injured shoulder and he shook his wrist to draw the zinging energy away.

“Ah, shit!” Eric coughed, and blood squirted down the front of his shirt.

“Rhett!”

He turned to see Mandy behind him, looking nearly hysterical. “That’s enough. Let’s talk about this reasonably. Tell us what you know and we can figure this out.”

Rhett opened and closed his fist, fighting the burning sensation on his knuckles, which craved another satisfying blow. “After what happened to Vicky, I’m not taking any chances. Eric knows something.”

“Fuck you!”

Something snapped inside Rhett. All logicality went out the window. He was done fucking around. “You’ve got ten seconds”—he reached behind his back, grabbed his waterlogged weapon, and pressed it into Eric’s throat—“before I make a fucking art display of your brain on the wall. Now talk.”

“Drop your weapon, Callahan.” Mandy’s deadly tone sent chills up his spine.

He loosened his death grip on his gun but didn’t move it from its position. He swiveled his head over his shoulder.

Mandy stood ten feet behind him, her Glock trained on his forehead. “Back away and put the weapon down.”

The bottom of his stomach dropped out, and he turned to face his teammate. He chortled and hiked up his hands, still gripping the gun. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.” He shook his head at his own stupidity. Mandy was the last person he’d expect to play double agent. Shit in this field just kept surprising him.

“Drop it, dammit!” Her green eyes were ferocious emeralds.

He swore a blue streak, bent down, and placed the weapon on the floor. Eric pushed away from the wall, grabbed a handful of paper towels off the roll, and pressed the material to his nose.

“You,” Rhett said, snarling the word at the woman he’d had a shitload of respect for. “You are the last person I’d expect this from.”

She cocked her head and lowered her weapon so it was aimed at his knees, which in no way calmed his nerves. She nodded to a chair behind a desk. “Sit the fuck down.”

Rage spurted behind his eyelids, but he beat back the impulse to lunge at her and shoot them both. Instead, he dropped heavily into the cheap plastic chair.

“Hands on the desk where I can see them.”

Rhett rolled his eyes to the ceiling but obeyed.

At the next desk, Eric whimpered pathetically as he mopped his face. “You busted my nose.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear a word from either of you.” Mandy sat on the desk in front of him, still holding the gun loosely in her fingers.

She’d slip up, and as soon as she did, they’d both be in prison—or dead. Preferably the former, but he’d do whatever it took to get Peyton back. If he didn’t hurry and get information out of them, Peyton would be fucked.

His gut twisted, and hopelessness gnawed through the steel nerves holding him upright. He had to pull it together and outsmart Mandy.

“We don’t have much time.” Mandy’s no-nonsense voice dominated the room. Her mouth, which usually had a friendly smile for him, was a terse, spent line. “Rather, Peyton doesn’t, I should say. So cut the bullshit and listen to me.”

“Move!” Len shoved the center of her back, propelling her forward. Peyton stumbled over the floor and ducked her head to avoid hitting the ceiling. An acidic stench clung to the moist basement, reminding her of rotting oranges. Only no such fruit was in sight. Then the meaty odor of blood assaulted her as she was pushed into a dark room.

Chills overtook her body and her knees knocked together. A small rectangle of yellow light ate up a chunk of the otherwise black room. Bare feet hung limply against the legs of a chair. A scream pushed through the back of her throat, and she pressed her knuckles into her mouth to muffle the sound.

Rivulets of blood rolled down exposed calves.

“Nap time’s over.” Len hit a switch behind her head, and a single bulb dangling from the ceiling burst on.

She blinked until her eyes could make out the figure restrained in the chair. Her pulse sped like a speedboat, and she ran forward. “Max!” Dropping to her knees she searched his face. Purple bruises surrounded his eyes, which were swollen into slits, and black ooze coated his grayish lips. She grabbed his listless hand tied to the arm of the chair. His cold, clammy skin shocked fear into her heart.

“What did you do to him?” Her shriek bounced off the walls. She leaped to her feet and charged Len, but he caught her fist as she threw it at his face and shoved her backward.

“Watch yourself,” he said on a low growl.