Page 82 of Disavowed

On his way to the staircase, he passed a tall man with silver-gray hair and wearing a black tuxedo holding court while a circle of reporters hung on his every word. Christopher Shane. Dom recognized him from his online photo the day he was arrested for running down Marsden’s son.

Shane smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. He spoke in the smooth, polished manner of someone who was accustomed to interacting with the press, and those media hounds were eating up every word.

Dom easily picked out the hotel’s security team. There were only two of them, hardly enough to stop a threat in a crowd of this size. Both wore identical black suits, white shirts, and blue ties. Coiled wires dangled from their ears. These bozos wanted to look so much like Secret Service agents they might as well have painted bull’s-eyes on their chests. Worst of all, they were watching Shane. Neither one of them faced outward where the threat would come from. If Shane was relying on these mall cops, he really was a dead man.

As Dom took the stairs to the balcony, he didn’t doubt that he was walking into a trap. Backup was on its way, but he couldn’t take the chance they’d kill Daisy before Gray and the others got there. Getting to her was the only thing that mattered.

Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Basic tenets of military leadership. But like him, the people he was up against were also former military. They’d figure on him having a damn good plan up his sleeve. In reality, he was flying blind.

He understood exactly what it was like to be on the Pyramid’s blackmail list. Everyone on that list had a weakness, something to be used against them and to control them. The Pyramid knew what his weakness was.

Daisy.

As long as they had her, they controlled him. Totally and without reservation. He had no plan, so he’d have to pull one out of his ass.

At the top of the stairs he paused to look down at the controlled chaos below. Men in tuxedos and women in sparkly cocktail dresses poured into the lobby until they were jammed in like cattle. He moved along the balcony to stand directly outside the door to Room 225. Taking a deep breath, he took one last look below, noting that he had a direct line of sight through the lobby to the dais at the far end of the ballroom.

He turned and faced the door. On the other side was his entire world—the woman he loved more than life itself. He should have told her he loved her when he had the chance. He prayed it wasn’t too late.

When he raised his hand, preparing to knock on the door, it was shaking. He took a deep breath, then knocked twice. A few seconds later, the door opened.

Jack stood in the doorway, pointing a gun with a silencer at his chest. His eyes glittered with unconcealed rage. “Get in,” he growled, stepping aside for Dom to enter. “Put your hands on top of your head and interlace your fingers.”

Dom did as ordered. The door slammed shut behind him. Even with the door closed, music from downstairs beat out a steady rhythm through the walls.

Keeping the gun pointed at Dom’s face, Jack patted him down for weapons, starting with his shoulders, back, and chest. While Jack searched the pockets of his vest and pants, Dom took quick stock of the room.

There was no bed, telling him this was a suite with multiple rooms. The outer room was opulent, with plush white carpet, a sofa, coffee table, chairs, and a desk. An enormous flat-screen TV graced the far wall. Slumped against the wall beneath the TV were three men in dark suits. No blood was visible, but none of the men moved. He hoped to hell they really had been shot up with tranquilizer, but he wondered if their necks had been snapped.

So much for the rest of Shane’s security team.

He nodded to the still bodies. “How’d you get them up here?”

Jack snorted. “Gullible chumps. All it took was a report of a suspicious package to the front desk, and half the team abandoned their protectee to come up here and save the day.”

Which only confirmed Dom’s low opinion of Shane’s team. He flicked his gaze to the other side of the room where he made out a bed through another open doorway.

Jack yanked up Dom’s pants leg and grabbed the Smith and Wesson from the ankle holster. He hadn’t really thought it would do him any good, but he’d had to try.

Next Jack pulled the cell phone from his rear pants pocket. Still pointing the gun at him, he placed the phone on the desk, then brought the handle of the gun down hard, shattering the cover. He smashed the phone three more times before it broke into several pieces.

Jack walked toward him, his expression hard. “I vouched for you, asshole.” Before Dom could process what was coming next, Jack whipped his arm out, hitting him in the head with the butt of the gun.

He hit the carpet hard, landing on his shoulder. Pain speared through his head, and he thought he’d pass out. He blinked, seeing nothing but white flashes. When his vision cleared, he made out the barrel of the gun an inch from his face. He shut his eyes, waiting, knowing he’d barely feel a second of pain before the bullet entered his brain.

“Get up, fucker.”

Slowly, he got to his feet. Blood dripped into his eye, and he wavered for a second as his vision momentarily clouded again. Jack shoved him in the direction of the adjoining room. Through the open door, the first things he saw were a folding rifle on the bed and a large wooden crate shoved into a corner of the room. When he crossed the threshold someone gasped.

Daisy sat in a chair, her eyes wide with fear. Smith grinned at him from across the room with the muzzle of another silenced gun to her head.

His blood ran cold. Panic nearly twisted his guts apart. The sight of Daisy with a gun to her head filled him with a killing rage the likes of which he’d never known. He clenched and unclenched his hands, struggling with the urge to launch across the room and wrap his hands around Smith’s neck.

Her arms were pulled behind the chair. Their gazes met, and his heart squeezed so hard it hurt.

“Dom,” she whispered on a shaky breath.

Her breasts heaved beneath the tight red fabric of her dress, and one of her legs was bared to her waist where her dress had torn. His heart raced so quickly he thought it would fly from his chest. He knew perfectly well what damage a bullet to her head would inflict, and the image nearly brought him to his knees.