Page 148 of Cold Mercy

I keep the distance tight enough to track every turn, but far enough not to spook them into doing something reckless with her inside.

They are arriving at the old farm. What used to be a farm, rather. I'm still behind them.

As I get closer, I see the barn is reinforced with steel plates and floodlights glint off the roof, but it’s the black helicopter waiting behind the silo that makes my stomach drop. This isn’t a random grab, it’s a fucking extraction point.

I kill my headlights and angle the car behind a row of dead tractors. I’m still several hundred meters away, but close enough to watch them.

The rear door flies open, and they drag her out, but she fights them like hell every step of the way. I can see her torn clothes, her wild hair, and the raw scrapes on her knees.

Good girl, keep fighting. I'm coming, baby. I’m coming.

With the gun in my hand, my mind races, cycling through every approach, every angle, every potential shot that won't put her in the crossfire. I have no idea who the fuck these people are, and a single mistake could get her killed.

If it’s Sterling’s men, one wrong move gets her executed for leverage. Every second is a countdown I cannot afford.

I can hear her muffled shouting, and then I watch as one of them slaps her, the impact so hard it snaps her head to the side. A black, murderous rage ignites in my chest, and without a second thought, I raise the gun.

I’m one breath, one fucking breath, from blowing his skull wide, when something hits me from behind.

A brutal, splitting impact explodes across my skull. Colors smear into black, my fingers go numb around the gun, and metal clatters somewhere far away.

CHAPTER 39

SOPHIA

The van lurches hard to the left, throwing me across the metal floor.

I keep kicking and thrashing, and when one of them tries to pin me down, I slam my heel into his throat, rewarded by the satisfying, wet sound of him choking. My victory is short-lived, as another immediately grabs my hair, yanking my head back so hard my vision flashes white.

“Fucking crazy bitch!” one of them spits, wiping blood from his lip.

“Aw, did I ruin your day?” I snap back, and in response, my head is slammed into the metal again, the impact detonating a fresh wave of pain behind my eyes.

I spit red onto the floor between us and bare my teeth.

By the time the doors fly open, my body is already wrecked, and it's only my pride that keeps me upright as they drag me out onto some godforsaken patch of dirt. I blink against the harsh glare of floodlights on rusted metal and realize this isn't a farm; it's a den, a bunker, a fucking trap in the middle of nowhere.

A man in a black mask steps forward, moving with an ease that makes my stomach tighten. He's tall, around six-two, with a lean build and a perfectly upright, balanced posture.

His voice is deep, controlled, like this isn’t exciting or new for him, just another task he knows he’ll finish.

“What the fuck did you do to her?”

The guards answer without hesitation. “She fought us the whole way.”

The masked man exhales like their stupidity personally offends him.

Another guard appears at the barn entrance, dragging someone else.

A rough drag of feet, and strangled breath. I twist, and they are shoving Thomas into the dirt.

His head snaps forward from the force of the shove, splitting his lip open and sending a trickle of blood down his temple. His hands are bound tightly behind his back, and his eyes are barely open, fluttering in a struggle to stay conscious.

My heart drops so hard it feels like my body forgot how to work.

They shove him hard into the chair, and the impact jolts through him, his shoulders tightening as his head snaps up. Even through the daze, his eyes find mine instantly.

“Sophia—” he murmurs.