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“Ready?” Carver questions.
King nods. “Go.”
The door swings open so fast that I nearly miss the fucking action of King racing forward into the dark room. Bullets fly at his face, but he avoids them like a fucking rockstar and fires back, only needing one shot to take the fucker out.
Bullets come flying from every direction as Carver stands with King, taking on the enemy, proudly ready to die for their cause.
Two more guards go down and King calls out, glancing back at me. “Now.”
I don’t hesitate, darting into the room. My gaze quickly scans the area to find the row of kids still seated in the hard chairs up against the dirty wall. Their eyes are covered, hands and ankles bound while their mouths are gagged with dirty material. It’s probably been days since they’ve been let up from these chairs, having to soil themselves with no food or water.
Devastation tears through me but I have to put it aside until later, though one thing is for sure, seeing their little brothers and sisters like this sure as fuck has our hearts breaking and our motivation skyrocketing.
I drop down in front of Grayson’s brother, the eldest of the kids, and tear the knife out of the holster at my thigh. I slip the tip of it under the material wrapped around his mouth and hope to God that I don’t cut him as I try to break it free.
My hand works back and forth and as it does, I tear the blindfold off his eyes, letting him know that he’s safe. “You’re okay,” I urge. “Grayson is here. We’re all here.”
His face is dirty and the fear is overwhelming, but as I free him of the material around his mouth, I see his determination. He pulls at the binds on his ankles and wrists. “Get me out of here,” he spits. “I’m going to fucking kill them.”
I grab his chin and force his stare to mine. “Let your brother handle them. Our real fight is with Paris Moustaff, not hired goons. I need you here. We have to free these kids.”
Hesitation shines in his eyes and I see the hope of killing his attackers fade from his eyes. “Okay,” he rushes out, his determination so much like his big brother’s. “Anything.”
I cut him free and grab another knife from my belt before pressing it into his hand. He drops to his knees beside me despite his exhaustion and gets to work, desperately helping me free the other kids.
With the kids so damn scared and pulling away from us despite our words of encouragement, it’s taking way too long. King rushes in to help free his brother and sister while Carver takes control of the remaining guards in the room.
The kids all get free and we start racing toward the door, King staying behind to eliminate the threats and cover our backs with Carver. We break out of the shitty room they were held in and I push them faster, racing toward the exit and into the tunnel knowing that Grayson and Cruz will have my back, even more so now that I stand with their siblings.
“Go, go, go,” Grayson yells out, his words nearly drowned out by the sound of the guns. “Stay with them. Make sure they get out of here.”
Despite how badly I want to stay behind with the guys, I have a job to do and I won’t dare let them down. I run with the kids, breaking out into the tunnel while holding the hands of the younger ones, making sure they don’t get left behind.
We run, our feet slamming against the hard concrete of the tunnel, the little light at the end is our only beacon of hope. We get halfway through the tunnel, each step just a little bit closer to freedom as the sound of the guns behind us echo through the tunnel with a haunting chill that these kids will never be able to forget.
I can almost make out the dead guard at the parking lot entrance when hands knot into my hair, yanking me back with a ferocious pull. I go down hard with a loud scream as a guard drops down on top of me. “I don’t fucking think so, bitch,” he spits, his dirty stench consuming me.
The kids all stop, looking back at me in horror as I shove my knee into the guard’s junk with everything that I’ve got, but from this angle, I get his thigh, which only serves to piss him off. “Keep going,” I yell at the kids, hoping to God that Grayson’s brother has the brains to take charge and get them all out of here.
The kids squeal as the guard grabs at me, pressing his weight over me and punching me right in the fucking ribs. I cry out in pain as I hear the horrified echoes of the children’s gasps flowing down the tunnel.
