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“Asher!”
Nothing.
Harry was trying not to panic.
He checked the bathroom. The duffle bag was still there, all the guns and rifles still inside.
Asher would never leave without his babies.
Terror and fear clawed their way up Harry’s throat. Cold dread ran icy fingers down his spine.
And then he saw a single mint on the floor under the bedding... not just one, but the tin was there too. Harry snatched them up... Asher would never spill his stupid fucking beloved mints on the floor. If he’d done a runner, he’d never leave them, or his guns, behind.
Something was wrong.
God, please no, no, no.
Harry jumped to his feet and ran out the door, hoping to find what, he had no idea. There were no cars, no people on the street. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Asher, where are you?
“Asher,” he murmured, pulling at his hair.
As he spun around, he noticed from the corner of his eye the curtains move in the window from the room two doors up. The room where the woman with the baby was staying. Harry ran over and knocked on her door. “Please. Did you see anything. Where he went?”
No reply.
He banged again, not caring how desperate he sounded. Hewasdesperate. “Please. He is... he is everything to me. Please. Did you see anything?”
The door cracked open, and the woman peered at him through the opening. “Two men take him,” she said quietly. “In white van.”
Oh my fucking God.
Cold rushed from his scalp to his toes, his heart squeezed, his stomach rolled. He could barely speak. “Did you see anything else?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Please, no trouble. I have small child.”
He understood. “Thank you.” He took a step back... to go to his room, to run the streets, he had no idea.
“They talk like you,” the woman said.
He spun around. “What? Pardon?”
“I heard one speak. His accent is yours.”
Harry’s world tilted and spun the wrong way. He staggered back to their room, lost, and for the first time in his life, Harry was legitimately scared.
Two Australian men had to be Gibson and Hull. His ex-squad members. The same two pieces of shit who’d been tracking them across Europe and North Africa.
Those assholes had taken Asher, and Harry had no way to find him. He had no way of knowing where to look, where to even start.
One thing he did know was, when he caught up to Gibson and Hull, they would wish they’d never been born.
With no other option, he took out his phone and found his handler’s number. Parrish. The man who Harry had once thought of as a father-figure, the same man Harry was now going to take exquisite pleasure in torturing.
He pressed Call.
