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“Those are mine, but I too might need some backup. They have ARs in here,” Mendez said into the radio. He was clearly up shit’s creek if he was firing and still asking for help.
Five more rounds pierced the night.
“Taking fire,” Garcia reported.
“Fuck, changing directions,” Yates responded. I assumed he was running to house three.
“Does that mean we aren’t getting backup?” Adam asked with a growl.
“Wait two minutes, let me confirm team three is covered, and I’ll rush over there,” Yates said.
I wanted to say that it was all right and we didn’t need backup, but that would be foolish. Always accept backup when it was offered. It would be nice to have someone clear rooms behind me while I searched for Ricketts. I didn’t want him to get away. I hadn’t failed a mission yet, and I wasn’t going to start now.
I heard another shot fire the exact moment I felt the impact of the blow. It skimmed the edge of my vest, and the bullet lodged itself right in my shoulder. I put my hand out to brace myself and keep the impact from knocking me over. I pulled my gun close to my chest with my uninjured arm and quickly spun around. I shot the asshole who shot me. He was already pulling the trigger on another shot—I didn’t have time to aim for a non-lethal shot. My bullet hit him center mass—right after he fired another round. It was stopped by my vest.
Thank god.One gunshot wound was bad enough.
His body dropped to the floor, and his eyes stared above him—unseeing. I removed the weapon out of his bloody hands and kept moving. He wasn’t getting up.
My shoulder burned. It felt like someone took a red-hot fire poker and shoved it in my wound. Every time I moved the arm, there was unbearable pain. I favored the arm and kept moving. Adam was going to be furious that I was shot in the first place, and second—that I was going to keep moving and pretend it didn’t happen. On top of that, he’d be upset that he didn’t get to put the man down himself.
I pushed through the pain with each step as I trudged along. I had to be running out of assholes to find. There was still one more floor of the house to search, and I still needed to find the women they kept prisoner.
I heard footsteps running up the staircase behind me. Adam came into view, and he looked relieved to see me.
“You okay?” he asked. His eyes were worried, his brows knitted together. A deep worry line formed on his forehead.
I nodded, because I didn’t trust myself to speak—and we needed to keep quiet to keep the element of surprise. I moved to the next set of stairs. The space was dark, no one had turned on any lights to flee, and it wasn’t safe to turn any on. I was relieved he didn’t notice the bloodstain on my shoulder. It helped that the black vest partially covered it. He’d go absolutely nuts if he saw it, and he’d insist that I leave him to go get help—and there was no way in hell I wouldn’t finish this through now.
“Can you finish clearing this floor? Just the last two bedrooms in the back,” I mouthed.
He nodded, and after one more worried look, he moved toward the rooms.
Commotion came through the radios as I was halfway up the stairs.
“Asshole charged me with a fucking sword,” Wells growled as he breathed heavily into the mic. There was the sound of a grunt and then a half chuckle.
“People are fucking crazy,” Jones said as he too breathed heavily into the mic. I heard the sound of something thudding to the floor and hoped that it was one of the traffickers and not one of my friends.
“I located some of the victims.” Garcia’s voice was filled with relief and regret. The women must be in gruesome shape.
“Christine, go ahead and raise the anchor and bring the yacht through. Be careful,” Wells said.
“Got it.” Her voice came through the earpiece crystal clear. She sounded cool, calm, and collected. Like she was made for shit like this. I was proud she was on our side.
I made it to the top of the last set of stairs and dropped to the ground to avoid the chair that flew my way. I pushed myself onto my feet and swallowed my painful grunts. My shoulder burned like a Fourth of July firework.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
abby
“You stupid bitch. You ruined everything!” Ricketts’ brother spat. “You were supposed to enter this house tied up like the little skank you are.”
“Yet here I am. Not to fuck you, but to fuck you over. I must say how nice this feels,” I said as I shot him a predatory grin. I took a steady step toward him, not showing him just how much effort it took. I was losing blood. I hoped the dark would conceal my feet and the path I took to get here. In the right light, he would surely see a blood trail.
I watched his face go white.
“You’re fucking insane,” he said.
