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Then I pulled.
With everything I had.
Cutting off any calls for help.
Cutting off his damn breath completely.
He was fighting then, clawing at the belt, writhing around.
But then he was stumbling, then falling.
I tightened the belt for one last minute, my arms shaking, sweat starting to prickle over my skin from the excursion.
I wanted to make sure he wasn’t faking me out.
But then, well, he started seizing.
Morgaine’s pill.
I grabbed at his body, pulling both guns out of their holsters, and searching for anything else. I found a knife, tucking it into my pocket just in case, then took a slow, deep breath, and moved to the door.
This was going to suck.
But it was the only way.
I had to get myself out.
I threw open the door, and moved into the rest of the dungeon.
Guns raised.
Then firing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sway
The opening to the place was kind of what you’d expect of a typical walk-out basement.
Big doors coming seemingly out of the Earth with two stone retaining walls on either side.
Two guards at the entrance.
There were more moving around.
But those were getting handled by Riff, Raff, and Coach.
While Crow, Cohen, and I went in.
Crow, because he was someone who would delight in the bloodshed.
Cohen, because this was his specialty, even if he was injured.
And me because I had the rage of a fucking thousand men inside of me at the idea of my girl down there, having fuck-knew-what done to her.
The guys had brought silencers which allowed us to dispatch the guards outside as quietly as possible before they could put up the alarm to anyone on the inside that something was going on.
We paused only to take the guns the guys had on them, not knowing how many we might need to take out whoever was inside the dungeon.
Then Cohen was grabbing the door handle with his gloved hand, giving us a nod, then throwing it open and moving down, his back hugging the wall.
We followed suit, adrenaline starting to course through our systems as we kept our feet silent on the stone floors.
The air cooled as we descended, and there was an eerie sort of silence for a moment, considering how many women were surely locked in those cells, how many men were around to “guard” them, and how many might be there to abuse them.
Cohen had just gotten to the edge of the steps, holding up five fingers, which I assumed to mean he saw five men, when the gunshots started going off.
Panic gripped my system, worrying about Murphy, until I figured they might have been alerted to our presence.
Then Cohen was moving out, squeezing off several bullets, and there was no more time to worry, to think, because Crow and I were rushing in too.
Only to find the source of the bullets.
Fucking Murphy.
Murphy with a gun in each hand, taking out a guard even as I watched, mesmerized for a moment, before snapping into action, and remembering what we were there for.
It was so fast.
The element of double surprise working in our favor as all four of us took out a total of six guards in what felt like seconds.
It wasn’t until the gunfire died out that Murphy looked over at me. Even with the mask, she knew it was me.
Her shoulders dropped immediately with relief.
Then her arms followed, the guns hanging loosely at her sides.
I rushed forward, yanking her to my chest, squeezing so hard she probably couldn’t breathe, but she clung to me, keeping me close.
“Where is he?” I asked after a moment, as Crow and Cohen moved around the space, making sure we didn’t miss anyone.
“In my cell,” she told me, waving toward it. “Dead. I have to thank Morgaine,” she said, making me wonder if she was cracking a little bit with all the pressure.
I held her to one side as I dipped my head into the cell, seeing the man still on the floor, the contents of his stomach all around him, and a surprising amount of blood dried from his eyes, nose, mouth, and even ears.
The fuck?
But there was no time for questions.
“Come on,” I said, ushering Murphy back out, then nodding to Cohen as he gestured toward the cells.
“We have to let the women out,” Murphy objected, planting her feet.
“We are,” I assured her. “Come on. Let’s go outside.”
“No. No, they’ll feel better seeing a woman,” she insisted.
There was no arguing with that logic as Crow went around the dungeon, opening each room.
“It’s okay. They’re dead. You’re free now,” Murphy called, making a few heads peek out of doors. “We’re going to call some people to help you. To get you home,” she added.
There were some confused faces, likely women abducted from overseas, who didn’t understand what was being said.
Until Cohen’s voice raised up out of nowhere, repeating what Murphy said, I assumed, in Spanish. Something… I don’t know… Slavic? Polish? Russian? It was hard to tell. And, finally, in something else. Mandarin? Tagalog? I wasn’t sure. He seemed to cover all the bases as some women started to rush toward each other, crying, holding on.
