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“What’s the latest intel?” I ask Mason, who’s currently reading a message on his phone.
“He’s been hiding out at this brothel since his arrival. Fucking coward,” he adds with a snort. “Using a bunch of sex workers to shield him. Pathetic.”
“Not for long.” Natalie is grimly determined, poised at the edge of her seat, prepared to spring. I want to reach out to her, to calm her down. It would get me nowhere, and I don’t need to send mixed signals now, either. Not when I’m close to shattering her illusions. I can only watch as her knee bounces, betraying her anxiety. Not that it’s much of a secret, anyway. I can’t imagine anyone walking headfirst into a situation like this without their nerves being strained to the point of shredding.
“All units converging,” the driver tells us, and we take the opportunity to double check our weapons. Again, I find myself holding back, wishing I could reach for her, caress her, beg her not to do anything stupid in there. The world is a better place with her in it—that much I know to my very core. I have no right to speak to her that way. What kind of man would I be if I did?
I’m almost glad there is no time to reflect on this before all four vehicles converge in front of a nondescript building on the edge of town, flanked on either side by nightclubs where it seems the clientele isn’t what you’d call high class. I have the pleasure of witnessing a man stumble from one of them and vomit all over the ground, his own shoes, and the side of the building before staggering off. It looks like he wasn’t the first to paint the sidewalk tonight, either.
Mason’s voice rings out in my headset. “On my count.”
I reach for my door handle, and Natalie does the same on her side. “Three… Two… One.” All at once we pour from the vehicles, with Mason taking the lead. Once he kicks in the door, we storm the building. It’s clear from the start they weren’t expecting us, as half-naked women scream and run in all directions, while men dressed in suits scramble for cover. A few of them look like they’re ready to reach for a weapon, but they think better of it when they see for themselves how many of us there are.
“Heading for the back!” Griffin barks in my ear, while Mason orders the rest of us to split up and search the rooms.
I’m not leaving her side. He can’t expect me to do it. This means sticking close to him since he doesn’t want to leave her on her own, either. Whether that’s to do with keeping her safe or a lack of trust, I’m not sure. I want to believe it’s the former, but there could be a bit of the latter mixed in even now, after they had their heart-to-heart on the plane.
A woman whose outfit is see-through to the point of being useless charges up at us, screaming in Russian. I get the sense she’s the madam around here. We’ve disrupted business and upset her girls. Mason brushes past her like she doesn’t exist, which only leaves her screaming louder than ever as we continue checking the shadowy rooms, searching for a man I had the pleasure of shooting weeks ago. I’ll never forget the sight of his face any more than Natalie ever could. So far, I haven’t seen anyone remotely matching him. Just a bunch of average men whose good time is ruined.
Griffin’s voice rings loud and clear as I’m beginning to question whether our guy got spooked and ran. “Got him. First floor, back room.”
Blonde hair flashes past me. “Wait!” I bark, but I’m talking to myself for all the good it does. Natalie charges back there, paying attention to neither me nor her brother as we both urge her to be cautious. She’s on a mission of her own, and we just happen to be along for the ride.
By the time we reach the end of a long, nearly pitch black hall, she has come to a dead stop in the doorway to the room where Griffin waits. I reach her first, and I hear her short, rapid breaths even over the chaos still brewing behind us. I don’t dare touch her, fear of how she might react. It might be too much, and I can’t do that to her.
“You all right?” I ask instead, careful to keep anything resembling pity out of my voice. She would never accept my pity.
She gives herself a shake before nodding, then steps aside so Mason and I can get a look at the man now on his knees, his arms raised, fingers laced behind his head.
It looks like he’s been living back here, with a bed in one corner and a small TV sitting on top of a microwave. It’s not exactly clean, and it’s not comfortable, but he doesn’t deserve much better. I look around the room, expecting someone to start questioning the man currently sweating bullets as his defiant gaze darts around, sizing us up.
