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Something about me must have flagged his instincts because he slowly sat up, his eyes a little wider, his back a little straighter, studying me a little harder. I guessed I had about five more seconds until he realized I was not there for a good time.
I refocused on the wall ahead of me. Three doors. Three options. Each door locked from both the inside and outside. Only Haru had the keys.
Pivoting to the left, I pulled a lockpick from my suit pocket and approached door number one.
The room was empty.
The businessman was on his feet now, asking who I was and what the hell I was doing breaking into one of the rooms. The woman cowered on the floor, one eye on him, one on me. As he tucked himself into his pants with one hand, he used the other to produce a gun from his waistband.
Shit.
Having exactly zero time to deal with this bullshit, I knocked him out, sending his body slamming into the back wall with half his dick hanging out of his pants.
This was when all hell broke loose.
The naked woman started screaming. Stumbling off the floor, she covered her breasts and ran out of the room.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
I kicked open door number three. A man lunged from the corner, nailing me with a right hook. Like a shot of heroin, adrenaline surged through my veins, igniting me from the inside out. I lived for this feeling. Thrived on it. It was why I was so damn good at my job.
I sent my heel into the man’s kneecap, popping it backward. As he bellowed in pain, I grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him to me.
“Look at me,” I snarled.
The moment our eyes met, I slammed my forehead into his nose. The sound of cartilage crunching echoed through the small room. A burst of blood sprayed onto the walls. The man crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“Turn around,” I said to the naked Caucasian woman who was curled into a ball on the bed, sobbing like a child. Even in the dim light, I could see the bite marks on her neck.
She complied without hesitation.
Narrowing my eyes, I examined the Celtic cross tattooed on her back and confirmed it matched the one in the image I’d studied earlier—a photo of my target, an American tourist who had been kidnapped eight months earlier. Her tattoo was her one identifiable mark.
“Courtney.” I held out my hand. “My name is Justin Montgomery. I’m here to take you home.”
She turned, her bloodshot blue eyes wide with shock, her body frozen as she processed this turn of events.
“No.” I snapped my fingers impatiently. “Stop crying. You need to be quick, you need to be calm, and you need to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
Courtney nodded fervently, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
Boots pounded down the hallway.
“Come on,” I said, pulling her off the bed.
After stepping over two bloodied bodies, we were halted at the doorway by a fit young man I recognized as a diner when I’d walked in. A well-meaning patron, a complete idiot, having absolutely no idea that his favorite restaurant was funding an illegal brothel in the back.
After dropping him, I led Courtney through the main room where the diners had congregated in the corner, crying, covering their ears and faces. Stunned, scared, and speechless.
“Put this on. Now.”
As Courtney slipped into a dress coat I’d snatched from the back of a booth, I grabbed a cloth napkin off a table, wiped the blood from my face and neck, and then tossed the bloodied rag into the air behind me.
The hostess gawked as I passed.
“For your trouble.” I tossed a stack of yen onto the stand.
As we stepped into the alley, I looped my fingers through my target’s, and with a firm grip, leaned into her ear.
