Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Since there were two prisoners, there would be two guards in the basement. No more. No less. They would be armed and separated. One at the door to the basement corridor and one at the entrance to the chamber.
She was so damn nervous her shoulders tried to hunch around her ears. The tension in her neck tightened to the point of pain.
I can’t fail. I can’t fail. I can’t fail.
With a steeling breath, she opened the door to the stairwell and found the dank, narrow space quiet and empty.
So far so good.
Closing the door behind her, she grabbed the knife from her boot and flattened the blade against the side of her leg. There was no way to conceal it, so whatever happened next needed to be swift and soundless.
The almighty pound of her heart threatened to liquefy her knees as she rounded the first bend in the staircase. Her senses buzzed on high alert, making every step more arduous than the last.
One more corner to go.
Her soft treads whispered along the stone walls, but there were other sounds, too. The rustle of movement. The faint rasps of breathing. There was definitely a guard waiting at the bottom door.
The knife handle slicked in her clammy fist. She squeezed her fingers, shifted it out of sight behind her thigh, and edged around the last bend.
Perched on the bottom few stairs, the guard pulled his attention from the phone in his hand and glanced over his shoulder.
Armando.
Panic, disgust, vengeance—all of it blazed through her, feral and venomous.
His eyes widened. “Donde esta Tiago?”
Where’s Tiago?
He’s dead, and you’re about to join him.
He knew, even as he’d asked the question, something wasn’t right. He’d been in the torture room and witnessed her despair. He knew she was here for no other reason than to rescue Tate.
It happened so quickly—that realization on his expression and her sudden lurch forward. He tried to rise to his feet, but his movements were too slow, his belly too big, and she was faster.
Her higher elevation on the stairs gave her an advantage as she jumped and collided with his back. The strength and direction of her attack knocked him off balance. He stumbled, bumped against the wall, and went down. She followed him to the floor, clapping a hand over his mouth, wrenching his head back against her shoulder, and thrusting the blade upward, right into the soft part beneath his jaw. She pushed hard and fast, aiming for his brain until the hilt met his throat.
Hot blood soaked her fingers as he sagged. Soundless. Breathless. Dead.
She held onto the knife, frozen and listening for footsteps over the thrash of her pulse.
Blessed silence.
His phone lay on the floor at his feet. A 9mm with the extended barrel of a silencer sat on his hip. She needed both and waited several torturous seconds, concentrating on her surroundings. When she was certain no one had heard, she pocketed the phone and chambered a round on the gun.
That was the easy part.
Any second now, the guard upstairs would finish his cigarette and come looking for her.
With trembling hands, she positioned herself on knees at the bend in the staircase and raised the gun, ready to shoot anyone who rounded the corner.
The wait lasted an eternity as her mind swam through worst case scenarios. If Tiago’s guards checked on him, she would fail. If multiple men entered the basement and outnumbered her, she would fail. If the gun in her hand misfired, she would fail.
Tate’s fate rested entirely on her ability to not fucking fail.
When the door at the top of the stairs finally scraped open, every pore in her body beaded with sweat. Her lungs froze, and her limbs locked up.
Breathe, dammit.
The sound of footfalls grew louder, clomping, descending, speeding up. One threatening gait. Only one.
He would see Armando’s body the moment he turned the last bend, but she wouldn’t give him enough time to react.
Resting her finger on the trigger, she breathed in, timed his steps, and waited, waited…
His chest came into view, and he jerked to a stop, spinning toward her.
She squeezed the trigger on her exhale, point blank range, right in the chest.
The bullet casing pinged against the stone wall behind her, and the report of suppressed gunfire ricocheted through the stairwell. The echo sounded like a metal ball bouncing on concrete.
It’s too loud!
The guard was dead before he hit the floor, but the racket would’ve been heard in the basement. She didn’t have time to pause.
Stepping over the bodies, she cracked the lower-level door and spotted a man charging toward her, maybe ten feet away. He reached for the gun in his waistband, but hers was already aimed.
She fired at his torso, and the suppressed bang reverberated through her.
He dropped before he pulled his weapon, but his hand was still moving, reaching for it.