Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
And the fact that I let fear for Yasmin and Felicia turn me into his assassin.
I hate all of it and wish I could take it back, despite what Kenny said about not being able to find him until recently.
But at the same time, I know the truth. I never would’ve met my woman if not for Mr. Red.
What a twisted world it is sometimes.
Kenny looks at me, his eyes the only part of his face visible behind the mask. He makes a hand signal, asking Markus and me if we’re ready.
When we both nod, he presses the button on the walkie, saying nothing.
The tsk it makes is the only signal the men out front need.
A few moments pass, and then several flash bang grenades go off. Enough to ensure everybody inside this criminal bar is disoriented but not severely injured…after all, there may be innocent men in here, or women, maybe even children.
I wouldn’t put anything past this psycho.
Thankfully, when we rush into the room, I’m able to switch my emotions off. My training overrides everything else, and I hone down to the moment, clearing the rooms adjacent to the hallway before moving to the main bar.
The other three men are already securing people, zip-tying their wrists.
“Where is he?” I ask the closest. The man shakes his head.
I turn to the thug Kenny’s man is zip-tying, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him to his feet. The stink of booze and something else, a harsh chemical smell, washes over me.
“You smell that shit?” I ask Kenny at my side.
He nods. “Somebody’s cooking meth.”
The thug’s eyes widen, and I give him a one-handed shake, his feet barely brushing the floor.
I think of my Freya. What would’ve happened if Mr. Red had sent somebody else after her? I think of the life I never knew I wanted, wrenched from my hands before I had a chance to make it come true.
All the rage floods into my question, just one word.
“Where?”
“D-downstairs,” the man whimpers. “B-basement.”
I signal for Kenny, who signals to two other men, and then I take point as we search the bar. A trapdoor in the corner is poorly covered with a rug, clearly pulled across in haste.
The door’s unlocked.
I kneel down, drag it open then put on my night-vision goggles down from my head over my eyes.
Peering inside, I stare at the meth lab, women – some of them may even be children – huddling around the sad figure in the corner.
Mr. Red, Mike, Deacon….
He’s holding a gun to a woman’s head, staring at the trap door, unable to see me as his hands tremble.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he yells. “Or the bitch dies.”
I lean back, talking quickly. “He’s got a hostage, and he’s forced the rest of them to crowd around him. There’s no way this bastard’s leaving here alive. I’m taking the shot.”
It isn’t a request, but Kenny’s putting his business on the line by helping me. He deserves to know my plan.
“Do it,” Kenny says. “We can’t risk any innocents dying. He signed his death warrant when he took a hostage.”
I nod, feeling nothing, just focused, my mind empty.
It’s the training again, overriding everything.
Except there’s a glimmer down deep.
Don’t mess this up.
I want to be able to return to Freya and tell her we did the right thing. We only hurt people who deserve it. There were no civilian casualties.
We’re safe, and the only price we had to pay was an evil man’s blood.
“I mean it,” Mr. Red yells in a voice I’ve heard countless times over the phone.
But he always seemed so self-assured before, as if nothing could ever hurt him, as if he really was this collected operator who worked by a code of honor.
And I believed him, or let fear make me believe him.
Quickly, I lean down back into the trap door, almost lying sprawled, my body hanging down into the opening.
Mr. Red’s got his arm wrapped around the woman.
She looks young, reminding me of Felicia, which just worsens it. Mr. Red holds the gun in his other hand, pressing it against the side of her head with such force that the metal barrel has caused her to bleed.
“You don’t want to mess with….”
I take the shot, as I have done several times before.
Hostage takers never expect it.
The bullet in the head, and then he collapses, slumping against the wall, as the women and children begin to scream.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Freya
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Felix will be home soon.
He called before I came to bed.
“It’s over,” he said, his voice husky even over the phone. “He’s gone.”
“In prison?” I asked.
There was a pause, then he said, “No, I had to end him. He’d taken a woman hostage. He’s been forcing girls and little kids to cook meth under a bar. Apparently, it was well-known in the area, but he had so many cops on his payroll, nobody cared.”