Sean glanced at the other prisoner. He had a key in his hand and was unlocking his shackles.
He’d planned this escape. Who the hell was this guy?
Sheffield got out of the bus. The guards weren’t supposed to leave—especially in a situation like this! Sean couldn’t see what was going on because of the smoke. Someone must have seen the out-of-control bus. They’d have called 911. Help had to be coming.
The bus driver was talking on the radio, but Sean couldn’t hear any response.
The other prisoner was already out of his chains. He reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out a gun.
Not only was this planned, it was an inside job.
The prisoner smiled at Sean, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You’re coming with us.”
“No fucking way am I going with you,” Sean said.
The prisoner put the gun in Sean’s hands, which were still locked to the bar in front of him. He aimed the gun toward the driver
Sean jerked his hand, and as the prisoner pulled the trigger, the bullet went wild. The prisoner elbowed Sean in the jaw, then forced the gun level and fired twice in the back of the guard’s head, still holding Sean’s hands tight around the grip. Sean stared, wide-eyed. What the hell? What was this guy doing?
“You’re now a cop killer, Sean Rogan. You’re coming with me or you’re dead.”
How did this old man know his name?
Two masked gunmen boarded the bus and aimed their guns at Sean.
The prisoner unlocked Sean’s shackles and pulled him up. He was strong for being in his sixties. Sean fought, knowing he couldn’t go with them. He just had to buy time. Wait for the police.
You’re now a cop killer.
No one would believe it. They would investigate. Realize this was an inside job and Sean had nothing to do with it. There had to be a witness. There was a camera in the bus—they would know Sean wasn’t a willing participant, right?
The radio was out. Maybe the cameras are out as well.
Even with all the smoke, Sean fought against leaving the bus. The prisoner hit him on the top of the head with the butt of the gun. Sean immediately saw black and fell to his knees.
“Drag him out,” the man said. “Time.”
“Eight twenty-five, sir.”
“Right on schedule. Secure that bastard.”
Sean’s vision was clouded, but as the two gunmen dragged him out of the bus, he watched the prisoner conversing with Sheffield as if they were friends. Then the prisoner shot the guard in the calf. Sheffield fired multiple times into the bushes beyond the bus. He heard the prisoner mention his name, and Sheffield said yes, but Sean didn’t know what was said or agreed to.
Sean was dragged across the slab. The two men picked him up and pushed him into the back of a windowless cargo van. Another gunman in the back zip-tied Sean’s hands behind him, and pushed him against the metal floor, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
Sean cut his cheek on a bolt, but his head already hurt like hell so the injury only added to the cacophony of pain. The two gunmen who’d boarded the bus jumped in behind him and closed the doors.
The prisoner opened the passenger seat door, climbed in, and asked the driver, “Everything on schedule?”
“Yes, Mr. Hunt.”
“Then get us out of here.”
Mr. Hunt.
Jimmy Hunt.
He was in prison in Los Angeles.
Except he’s not.
Sean had never met Jimmy Hunt; he’d never had need to. Hunt had been in Mexico when Sean had helped take down the rest of the family in Texas.
Hunt turned and stared at Sean, a shit-eating grin on his face. Sean wanted to look defiant, but he was scared. Hunt had just kidnapped him, but the police would think it was a breakout. A cop had been killed. Would they believe Sean when he told them that Hunt had killed him? That Hunt forced Sean’s hands on the gun? Why would they believe anything Sean said when he had been arrested for murder himself?
He felt like a pawn where he had no control over anything. A sinking feeling filled his chest, a huge weight dragging him down because he saw no way out.
“Sean Rogan,” Hunt said with a half growl. “I have wanted to kill you for some time, ever since you stole my money. Now, I have use for you. You will do exactly what I tell you to