worse shape than they realized.
If they’d hoped to have a few moments to themselves upstairs, they were disappointed because the henchmen were right on Oscar’s heels.
There was definitely a power struggle/language barrier situation going on between Boss and Chicago. Perhaps Selene could exacerbate that situation, turn the henchmen on themselves. She tried to recall if Bill or Wayne had mentioned how long it would take for SWAT to arrive.
The thought of their two bodyguards had her looking around. “Where are my men?” she asked with forced bravado.
Granted, this situation had been out of her control since practically the beginning, but that didn’t change the fact that two men had risked their lives to keep her safe. She needed to know they were okay.
Teenager leered at her. “Taking a little nap.”
She gave him a once-over and sneered.
When he stormed toward her, Oscar stepped in front of her, his arms folded.
Boss barked something from the kitchen, where he’d led the henchmen. Teenager hesitated, but it wasn’t until Chicago said, “Leave the bitch,” that he turned away.
Definitely a power struggle.
For a moment, they were alone in the hall.
Oscar turned to her. “We’ll get him back. They aren’t going to kill him. They want the plans.”
“They’re torturing him.”
“Hold it together, Tanaka. We’ve gotta find Wayne and Bill. They’re probably locked in a closet.”
“Why are you whispering?” she asked.
“Because we saw twelve of them on the security cameras, and only eight were in the basement.”
“Fuck,” she hissed.
“That’s my line.” Oscar kissed her, quick and hard, and then stepped away. “We need to stay with them.” Oscar jerked his head toward the kitchen. “If we run into the other mercenaries before the head guy gives them the message that you’re dangerous and we should be allowed to leave…”
“And if we stay with them, we can keep an eye on Luca.”
Oscar nodded in agreement, the corners of his eyes tight with what other people might say was anger, but which she was sure was worry.
They stepped into the kitchen, Selene in the lead.
They were just in time to see Henchman Two shove Luca to his knees once more. Chicago then kicked him in the stomach.
If Oscar was correct, and Luca was attempting to soften the blows by slight body adjustments, there was no denying he’d been unprepared for the kick. He lurched forward, grunting in obvious pain.
Selene tried to ignore Luca’s groans and the muted thuds of the beating, which started again—and with renewed vigor—fighting to listen for some sound from outside that would mean help had arrived.
They could have left. Could have gone to find Wayne and Bill and then left.
But she felt as if she needed to be here for Luca. Not that she was doing a damn thing to help him.
How long could they stand here before Boss or Chicago realized how weird it was that they were hanging around? Selene tried to come up with their next move, but her nerves were slowly getting the better of her. They were lucky to have fooled the men this long, and she knew enough to know they were currently living on borrowed time.
Where the hell was the SWAT team?
Her fingers dug into Oscar’s back after one particularly hard slap that sent Luca’s head back.
“Enough!” Boss yelled as Luca lay on the floor, a trickle of blood dripping from his nose to the tile beneath him. The boss henchman knelt by Luca. “Give me the plans,” he demanded.
Luca didn’t reply to Boss’s request, not even to repeat his standard “no.” Instead, his eyes remained closed, and Selene wondered for a moment if they’d knocked him out.
Selene caught Oscar’s quick intake of breath, her gaze leaving Luca’s still frame lying on the ground.
“What?” she whispered to Oscar, whose attention wasn’t on the activity in the kitchen, but rather on something outside the window. Either Bill and Wayne hadn’t had a chance to close the metal shutters in here, or Boss’s group had opened them.
She followed his gaze, but saw nothing. Then, she squinted and stared harder, certain she’d seen movement.
“Give them!” Boss shook Luca’s shoulder roughly.
She saw Luca’s eyes open slightly, slitted just enough for him to see. He was faking unconsciousness.
She was trying to decide what she should say, what else she could do to stall any more of the beating, when Oscar stiffened, his hand dropping to his side, his fingers wrapping around her wrist.
Through the kitchen window, she could see movement on the back porch, and the sense of relief made her light-headed.
A figure,