a skepticism and I’m certain it’s because I haven’t followed protocol. I turn to face him, half-ashamed about my next move, half-eager to get it over with.
“Was he even armed?” he questions and I let my expression mirror his as it morphs from hardened determination to a look of disbelief. As he walks ahead of me to examine their bodies, I strike Evan in the back of the head, just behind his ear. The blow lands with a thud and a crack.
“Sorry,” I mutter beneath my breath as he sinks to the ground. I catch him, the gun still hot in my hand and lower him down. It’ll hurt like a bitch when he wakes up but he’ll be fine in a day or two.
There were four perps on site; now there are two, and Marcus will be here once he realizes she’s not there at the south location. Guilt seeps into my blood at the sight of Evan’s limp body, but I can’t have him witnessing what I’m about to do. There is no protocol to be followed, no honor in my actions when it comes to saving Delilah and delivering consequences to each and every one of these pricks who helped kidnap and terrorize her. I can’t have Evan questioning, hesitating, or worse, trying to stop me. None of these men can be taken alive.
Evan’s morals don’t align with what must be done.
A door shutting catches my attention, lifting my head as I hear a familiar voice call out. It’s unmistakably Ross Brass, and my gaze narrows as I stalk down the tunnel.
He yells for Mitchel, and as he does I gently kick the limp body, stalking past it and the pool of blood that’s gathered around his chest, soaking into the concrete floor.
“Mitchel!” he cries out again, his voice louder, and the adrenaline pumping in my veins pushes me forward. The layout of the tunnels is clear in my mind, and a plan forms but vanishes instantly when a second voice answers as I get to the T intersection at the end of the hall.
“There’s been a breach,” states a deep voice to my left. All the while I’m very aware of how Brass is positioned on my right. One man on either side of me, and only feet away judging by how loud their voices are.
“Fuck,” Brass spits out. “Grab her,” he practically hisses as the figure on my left suddenly appears in front of me, his gun aimed at me just as mine is aimed at him. He’s tall, wearing all black and moves like he’s ex-military—obviously trained for this kind of situation.
Just as I pull my trigger, two shots are fired from behind. Fuck! It could be backup, it could be Marcus. It could be someone aiming for me and now I’m surrounded. I don’t have time to think. All I can do is fire away.
Bang! The man in front of me gets a shot off but he misses, the bullet passing to the right of me although it grazes my shoulder. A hiss is elicited from the burning contact, but I barely have time to feel a damn thing. Ignoring the pain, I fire again, landing a shot dead center in the man’s forehead, and pivoting to shoot Brass in his back as the fucker tries to run down the hall. I should assume he’s armed, but it doesn’t appear that he is. His shoes slap against the concrete, once then twice as I pull the trigger again and again. A guttural cry falls on deaf ears.
I hadn’t noticed my erratic breathing until I turn to face the dark figure behind me along the wall. Marcus. Relief is instant as I heave in a gulp of air. His sharp eyes meet mine and it’s only then I’m able to take stock of what happened.
They’re dead. It’s over. But where is Delilah?
“How many?” Marcus questions and relief washes through me.
“That’s all four,” I answer him, searching down each hall for any sign of life, or any clues as to where she is.
He stalks toward me, slowly coming into view, asking, “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” Heat races through my blood, mixed with fear at the thought that she’s hidden and we’ll never be able to find her.
“Delilah!” Marcus screams and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard his voice so clearly. The first time fear has ever appeared in it. The same goes for desperation.
“Delilah,” he cries out again and, in the distance, her