Trusting His Instincts, page 20
The younger DeLuca passes his father a cell phone. “I want to see that son of a bitch when you tell him where we are.”
“No. Start the car. I am still the head of this family, and I will not have my son challenge me!” Enzo’s hand flies, the slap echoing off the concrete walls.
Shock gives way to anger, but when Benny stands up straighter, Lincoln drops his head. “I’ll be in the car.”
Enzo gives him a terse nod, then unlocks the phone. “Time to call your father, Nathan. I’m sure he’ll be dying to see you again.”
Raelynn
The two blessed hours I slept were enough to take the edge off my exhaustion, but getting up again almost broke me.
I’ve checked my phone a dozen times in the past five minutes, and it’s still only 7:45 p.m. Limping out to the main room, I find West and Ryker with a French Press pot of coffee between them. “Any chance y’all have a cup to spare? Or a lidocaine shot? Or both?”
West looks me up and down. “What did Connor say on the plane?”
“Five miles of bad road in the middle of nowhere,” Ry says.
“I ain’t lookin’ to win a beauty pageant. You gonna help a girl out? Or not?”
Ryker lumbers to his feet and retrieves one of the collapsible mugs from a duffel bag on the floor while West snags his med kit.
“Drop your pants and sit.” The SEAL hooks his foot around a chair and tugs it closer.
My left leg is a mass of blue and purple bruises—one in the distinct shape of Diego’s shoe. Disapproval and concern war in West’s eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay in the van unless one of us calls for assistance.”
If I didn’t know what those two words mean to the two men, I’d lie through my sore and slightly loose front teeth. But when I joined Hidden Agenda, Ry sat me down, a grave expression on his scarred face.
“We don’t have many rules here, Raelynn. Always answer your phone. Show up for workouts. Don’t tell civilians what we do.”
“Okay, boss—”
“I’m not done,” he says. “There’s one more. You don’t make a promise you can’t—or don’t intend to—keep. If you say ‘I promise,’ you better make sure you mean it.”
“Raelynn? I need to hear you say it,” West prods.
“I love him.” Those three words break me. I don’t cry. I can’t. But somewhere deep inside, a canyon of grief waits to swallow me whole.
“We know.” Ryker drops a hand on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Trust us to get him back.”
I let my gaze ping between the two men. They gave me a chance. A life when all I wanted was to hide away from the world—or burn it all down.
Eyes locked on West, I take a deep breath. “I promise I won’t leave the van unless it’s the only way to save him. That’s all I can give you. Please. That has to be enough.”
He nods and unzips his med kit. “It’s enough. You ready? This is going to hurt.”
“Do it.”
West gently raises my leg so my foot rests on his thigh, then chuckles. “Reynolds deserves a raise.”
“I pay him well enough,” Ry mutters. “He’s not hurting for cash.”
Leaning forward, I scan the bright green tape criss-crossing the joint. Just under my kneecap, the doctor drew a small X in black pen.
West skims his fingers on either side of the mark. “This has to go under the patella. Ry, stabilize her leg. If she moves, I’ll do more harm than good.”
Ryker kneels next to me, one big hand around my calf, the other pressing down on my thigh. A thin, high-pitched whimper escapes my lips when the needle hits the nerve. It’s like ten thousand volts shooting all the way up my leg.
Graham rushes into the room, gaping at the sight of me: half naked, tears streaming down my cheeks, my foot in West’s lap, and Ryker holding me down. “What the hell?” he asks as Inara joins him.
“Y’all better not…breathe a word…of this…to anyone,” I hiss through the pain.
“Done.” West caps the needle and shoves it into a portable sharps container. “Wait five minutes before you put any weight on it.”
“With my ass hangin’ out? Get me a blanket or somethin’.”
Ry slides his hands under my arms and lifts me to my feet. I barely have time to grab my pants before I’m upright. “Warn a girl, next time, will ya’?”
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”
Using the table for support, I turn so I can meet his gaze. “I ain’t one for trustin’ people. Can’t say it’ll ever come easy. But y’all are…family. Thank you.”
The throbbing in my knee that’s been my constant companion since the previous night fades away. “Whoa. That shit is magic.”
“You only get one,” West says with a grim smile. “But the cortisone the doc gave you should take over in a day or so.”
“Get in here!” Tank calls from the next room. “DeLuca’s calling!”
Ryker picks me up with one arm around my waist and deposits me directly in front of Angelo. “Remember, Rossi. You need proof of life before you go anywhere.”
Nash’s father nods. His hands shake. Ryker hands him the phone, a cable connecting it to West’s laptop so we can all see what Angelo sees, without the camera catching sight of us.
We spent hours this afternoon drilling instructions into the man. Don’t say a word about us. Work in the words Bandit, West, or cat. Anything to let Nash know he’s not alone.
“DeLuca. Where is my son?” Angelo snaps.
Enzo switches the call to video. Nash sits on the ground against a thick yellow pole. A strip of duct tape covers his mouth, but it’s the gun pointed at his neck I can’t take my eyes from.
“As you can see, he is alive. And he will stay that way if you follow my instructions.”
Nash screams something behind the gag, and the man at his side cocks the hammer on the gun.
“If your son does not calm down, he will spend the rest of his life with two shattered knees,” Enzo says.
I cut my gaze to West, who tucks a comms unit into his ear. I mirror the motion. “These assholes are unoriginal as fuck,” he whispers.
I’d laugh if it weren’t for the desperation in Nash’s eyes.
“Nathan, stay calm. I’ll get you out of this. In a few hours, this will all be a painful memory. You can go back west—back to Seattle.”
“Enough talk.” Enzo turns the phone around so his face fills the screen. “I’m sending you the address now. When you arrive—alone—you will enter the building. You will find a phone on the floor. Pick it up and record your confession. When you’re done, you’ll receive further instructions. Good bye, Angelo.”
“Wait!” Nash’s father shouts. “Let me talk to my son—”
“You can talk to him when you get here. Have a nice little family reunion. Don’t be late.”
The call ends, and Ryker immediately taps his earbud. “Base, tell me you got something.”
“Nothing worth spit,” Wren says. “From the way Enzo’s voice echoed, the walls are concrete or cement. Ceilings twenty to thirty feet tall. The camera caught a few boxes, but we can’t tell what’s in them. I can try to enhance the video, but—”
“Liquor,” Angelo says. An hour ago, West caved and offered the man a comms unit of his own with strict instructions to give it back the second Nash was safe. “Enzo sent the address. It’s a small warehouse down by the docks. For the past few years, I’ve stored all my liquor shipments there.”
West plugs the address into his phone. “Pack up. It’s twenty minutes away. We’re out of here in five.”
Everyone starts to move like a well-oiled machine. But I stay still for a long moment, my eyes closed, and send out a silent plea to the man I love.
“We’re comin’, darlin’. Hang on for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nash
Benny stands at the door, his gaze trained on me. As soon as he left my side, I relaxed, hoping I’d done enough to create slack in the ropes around my wrists, but they’re still too tight for me to escape.
For a few minutes, I tried to feel for the ends, but he snapped at me to “stop moving” and pointed the gun at my head.
My eyelids feel like coarse-grit sandpaper, and my ribs ache with each breath. The tape tugs at my split lips. But the worst part is the overwhelming stench of vodka coming from my jeans.
Benny pulls a lighter from his pocket, flicking it on and off while chuckling. Smoke inhalation will get me before the flames. At least…I hope it does. But what about my father?
Has it been half an hour? My father has to know this is a trap. Maybe he won’t come. Maybe the cops are on their way right now. Maybe they’ll get to Benny before he can shoot me in the head. Or set the liquor-soaked boxes on fire. Maybe I’ll live through this.
The door opens, and Rocco slips into the warehouse. “He’s here. Boss says he’s alone.”
“Hear that, asshole?” Benny asks. “Hope you’ve made peace with your maker.”
“Fuck you!”
I might as well be singing him a lullaby for all the good shouting through the tape does me. The two enforcers share a laugh before Rocco pulls a gun from under his jacket and Benny retrieves a length of rope from a small, black duffel bag. They take up positions behind the door.
My father enters without hesitation, making it half a dozen steps into the warehouse before Rocco comes up behind him and jabs the gun against his ribs. The cane clatters to the floor, and Dad’s gaze locks onto mine.
“That’s far enough,” Rocco says. Benny levels a hard punch to his jaw, sending him to his knees.
“Nash…”
The anguish in his voice breaks me. Tears gather in my eyes, lending a shimmer to the room. Dad pats the ground twice before the two thugs drag him to another pole twenty feet away, and in under a minute, have his arms bound behind him. Benny retrieves a full bottle of vodka and pours it over my father’s white hair.
I scream at them, begging them to stop, then cursing them and their entire families, but they ignore me.
“Enjoy your last few minutes together,” Rocco says. He strides over to me and rips the tape from my mouth, tearing my wounds open so blood drips down my chin. “So you can say your goodbyes before you burn.”
“Dad!”
He’s shaking, unable to stop the alcohol from dripping into his eyes. “I’m sorry…son,” he says. “I thought I was keeping you safe.”
Benny holds the door open for Rocco, who withdraws a gold case from his pocket, opens it, and lifts a cigarette to his lips. “Arson investigators won’t find shit when this is all over. Except this. Steel. Fireproof. One smoke missing.”
Chuckling, he drops the case, lights up, and flicks the cigarette in an arc toward one of the boxes. The glowing tip flares bright red, and a second later, the box starts to burn.
Raelynn
“Idiot,” West mutters. “We’re sure his comms unit was working?”
I glance at the tablet in front of me. “It’s still green. So it’s transmittin’.”
God, I wish we knew what was goin’ on inside. The concrete walls of the building render our drone’s thermal imaging capabilities useless, but twelve separate readings within a quarter mile are all likely Enzo’s men.
“Angelo,” West says. “What’s going on? Angelo?”
“Somethin’s wrong. We need to get in there. Now.” I hate being this far away. We couldn’t risk driving the van all the way down to the waterfront, so I’m half a mile down the shore road, while Angelo took the sedan—outfitted with a small camera on the dash—and parked less than a hundred feet from the building.
“Too many unknowns.” This, from Ryker. “I’ve got eyes on Enzo and Lincoln. Indigo?”
“In position. Two hostiles on the roof across from me in my sights.”
On screen, two goons slip out the door of the warehouse, laughing. The guy on the left, I recognize from the video calls as the one holding a gun on Nash.
So…does that mean Nash is unguarded?
“Who’s on the idjits who just came out of the target’s location? They ain’t movin’.” I check the monitor again, gripping the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles turn white. Still nothing from Angelo. “Base? If the walls are too thick, could that mess with comms?”
“We’ve tested through eight-inch-thick concrete with only twenty percent degradation,” Wren says. “Searching for the building blueprints—”
Ryker cuts her off. “Fuck this shit. Whiskey, call it.”
“Indigo, take out the hostiles on the roof, then lay down cover fire for Tango so he can hit the two at the target location. Golf, you’ve got the three along First Avenue. Romeo, you’re on Enzo. I’ve got the two at the southeast corner of the fence. Sierra…don’t move until we give you the all clear. Stay low, stay alive. Go, go, go.”
The green blips on the left half of the screen start to move—all but mine and Inara’s. On the right, the two men who were just inside with Nash and Angelo lean against the wall of the building to the west. The asshole with the gun—Wren’s facial recognition program identified him as Benny Montrose—takes a puff on his vape, while the other one checks his phone.
Sharp pops pierce the night air. “Two down,” Inara says quietly. “Tango, on your mark.”
The hostiles—red dots from the drone’s thermals—all move at once. Shots come from every direction. One M4 and at least two pistols.
“Enzo’s rabbiting!” Ry shouts. “I’m going for the sedan. Base, stay on them with the drone as long as you can!”
Shit. This op is goin’ to hell on a rocket, and I’ve got no idea if Nash is still alive. I can’t sit here and do nothin’, even if I did promise West I’d stay in the van.
“Unless it’s the only way to save him.”
The engine rumbles to life, and the tires spin on the gravel shoulder for a split second before I take off, gunning it down the shore road toward the industrial park gate.
“Got a problem!” Inara says, fear threading her tone. “Target’s location is on fire!”
Nash
Flames spread from box to box, faster than I thought possible. Across from me, my father strains against the ropes. “Can you get free?” he shouts.
“What does it matter?” The fire is a physical being now. Roaring, climbing the walls, desperate for more fuel. The first bottle of liquor explodes, the sound of glass breaking, followed by another, and another, and another.
Coughing, my father chokes out, “Your friends…”
Holy shit. “Dad? What friends? Names!” I twist my hands, feeling for the ends of the rope trapping me.
“Don’t know…but your girl…she’s waiting…”
Oh God. Raelynn’s alive. She’s here.
“Slow your breathing, Dad. Please!” He’s closer to the fire than I am and drenched in vodka. If I don’t get to him fast, he’ll die. My swollen fingers send electric shocks of pain through my hands, but I find one blunt end of the rope and start working it through the knots.
Smoke burns my lungs. The first cough steals my breath. More bottles shatter. Bits of cork and plastic arc through the air. Another knot unravels. How many more? God, I need to be able to see. My eyes are watering, each cough pure agony on my ribs, and my father slumps forward.
Fuck! The flames are only a few feet away from him.
Tugging with all of my strength, I wrench my right arm free. Then my left. I strip off my shirt, tearing it in half and tying it around my mouth and nose.
It takes me precious seconds to loosen the ropes around my ankles, and when I try to stand, the room dissolves into a swirling miasma of orange, red, and gray.
“Dad,” I croak. “I’m…coming!”
Twice, the dizziness takes me down. Each time, the concrete under me gets hotter. Crawling the last few feet, I attack the knots. As soon as his arms are free, I drag him to the center of the room.
It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. Smoke covers the ceiling, curling around the rafters, desperate for somewhere else to go. A window behind us shatters, and the whoosh of air fans the flames even higher.
My father coughs weakly. My t-shirt is the only article of clothing we have not soaked in vodka, so I rip it into two long strips and wind the second one around his head. “Dad, wake up,” I plead, slapping his cheek gently. “We have to find a way out of here.”
The smoke is so thick, I can’t see the door. There has to be more than one.
“Nathan…” he wheezes. “Leave me.”
“No. I lost you once. I won’t do it again!” A coughing fit steals my voice. We don’t have much longer.
Behind me, there’s a narrow gap in the flames. Crawling, my breathing ragged and tears streaming down my cheeks as I drag my father behind me, I see a metal door.
Ten feet away, I have to let him go. The fire’s too close.
I push to my feet, fighting the darkness creeping along the edges of my vision. The knob burns my palm, but I ignore the pain and twist. Nothing happens. Feeling all along the metal, barely able to see, I search for a lock. Some way to get through. But after a full minute, I collapse, my knees slamming into the hot cement.
Above me, windows shatter, and glass rains down over my head, shoulders, and back like hundreds of tiny missiles. I pound on the door with everything I have in me.
My father stirs. “Nathan…it’s…no use…”
He’s right. We’re going to die, and Raelynn will be the one to find our bodies.
“Sorry, sweetness,” I choke out. “I love…you.”
Raelynn
I take the corner on two wheels, and floor it down the hill toward the warehouse. The windows—all along the roof line—glow bright orange. Half a dozen of them have already exploded from the heat, and smoke rises fifty feet in the air.
Inara races across the parking lot, and I slam on the brakes to avoid running her down. “Shee-it!”
