"Boss, left side."
"Watch the loft."
More gunshots. Someone screams, not Devil, thank God, but one of Tommy's guys. Through my swollen eyes, I can make out figures moving through the smoke. Saints leather, familiar shapes. They came. They actually came.
A figure appears beside me, Storm, Devil's sergeant-at-arms. His face is grim as he cuts the ropes binding my wrists.
"Jesus, Dani, what did they do to you?"
I try to answer, but my throat feels like sandpaper. All I can do is nod toward where I last saw Tommy.
"Where's Devil?" I croak.
"Handling business," Storm says, helping me to my feet. My legs nearly give out, but he holds me steady. "Come on, we need to get you out of here."
But before we can move, I hear Devil's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"Tommy? You piece of shit, where are you?"
The gunfire has stopped. In the sudden silence, I can hear Tommy's voice from somewhere in the shadows.
"Right here, Devil. Ready to finish what you started."
Chapter 15
Devil
I can taste the revenge on my tongue as I gaze out into the darkness of the warehouse. He's in here, somewhere close, I can smell his fucking fear. I've never known somebody to be as much of a piece of shit as Tommy. Especially right now.
Ransom places his hand on my shoulder. "I got your six," he whispers. "Where are we headed? We’re good, no one has seen my face. I’ll make myself scarce as soon as you get her back. I’m just someone who owes you a favor," he repeats.
There's one thing that's kept me alive so long. Whether it be when I was in country, on patrol, or undercover, like I am right now. That's been trusting my instincts. For a moment, I stop completely, holding my hand up for him to do the same. Closing my eyes, I let the sounds and smells infiltrate my body and mind. I can hear him. Scurrying around like the rat he is. His breaths are short and choppy, shallow in the dense humidity of the summer day. As much as Tommy wants to pretend he's badass, he's really a scared redneck who had a handle over this territory until we decided to smoke him out. Now he's struggling, and I'm about to hand him his head on a fuckin' platter. "He's to the left."
Ransom keeps his hand on my shoulder, and presses me in that direction, following close behind.
The concrete beneath our boots is slick with years of forgotten tobacco and accumulated grime. Every step echoes despite our efforts to stay quiet, but Tommy's making enough noise for all three of us. The bastard's panic is working in our favor.
We move through the maze of abandoned machinery and shipping containers, shadows dancing around us from the few shafts of sunlight breaking through the grimy windows high above. The air tastes like rust and decay, but underneath it all is something else, Dani's perfume. That sweet scent that drives me wild on a good day and makes my blood run cold today because it means she was here. Tommy had her here.
My jaw clenches so tight I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. When I get my hands on that motherfucker, I'm going to make him pay for every second of fear he put my woman through.
A crash echoes from deeper in the warehouse, followed by a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. Tommy's desperation is showing, and desperation makes men stupid. I signal to Ransom, pointing toward the sound, and we adjust our path.
The warehouse opens up into a wider space filled with old conveyor belts and industrial equipment that looks like it hasn't run in decades. Perfect place for a rat to hide, but even better place to corner one.
"Tommy!" I call out, my voice booming through the space. "You might as well come out. We both know how this ends."
Silence. Then a nervous laugh that doesn't fool anyone.
"Devil, man, we can work this out," comes his voice from somewhere behind a massive piece of machinery to our left. Exactly where my instincts said he'd be. "I didn't mean for things to go this far. You know me."
"I do know you, which is why I know you're a piece of shit."
I catch Ransom's eye and nod toward the right flank. He melts into the shadows, moving with the kind of precision that comes from years of training. The man might be a cop, but he moves like military, and right now I'm grateful as hell for both.
"She's fine, Devil. Dani's fine. Storm got to her in time. This doesn't have to get ugly."
He's right, Dani is safe, and that's a relief. But that relief is quickly replaced by rage so pure it feels like molten metal in my veins.
