Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Lancelot showed various entrances where we could split up and make our way through. “The basement is the most likely place where Zach is being held. In other homes, Ivanov always had holding cells in the basement. He likes to keep his prisoners out of sight—less likely for anyone to hear them.”
The thought of Zach being locked up in that place, the thought of what Ivanov might’ve done to him, was making me sick. I swallowed bile and forced myself to listen to what Lancelot was saying. I watched as he traced different paths we could use to enter the house. “As soon as we get in, we’ll split up. We don’t think he has many men with him. He’s keeping a low profile, and most people here turned away from him after last year.”
“Why has he let himself be so exposed?” Dante asked.
“Madness. Overconfidence. He doesn’t think he’s got anywhere else to go. He’s cornered. He’s going to come at us as hard as he can, but we’re ending this tonight.”
“Goddamn right we are,” I said.
When Lancelot finished explaining the plan, I stood. “Come on, let’s get geared up.”
“Sit down,” Remington ordered.
“No, I’m leaving now.”
Remington raised his brows. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t defy a direct order.”
“We have to—”
Lorenzo’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Rafe, you’re not thinking clearly right now.”
“We’re waiting until dark,” Remington said.
“No, I can’t wait. Anything could happen to Zach. You know what Ivanov is like. What if he’s torturing Zach right now? What if he’s—” I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my palms against them. Lorenzo dropped to the floor beside me.
“Zach is an undercover agent. He’s tough. He’s been through a lot of shit before.”
I knew that was true. I thought about the scars on his body—gunshot wounds, jagged lines from a knife. But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t let him be hurt again, not by Ivanov. The man was crazy.
“I know.”
“And walking up to his house in the daylight is crazy too.”
“He’s in there. We have to get him out as fast as possible.”
Remington blew out a long breath.
I kept pleading. “Any amount of time could be the difference between life and death.”
“Yes,” he said. “And going in before dark could mean death for you, for me, for any of us.”
“You’re going in with us?”
He snorted. “You think I’m going to miss this?”
“I wasn’t sure… I mean, rescuing Zach is probably not—”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Zach is your top priority, and mine is finding Ivanov. Because he’s going to die, and Zach’s going to be saved, and then we’re going to put this bullshit behind us.”
I wanted to protest. I wanted to say if there was any chance on earth he’d still have me, I wasn’t going to put Zach behind me. Remington was right about the risks we were running—I couldn’t save Zach if I were lying dead on Ivanov’s floor. But what if Zach were dying right now?
Remington walked over and sat down across from me. “I know how hard this is for you.”
I decided to pull out the strongest argument I had. “What if Henri were in there?”
Remington snarled.
“Would you wait?”
Lancelot laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I have a backup plan.”
I glanced toward Lorenzo, and he nodded. They’d known I wouldn’t be willing to wait.
“It’s riskier,” Lancelot admitted.
Remington nodded. “Explain.”
Lancelot brought up another image of the house with a few of the previous lines redrawn.
“It’s too much like what we tried before,” Remington said.
“Yes, but Ivanov got wind of that well beforehand. We just made this up a few minutes ago.”
Remington stood. “Every single one of you better be more alert than you’ve ever been. You see anyone you don’t know, take them out. We can’t hesitate.”
Did that mean… “We’re going? Now?”
“Yes. You made a good point.”
I smiled for the first time since I’d heard Zach lie about us on the phone.
35
ZACH
When the trunk I’d been put in was opened, a man shoved a bag over my head before pulling me from the car and dragging me along with him. I went over some gravel, then down some steps. They tossed me onto a concrete floor, and I heard the clang of bars close behind me.
I rolled myself over, even though I couldn’t see, and I was in no position to fight. I wanted to be facing the door; it was instinct. I heard the men’s footsteps retreat and then nothing. I tried to wiggle my way free from the hood, but I didn’t have any luck, not with my hands tied behind my back. I had to concentrate not to panic. The last thing I needed was anything that would restrict my breathing more. With the hood over my face and my mouth taped shut, it was enough of a struggle.