Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58752 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
I shifted behind the concrete and watched for the next muzzle flash.
“I saw,” he replied. “Hawkeye, lock the front. Nomad, shut the rear. Nobody gets off this fucking range.”
The Black Crowns answered as one body made of a lot of violent men. Skyfall’s rifle cracked from the high ground, and the shooter on the roof disappeared behind the parapet. Trigger and Breach drove two gunmen away from the company vehicles, while Smoke hauled another bastard out from behind stacked equipment and put him face-first in the dirt. Hawkeye’s truck blocked the main road, Nomad closed the rear approach beyond the visible bend, and other brothers spread through the range without giving the outside crew room to regroup around the stolen cases.
“Front is locked,” Hawkeye reported, the roar of an engine and a burst of gunfire bleeding through his mic. “Two down by the utility trucks. Third one’s trying to crawl under a fucking trailer.”
“Let him,” Trigger cut in, breathing hard. “I’ll drag him back out.”
Stryker’s response shut down the bullshit. “Quit enjoying yourself and clear the lane. Heads on a swivel, brothers.”
An engine roared behind the prep building, confirming the route I already expected Len to use. He had pulled Tamsin inside to slow me down, and the rear maintenance trail looked open from the building even though Nomad had brothers waiting farther out where the first curve hid them.
I keyed my comm again as I moved along the concrete divider toward Stryker. “They’re gonna run the rear trail.”
“Teams are past the bend. They’ll let the fuckers commit before they close it.” Stryker looked at the sealed building, then met my eyes. “Get your woman.”
I was already moving. Wraith broke from cover and came with me toward the side maintenance entrance Tamsin had shown us on the range map, keeping his rifle angled toward the windows while I watched the ground and doorframe for anything set to punish the less obvious approach. My injured side pulled beneath the bandage when I crouched, but the stitches held and the pain stayed small beside the image of Tamsin disappearing behind that door.
The side entrance had been forced open from inside and pulled nearly shut again. I signaled Wraith to hold the doorway until I cleared the first turn. The gunfire outside dulled behind the concrete walls, leaving the alarm, my breathing, and the low vibration of machinery somewhere deeper in the building.
Tamsin’s clipboard lay several feet inside the first junction, angled into the passage on the right. A smear of blood marked one metal clip—hers or one of the bastards she had hit—and ice spread farther through my chest. She had stayed alert while armed men dragged her through unfamiliar danger and used the first object available to tell me which way they went.
“This way,” I reported quietly.
“On your six,” Wraith answered, entering behind me.
I followed the corridor until it split again. Dust coated the floor near the service wall, disturbed by several sets of boots, but one scrape cut through it in a deliberate line toward the left passage. Thank fuck.
My woman had known I would come and had spent the trip toward whatever waited ahead making sure I did not waste a second finding her.
The left passage ran past the small administrative office. An orange range flag lay across the next threshold, dragged down from a bracket mounted several feet above it. The bright fabric pointed toward the prep bay, where a digital tone sounded at measured intervals beneath the alarm. My pulse stayed steady, but every instinct tightened. Tamsin had reached the end of the trail, and Len had taken her into the center of whatever trap he had prepared.
“Gavin.” Her voice came from beyond the doorway, strained but clear.
I checked both corners before entering the prep bay. Tamsin was restrained to an anchored workbench on the far side, her wrists pulled behind a steel support and already bruised dark beneath the plastic ties. She sat upright, her blue eyes fixed on the digital display mounted to a black hard case secured beside a central column.
Stolen Bellamy cases had been stacked around the device close enough to turn one blast into a chain of fire and pressure. The countdown showed one minute and forty-three seconds, each number burning red through the dusty room. Tamsin looked at me, and the fierce relief that crossed her face nearly broke the discipline holding me in place.
“I’m here, pretty girl,” I rasped, crossing to her quickly.
“You took your sweet time,” she breathed, but the small tremor in her mouth ruined the complaint.
“Traffic.” I dropped behind the workbench, cut the first restraint, and caught her wrist when it came free. “Is there a remote?”
“He took it with him.” She twisted so I could reach the second tie, her breath hitching when the plastic released. “Len started the timer, closed the case, and left through the rear door with the others.”