As her seat warmed her backside, Gray crossed her arms and sat in stony silence. No way in hell she was giving him any more nouns than she had to. At this point, information was the only weapon she had.
CHAPTEREIGHT
“Who the fuck is she?”Victor Bodak shouted, his voice carrying on the wind coming off Kalamalka Lake.
Ears still ringing, Sam Black wanted to stop the pounding in his head with a well-placed bullet to the back of Bodak’s.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a viable option at this point.
“We don’t know yet, sir.” Sam waved his hand toward the open door of the waiting SUV, hoping his boss would take the hint. “I’ll update you as soon as we find her.”
“Whoever she is, she’s dead. You got that? I want herdead.” Bodak had been chain-smoking, his face purple with rage since the explosion. Now, he looked as though he was about to pop a vein.
Fine by Sam if it saved him a round. “As soon as we find out what the photographer knows, I’ll kill her myself.”
“You bring her to me. That bitch is going to suffer before she dies. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. Your plane is waiting.” Sam had been trying to ship the fat bastard out for the better part of an hour. A necessary undertaking so he could do his job and clean this mess.
“I want an update on the hour, every hour. Got it.”
Sam nodded, and annoyed as fuck, his index finger twitched twice.
Finally ready to go, Bodak settled into the back seat of the BMW and ran tobacco-stained fingers through his thinning hair. A sad attempt to look presentable. Brushing ash off his slacks didn’t do much to improve his bomb-induced disheveled state either. The man was a greased pig in formerly fine clothes.
With a nod from Sam, the armed guard shut the rear door and slid into the front passenger seat. Gravel crunched under the tires as the car pulled away. In an hour, Bodak’s private jet would be over US airspace, and Sam would have this situation rectified.
He surveyed the carnage left in the wake of the blast and the men swarming over the scene. His orders were being followed precisely. Fear was an excellent motivator after all, and fear, not loyalty, kept these men in line.
“Davis,” Sam called out to the skinny kid carting around a bucket of previously used body parts.
“Sir?”
“You missed a foot over there by that tree.” Hands in his pockets, he indicated the AWOL appendage with a thrust of his chin.
“Yes, sir.” Davis Nader’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed audibly, and if Sam could have spared the kid the trauma by sending him back inside the lodge, he would have. Unfortunately, he couldn’t take the risk. Not unless he wanted to single the teenager out and make him look weak in front of the others.
Worse than rabid dogs, this pack wouldn’t hesitate to pounce. Police rejects, military rejects, life rejects. All of them jonesing to kill people and blow shit up. Just like the video games they played and the action films that gave them wet dreams. Sam hated them all.
And he was right where he wanted to be.
When Grant Kincaid came to,the woman was gone. He didn’t need to open his eyes to confirm it. He didn’t need to open them to know darkness had descended either. The forest at night had its own sounds, and they surrounded him now.
The gentle patter of rain on metal soothed, the familiar drumming reminiscent of nights spent sleeping under his grandparents’ tin roof. Safety and security in a loving home. What more could an abandoned kid ask for?
With a moan, he settled his noggin against the headrest and trailed his fingers over his face. Crusted over and sealed shut with a fuckload of blood, his left eye throbbed in its socket. Further investigation revealed a wide gash competing for space with his eyebrow.
His own damn fault.
“Safety first,” as his grandmother used to say.
Jesus, she’d have boxed his ears if she were alive today.
Grant tested his lungs and inhaled deep. Pain sparked along a couple of cracked ribs. The rest of his survey didn’t produce anything more than a bunch of sore muscles and scrambled eggs for brains.
Since he was conscious, he’d be willing to bet he didn’t have any subdural brain bleeds. Although, a whopper of a headache indicated he had a bitch of a concussion. Not the first time he’d bumped his head, probably wouldn’t be the last.
Not to mention, it could’ve been worse.
