“You always were smart under pressure.” He smiles. “C’mon.”
I climb the ladder as fast as I can with Theo keeping pace behind me. When we reach the top, I settle into position on my knees with the gun on my shoulder. Using the scope, I home in on the guys and get ready. With a steady hand, I take out their opponents, one at a time.
They startle, looking around, no doubt wondering what the fuck is going on, and I see the moment Saint notices me, his eyes squinting in this direction.
Theo whistles. “Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Obviously.” He clears his throat, and I resume scanning the field, looking for more targets.
I locate Sinner, slashing at a guy with a machete, and I’m sorely tempted to kill him. He wouldn’t even see it coming.
“You can’t go there,” Theo softly says. “I understand the temptation, but it’ll only bring a world of hurt down on you and your mom. He’s not just the president of the Prestwick and Lowell chapters. He’s president of the entire organization. You kill him and you sign your own death warrant. Don’t give him that.”
I hate that he’s right. I’m no martyr. Acting in a reckless manner would go against everything Dad tried to achieve. He wanted me to know how to protect myself, and he fought to try to give me back my life. Killing Sinner, and thereby sentencing me and Mom to death, will mean he died in vain. I won’t dishonor his memory in that way, so, while it’s hard to train the gun in another direction, I do.
Theo sighs in relief, squeezing my free shoulder in a show of support. “Don’t go for the obvious targets,” he suggests, keeping watch behind me. “No gang leaders because you’re already in enough shit. Just take out a few more randoms. They’ll run off scared.”
I do as he says, and it’s not long before the enemy disperses, afraid of being taken out by sniper fire.
When we’re sure it’s safe, when all the enemy vehicles are gone, we climb down and head around the front of the building to rendezvous with the others.
Saint runs toward us the instant he sees me with Caz following at his heels. I scan them from head to toe, checking for injuries, but apart from a gash on Caz’s arm and a few bruises and cuts on both their faces, they are fine. Caz’s injury, although bloody, seems shallow and not life threatening although he’ll probably need a few stitches.
“Where’s Galen?” Theo asks.
Saint shrugs, gripping my arm. “Get her out of here now,” he barks. “Quick, before—”
“There you are, Harlow,” Sinner says, materializing behind Saint like a creepy monster crawling out of the shadows. He walks around his son to me, sliding his arm around my shoulders. The vein in Saint’s neck visibly pulses, but otherwise, he looks perfectly composed. “We need to have a little chat.” Sinner squeezes my shoulder in a bone-crushing embrace. “Follow me.”
We walk silently behind Sinner as he enters the warehouse and stalks across the room, barely pausing to survey the devastation around him. The surviving men are cleaning up the mess. Piling dead bodies in a truck and storing blood-soaked weapons in boxes. A makeshift first aid area has been set up at the back of the space, and a few women tend to men with injuries. I’ve no idea where they came from or who they are, but I’m assuming they are girlfriends or wives or trusted associates.
Theo’s fingers fly across the keypad of his cell as he messages someone. Caz cracks his knuckles, a scowl marring his handsome face. Saint places his hand on my lower back as we walk toward the door that leads to the basement. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he whispers, stepping back as Sinner glances over his shoulder, stabbing Saint with a poisonous look.
I’m remarkably calm as I’m led downstairs to what I’m guessing is their main interrogation room. The floor is gross with evidence of dried blood and other DNA staining the concrete despite the drains on either side which I presume are used to wash away confirmation of their crimes. It seems they’ve used this room recently and haven’t had the time to properly clean up yet.
I gag over the noxious smell, almost puking. It’s a mix of stale piss, coppery blood, vomit, sweat, tobacco smoke, fear, and regret. I don’t make a sound as I’m shoved into the only chair in the middle of the space. Not even when my sneakers land in a puddle at my feet. I’m guessing it’s either piss or blood, and I’m doubting anything good happened to the previous person in this chair.
A silver table, the type you see in a hospital or a morgue, rests off to one side. Saint, Caz, and Theo stand just off to the left, working hard to mask their concern, while Sinner and three men I’ve never met before stand directly in front of me. One of them, a scary dude with a shaved head and tattoos halfway up his face, secures my arms and legs to the chair.
“That was a very impressive display out there,” Sinner says, a brief flash of admiration appearing on his face. “I underestimated how well that bastard Trey prepared you.”
I hold my chin up, grinding my teeth to the molars, saying nothing even though I want to rage at him for speaking about my father like that. But I won’t give him the satisfaction, and it’s a known fact Neo Lennox will never say a good word about Trey Westbrook.
A fourth unfamiliar man enters the room, carrying another chair. He sets it down, and Sinner straddles it so he’s facing me, grinning maliciously like the crazy, evil fucker he is.
“Tell me,princess.” He smirks, knowing he’s riling up the guys. “When did you figure it out?”
“Figure what out?”
He slaps me across the face, and my head whips back, my cheek stinging from the impact. Saint takes a step forward, and I shoot him a warning with my eyes. Caz tugs him back as Sinner looks at his son with obvious displeasure.
Neo refocuses on me. “Let’s try this again.” He cracks his knuckles. “If you lie to me, I will hurt you. Answer me truthfully, and I’ll let you go.”
Yeah, right.As if I believe that.
“When did you figure out we were the ones who kidnapped you?”
