At least we’re in agreement that she’s conniving enough to get herself kidnapped. I’m just not sure she's at the mastermind level to plan all of this, though. After the bullshit she pulled with Lev’s attempted kidnapping and Owen’s actually being taken. She was the reason they were outside in the first place.
“Focus! We can discuss the probability of Miss Davenport’s involvement at a later time. Right now, our goal is to bring them both home,” Thomas commands from the front of the armored truck.
The stubborn man refused to stay behind. He’s not one hundred percent, but even at a diminished capacity, he’s worth five of Erik, so he’ll be more than fine.
“You make sure you don’t go getting shot again. Ariah will kill us if anything happens to you on our watch,” Owen half jokes.
“I’ll be fine. Let’s bring Miss Bishop home,” Thomas replies but reaches to adjust his bulletproof vest to cover the area he was shot. Whether it’s consciously or subconsciously being done, I’m not sure.
Needing a minute to refocus, I turn and peer out the window, watching as Edgewood blurs into Lincolnville. My mind replaying the information Mr. Edgewood shared after discovering Lydia’s doppelgänger.
“Ariah was brought to Edgewood for a purpose. One I can’t divulge. Just know she’s important, and we must get her home before it’s too late.”
His words are more ominous than they are helpful, leaving me to have more questions than answers. I already know she’s important, though I’m sure his reasons for wanting her back are vastly different from mine.
“We’re here,” Thomas’s voice breaks me from my wandering mind. All distractions are cast aside until the beat of my heart resyncs with hers—Riri comes home now.
11
OWEN
The truck stops outside LockCore Inc., and I pull down my balaclava, the white skulled bones etched into its fabric.
The guys do the same, their guns rechecked, ready to wreak havoc. I pull out my latest toys— Thelma and Louise. Guns work, but the blade is so much more thrilling. The machete and dagger are the perfect combination for the level of hell I plan to unleash in this building.
“Did you even bring a gun, you idiot?” Wes asks, jumping from the back of the truck. His masked face matches my own.
“Of course I did,” I turn my hip so he can see the FNX-45 Tactical. “You know how much I enjoy making it personal, and this is as personal as it gets.”
Straightening, I put my blades away and double-check my gun— the magazine full and the safety off. With the built-in suppressor, we can light this building up like Christmas.
“Okay, two-person team entries, watch your partner’s six. Gamma and Sigma have cleared the entryway and are making their way to the upper levels. Beta and Delta will enter the lower levels first, and Alpha will follow. Remember why we’re here. Let’s get these girls home,” Thomas directs, and the teams file out.
Just as we walk toward the entrance, a man in a black suit runs out of the door, gun drawn, preparing to fire, but before he can lift the barrel of his weapon, there’s a hole between his eyes. His body drops to the ground.
I peer over my shoulder, trying to find where the sniper is.
“You won’t be able to see him from here. Eyes front— head on a swivel,” Sebastian orders.
As soon as we enter the building gunfire is heard, but no one breaks formation. Thomas and Erik are in front, Wyatt and I in the rear.
We walk down the main floor hallway, heading for the stairs. Thomas aims his gun up then down, surveying the stairwell, “Clear.”
Once we hit the bottom landing the door to the lower level entrance is already open, Beta and Delta having cleared the way initially. But once we step onto the floor, chaos ensues.
Our team is in combinations of shootouts or hand-to-hand combat.
Wes takes out two men before Thomas utters, “Stay safe and stay focused. Let’s get to the rooms so we can start our search.”
We pick off people but don’t stop our forward progress. The teams have it under control.
I sense movement as we’re about to enter the first room. Snatching my push dagger, I wheel around and upper-cut the man rushing from my left flank—nailing him under his chin. Surprise lights his eyes as blood pools in his mouth. Grabbing my machete, I slice through his carotid artery and rip my dagger from his chin, letting him drop to the floor before I stomp on his skull.
As his body hit the ground with a thump, I wonder if people think, ‘This is it. This will be the one bad decision that causes my death.’ Do they ponder the moment that caused the domino effect that brought about their end? If they don’t, they should.
“You stupid fucks chose the wrong girl,” I shout, stepping over the asshole’s body.
“She’s not in here,” Lev shouts.
