“You stupid fucks. You shot my brother,” a gruff voice shouts from inside.
Filing in, we see a man standing and one lying on the floor, a gunshot wound to his shoulder.
“We’re the stupid fucks, but your brother was shoot-.” A shot rings out, cutting off Erik’s rebuttal.
The man that was standing there is now dead, lying in a heap next to his brother, who is still clutching his shoulder.
Erik turns to see who fired the shot, only to see Sebastian fire three more rounds into both men.
“We don’t have time for useless banter. If you want to talk it out, find a therapist. Let’s move to the next floor,” Sebastian orders as he exits the room, waiting for us to follow.
“Where the fuck is she? She has to be here,” Lev snaps.
It’s an outburst I’m not expecting from him, but one I should’ve seen coming. This has to feel like seven years ago all over again.
Moving to his side as we make our way out of the room, I lean over and whisper in his ear, “It’s not your fault. We’ll find her because of you.”
His masked face is unable to hide the dejection in his eyes— he’s wrecked, and if we don’t get our girl home soon, I’m not sure what state he’ll be in.
Knocking his shoulder with mine to snap him out of it, I say, “Let’s go get her, Lev.”
12
LEV
There is silence when we enter the bottom level. It’s eerily quiet.
All of the teams have been met with resistance. Peering around, I look at the guys and see they’ve all had their share of close-quarter combat.
Wyatt’s exposed face, splattered with blood, the sleeves of Sebastian’s shirt torn, exposing some of his hidden ink, Owen’s vest covered in blood— his kills are always the bloodiest– and Wes is missing gloves, his knuckles bruised and split from where he broke a man’s jaw with one blow to the face.
We slowly make our way down the hall and are met with no resistance. I’d think this was a trap if it weren’t for the trail of dead bodies lining the floor, blood splattered across the white walls like a Jackson Pollock.
I turn back to confirm the guys are seeing havoc before us. Body parts are everywhere. Whoever did this was like a rabid animal. Jagged pieces of flesh are strewn in the path before me. Someone has hacked these people to pieces. An arm hangs from a black rollout office chair, blood spurts from a vein that doesn’t recognize its job is done. A head lies adjacent to it on the floor, vacated mahogany eyes stare in shock— frozen forever at the sight of their killer.It’s a fucking masterpiece.The rage displayed in each kill, the skill someone would have to possess to chop a man’s head clear off.
“What or who the fuck did this?” Sebastian murmurs. When I turn, I see the smirk I knew I heard in his question painted on his face. He’s impressed. I am too.
“Whoever it is, better not have touched my angel, or I’ll skin them alive with a hot fireplace poker before I rip off his dick and fuck him in his ear with it,” Owen snaps, reminding us that this person could very well be a foe and not a friend.
With that thought put in the atmosphere, we ready our weapons, guns drawn, as we make our way through the halls.
A groan comes from my right. A man is pulling himself across the floor with his forearms. I contemplate for one moment— end his miserable life quickly or slow suffering? The choice is easy.
Walking until I’m standing over his slowly moving form, I raise my gun, firing a bullet in each arm. He cries out in pain, “Please.”
“Why do you fucks always beg in the end?” I ask before I put a bullet through the back of his skull.
I was going for slow, but then he annoyed me with his begging.
“Enough playing. Let’s go,” Thomas instructs.
Nodding, I rejoin the group as we continue to step over limbs and walk around pools of blood. We’re at a fork in the hallway when I hear something.
“Holy shit!” A scream comes from down the hall, and I instantly know it’s her. I’d recognize the voice that’s been playing on repeat since our last conversation. The one that I hope will forgive me for my follies.
I don’t think. I just run in the direction of her voice. My legs can’t move fast enough. Even the added weight of the tactical gear isn’t slowing me down. I hear her again, my heart pounds with the spike of adrenaline shooting through my system.
“Fuck. Fuck. Dad, is that really you?” Ariah’s voice is more pronounced with each pounding step I make. Remembering that I’m not sure what or who is down the hall, I slow my approach and breathing to ensure I can hear everything.
