I stopped. Listened. My pulse slammed behind my eyes.
Then—
A scream.
High-pitched and raw.
¡Agárrala! ¡Agárrala ya, cabrón!
The shouting in Spanish continued, and then there was an unmistakable thud of bodies colliding. A table flipped. Something shattered.
“Lyla!” I was already running. “Henri, move!” I barked. “Rory, Julian, Lucian—surround the outer perimeter now! Delgado’s men have breached the building!”
Static popped. Everyone responded.
Except Lucian.
“Lucian, report.”
Nothing.
“Lucian—where the fuck are you?”
Still nothing.
Shit.
I sprinted down a side hallway and spotted a door cracked open, light spilling across the floor. Lyla’s scream rang out again. I kicked the door fully open just in time to see her being dragged backward toward an exit by two of Delgado’s men.
She fought like a fucking wildcat.
Kicking, scratching, slamming her elbows back into ribs and throats. Her bare foot caught one of them square in the gut, and he stumbled, cursing.
She grabbed the frame of the door, fingers white and bloodless with strain.
“Let go of me! Get off—GET OFF ME!”
The first man ripped her away from the door and dragged her outside.
I was through the door in a flash and gaining on them.
They were headed toward a waiting black SUV.
I raised my Glock and fired.
The round hit the first man in the back of the head. His body dropped like a sack of potatoes—limp, silent.
The second man threw Lyla over his shoulder and ran forward just as the back door of the SUV was flung open. Multiple hands grabbed her. She screamed—writhing, kicking, twisting, clawing at the door.
I charged forward.
Another shot rang out. This time from inside the SUV.
The bullet glanced off the hair on the top of my head. I ducked, rolling behind a rusted trash bin as the vehicle screeched away, Lyla vanishing behind tinted windows.
One of Delgado’s men was still standing on the sidewalk.
I swung around and aimed for his knees.
