“Sapier’s running for the kitchen,” an unfamiliar voice says. “Whiskey, hurry the fuck up. Golf’s about to be in over his head.”
“Where. Is. Natasha?”
Raelynn tries to pull me down behind one of the long tables. I shake her off. “No fucking way. I’m going after her. That asswipe doesn’t get to take her from me again.”
“You’re bleedin’.”
“Of course, I’m bleeding. He stabbed me with a shiv. Do you think I care? Give me a fucking gun.”
Raelynn passes me a Glock. “I’m on your six, Doc. All the way. Tango, you have eyes on the package?”
Tango. Trevor.
“There’s an access panel behind the dryers. Leads to a service tunnel used for maintenance. It runs all the way to the kitchens. Eventually. He dragged her in there. But Doc? She wasn’t moving. And the signal from her comms unit is dead. She can’t hear us.”
Fuck. My ass hits the ground. Did we get this far only to lose now? The laundry looks like a slaughterhouse. Collins, Sutton, Doherty, Bowen. They’re all dead. Outside the door, two other guards lie prone. Blood glistens on Raelynn’s cheek. Down her arm. Splatters her shoes.
“Get a move on, Doc. Sittin’ here ain’t doin’ us a lick of good.”
Raelynn shoves a laundry cart aside to find the access panel next to the last dryer. Along with Natasha’s crushed earbud.
Blood smears the wall. It’s a tight fit, and my shoulders ache as I maneuver myself through the opening. I can barely stand up straight inside.
“I fuckin’ hate confined spaces,” Raelynn mutters. “At least it ain’t dark.”
If anything, it’s like the surface of the sun in here. Fluorescent lights run along the ceiling, so close to my eyes the brightnesshurts. All those hours in a dark bathroom didn’t help.
Natasha whimpers from up ahead. The sound bounces off the concrete walls and the metal dryer housings. “Please…I can’t… Let me…go.”
“You’re my fucking insurance policy, bitch,” Bastian snaps. “Move!”
Her choked cry is too much for me to bear. I take off at a run, ducking every few feet so I don’t bash my head on the lights. At the corner, I skid to a stop, then risk a quick glance.
They’re thirty feet ahead of us. Natasha stumbles, crashing to the ground despite Bastian’s iron grip on her arm. He almost goes down too, but at the last second, slams her back into the wall. “You’retryingto slow us down!”
“Just…figured that…out?” she manages. Her hand slips into her pocket. This is my chance. I take the corner, pistol aimed at that fucker’s head. But before I can fire, Natasha punches him in the face.
He roars, hauls her against him, and presses the knife to her throat.
Fuck. I don’t have a shot.
“Stop right there, Reynolds. Or I end her.”
“Keep him talkin’,” Raelynn whispers from around the corner. “Graham is comin’ from the kitchen. Two minutes.”
Natasha doesn’t have two minutes. Not with the look in that bastard’s eyes.
Blood wells around the edge of the blade. He’s only a fraction of an inch from her carotid. A bright red goose egg swells on her forehead. Blood drips from her nose.
I raise my hands, the Glock pointed at the ceiling. “There’s no way out for you. Let her go, and you’ll live.”
Bastian shakes his head. He’s pinned one of Natasha’s arms to her body. Her free hand claws at his wrist, desperately trying to pull the knife away.
She swallows, and more blood drips down her neck. Pain tightens her lips.
“Drop the gun,” he orders. “And turn around.”
I don’t have a choice. Slowly, I set the pistol on the concrete.
