"Still looking. One of you guys wanna call Eagle-eye? Bet he'd be real interested to know where we are right now." I keep scanning for signs of our girl.
Piston pulls out his phone. "On it."
"There's someone moving in a window on the top floor. To the right." Zero's eyesight is good enough that he basically has his own fucking binoculars.
I follow his directions, and while they're obscured my more of the damn curtains, I swear those curves look fucking familiar. "That might be her."
"Might be? You're the guy with the fucking binoculars."
"I'm ninety percent sure that I've gripped those hips without clothes on. But the curtains are just thick enough that I can't be certain. Here." I pass the binoculars over. Maybe he'll see something I don't. Piston glares at being skipped over, but he's still on the line with Eagle-eye.
Only takes Zero a moment before he nods. "I think you’re right. Should we try to call her?"
“No. Not without knowing who has the phone. If they were stupid enough to leave it with her, then we should wait for her to contact us when it’s safe. If we call, we might just be letting them know about it.”
He nods.
"Got it. We'll be waiting." Piston taps his phone and looks back at us. "Spike’s lost a lot of blood but Doc got him stable, and Eagle-eye's getting all the able troops together. I think our luck is about to turn around. Trying to take our territory is one thing. That's just business. The ambush just made this shit personal. You guys found something?"
Zero hands him the binoculars and points. Piston nods.
"Looks like her to me. I wanna go in guns blazing and get her the fuck outta there right now, but it’s safer to wait on reinforcements. Have to admit I'm finding it real hard." He cracks his knuckles, cupping his fist with the opposite hand, and then the reverse, before loosening his neck.
"She looks safe for now. We can keep an eye on her." Zero's voice is tight with tension. Having her in sight, and not charging right the fuck in there feels fundamentally wrong.
"But if that changes, then we reassess, right?"
There's movement by Sandra. A man's shape. She moves away fast, but he grabs her and throws her into the wall.
“Motherfucker!”
"What's he doing?" Piston squints.
"Just attacked," Zero growls.
In some ways, that makes me happy. Whoever that fucker is, he just gave us reason to go in there now, instead of waiting. We can't risk Sandra's life just to kill Kozlov. At least that's a good enough argument for me, and honestly, if I ask Eagle-eye what he would do if that was Miriam or Faith that he saw in the window like that, with some asshole manhandling her, I think he'll call it fair.
"Boys, we're going in. That fucker is dead, whether he knows it or not."
36
SANDRA
"Let go of me!"I tug as hard as I can to escape Frank's grip, but it's like trying to break iron. So I try to kick him in the knee instead. "Don't touch me!"
He laughs and shoves me hard. My shoulder slams into the wall and I crumple. Right now I wish I was built like Beast. Even a big man like Frank would be pulp by the time I was done with him. I kick again.
"Jesus Christ, girl. Get the fuck up. We got a date with Kozlov." He yanks me to my feet, and then he keeps us going, pulling me along so I never get a chance to get my balance back. "Just fucking walk with me, and we'll have you back in the bedroom before you fucking know it."
If it were up to me, neither, please. I just want to get out of here. But maybe I can learn something that will help. Anything that could possibly give me an opportunity to get out of here.
The sitting room Frank pulls me into is understated and still opulent. This room has dark polished wood floors with huge windows and custom book shelves that follow the slightcurvature of the wall. The Persian rug is large with bold colors, the chairs and couch are leather, and there's pretty vases on display, thick with flowers. At the back is a large fireplace with a marble mantel, but it's not lit.
Kozlov looks positively casual, after the fancy outfit at the gala. Seated in one of the leather chairs and looking out through the gap between the curtains, he's wearing jeans and a simple gray T-shirt under a creamy beige collared shirt. Red liquid makes waves as he swirls his wine glass with a practiced motion.
Frank half throws me onto the couch, then takes up position by the door with his arms crossed over his chest. I'm not sure if he's guarding me for, or from, Kozlov.
"The Eagles took out a lot of my men today." He says it casually, but there's the tension of barely contained fury beneath it.
