“Drop your fucking weapons!”
Metal clattered.
One gun. Then another.
“On the ground! Hands behind your head!”
The remaining kidnappers complied quickly, blinking through disorientation. The SRT members moved with practiced precision, kicking weapons away, securing wrists, and forcing bodies flat.
Brian didn’t spare them anotherglance.
His focus was locked on Tess.
She lay on her side near the west wall, the hood still covering her head, wrists bound behind her, and ankles tied. Despite her eyes being shielded from the flash of bright light, she was still hit by the concussive blast. Her breathing was rapid and shallow as she wrestled with her restraints, trying to escape.
She had no idea what had just happened.
No idea who was in the room.
No idea if the gunshot had come from them—or from someone trying to kill her.
Brian crossed the space in three strides, holstered his weapon, and dropped to a knee beside her. He reached for the hood covering her face, desperate to get it off her but knowing he had to be mindful of any injuries.
“Tess, baby. It’s me. Are you all right? Tess?”
“Better hope your brother did what he was told to do, bitch.” The voice of the man Andy had called “Diego” came from somewhere nearby. Too close.
Tess flinched, the words slicing through her already frayed nerves. She swallowed hard, praying Andy had gotten a hold of Brian, who would know what to do.
Footsteps moved away from her. Slow. Unhurried.Confident.
She strained against the zip ties at her wrists, the plastic still biting into raw skin. They hurt like hell, and blood dripped onto her fingertips. Her ankles were numb from being bound too long. Her body ached, and every small movement made it ten times worse.
“Time’s up, Bing. Is it done?”
He was on the phone.
Her pulse spiked. She couldn’t hear Andy—only Diego’s side of the conversation. The silence between his words was worse than anything.
A low growl vibrated from his chest.
“What do you mean you’re still working on it?” he snapped.
Tess’s stomach dropped.
“No, I don’t care how—” Diego cut himself off, breathing hard through his nose. “You stupid piece of shit!”
Panic wormed its way to the forefront of Tess’s brain, her thoughts blurring at the edges. Her lungs felt too small, and dizziness washed over her.
He was angry.
Angry meant unpredictable.
She twisted slightly, trying to orient herself, but the hood stole all direction. Light and dark blurred together through the fabric. The basement air suddenly felt heavier, stale, and suffocating.
“Don’t play with me, Bing,” Diego barked. “You think I won’t?—”
His footsteps came closer again.
