Bryson took one final look at the ornate ceiling before he was consumed in blackness.
CHAPTER 10
LOCATION UNKNOWN
The crackling of the fireplace greeted Bryson as the room swam back into focus.
He wasn’t dead.
Each breath sent shards of pain through his chest where the tube protruded between his ribs. He moved carefully, wincing as the plastic pulled against the raw flesh. Regan lay there, dead on the floor just a few feet from him, hand outstretched like he was trying to touch Bryson.
Through waves of throbbing pain, Bryson listened at the door, but heard nothing suggesting reinforcements were on the way. Regan’s arrogance had likely convinced him he needed no backup.
Outside the room, Bryson gritted his teeth against the stabbing sensation in his side and took down the first guard. The man never expected a naked, wounded prisoner to come barreling at him, chest tube swinging.
Armed now, Bryson fought through the burning in his lungs to eliminate two more guards.
Each movement sent fresh agony through his torso. Jaw clenched, Bryson aimed around the corner and shot thebasement guard. Blood seeped around his chest as he staggered to the room holding Kaydon and Seth.
When the door swung open, their faces shifted from apprehension to relief and back to fear. Bryson leaned against the doorframe, breathing shallowly.
“Adria’s in trouble,” he managed, holding out his gun to Seth and tossing Kaydon the keys.
In a few moments Kaydon was there, throwing an arm under his legs and picking him up, holding Bryson against his chest.
The three of them left the room in as much of a formation as they could muster.
Gunshots cracked through the air, and Bryson’s body jerked against Kaydon’s chest. Three shots. Four. Five. Seth’s footsteps pounded down a distant hallway.
“House is almost clear,” Kaydon murmured, shifting Bryson’s weight as Seth pressed a Glock into Kaydon’s waiting palm. “Barely any guards.”
Bryson’s heart hammered against his damaged ribs. The chest tube swung with each labored breath. If Regan’s security team was this thin, those men had to be somewhere.
With Jonathan.
Where Adria was headed.
The last gunshot echoed into silence. Kaydon lowered him against silk-patterned wallpaper, the fibers rough against Bryson’s bare shoulder blades.
“Adria—” he wheezed. “She is headed into a trap.”
Seth pressed something cold and damp against his forehead.
Bryson’s palms scraped against the floor as he tried to push himself up. Kaydon’s hands, calloused and firm, pinned his shoulders in place.
“Brother, you’ve got a fucking tube sticking out of your chest.”
The room tilted sideways. Bryson’s eyelids fluttered.
“I’ll find something,” Bryson heard Seth say.
Footsteps faded down the hall. Bryson’s mind drifted to Adria, but Regan’s face kept invading his mind. Tensing, Bryson willed the image to change.
His breath was coming and going in ragged, sharp movements. Regan’s face changed to the bloody mess Bryson had left on the floor and he felt himself smile.
He was fucking dead.
Seth’s fingers brought him back into the hallway. He probed gently around the chest tube. Pain mixing with a feeling of safety. Bryson knew he was in excellent hands. Seth actually paid attention in their combat medical training classes.
