He shrugs. “The boss really hoped he wouldn’t have to do it. Trust me, he won’t enjoy it.” He leans back in his chair and spreads his legs wider. “But I will, Your Highness!”
The other three goons around us burst out in laughter, assuring me they’ll enjoy it, too. Every delicious moment of it.
Good thing they can’t see my hands!They’re shaking uncontrollably behind my back now.
To distract myself, I refocus on the screen.
In the other room, Kurt hisses at Henri, “You’ll regret this!”
Henri doesn’t respond.
Kurt turns away from him in a swift motion. “We’ll find the key, one way or another, and then we’ll burn this place down with the lot of you inside. It’ll be a very tragic accident.”
He glances straight into the camera and mouths, “Cut.”
The streaming stops, and the thug next to me turns off his tablet. I’m hoping he’ll stand up to stretch his legs or at least move his chair back to where it was and away from mine, but he does neither of those things.
Instead, he leers at me. “Now we wait for the boss to say ‘Go!’”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The mercenary’s chilling words are still echoing in my head when chaos erupts. Wood splinters, glass cracks. Shards, big and small, rain down. Windows shatter. The door crashes open with a thunderous boom. Black-clad figures burst in through both the door and the windows. As they swarm into the room, I recognize their uniforms.
It’s the MESS Intervention Unit! Our people!
Within seconds, the space around me is a whirlwind of violence. Fists fly and collide with flesh. Bodies clash, grapple, twist, and slam against walls. Men grunt with effort and groan in pain. An occasional curse is heard here and there. Amid the melee, nasty-looking knives flash in the dim light. They slash through the air, their sharp edges glinting.
But it’s not just knives. One of Kurt’s men wields a set of nunchucks, spinning them with an almost artistic skill. Another brandishes a curved blade resembling a claw. He moves with feral grace using the weapon as an extension of his hand.
I let out a delighted squeal when one of our special agents expertly twists the blade from the other man’s grip and pins Kurt’s private soldier to the ground. The agent glances and me,and I recognize him through his mask. It’s Elias, chief of the Intervention Unit. There’s deep concern in his gaze.
Why? Take heart, Elias, we’re winning!
He can be proud of his men. They’re a blur of precise, lethal movements, their training evident in every ruthless strike. Kurt’s mercenaries, despite their skills and fancy weapons, scramble to defend themselves. They try to regroup and find some footing in the onslaught, but they’re at a clear disadvantage. They were caught off guard, and they’re outmatched.
Elias’s squad are almost done cutting through Kurt’s men, when four more mercenaries burst in.
Still, even with this reinforcement, they’re fighting a losing battle. As I watch, their desperate ferocity elicits a measure of reluctant respect. But not compassion. I have none for them, just as they showed none to Henri and me. Every unforgiving punch, kick, and block from the MESS agents is delivered with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, honed to perfection and unrelenting. It fills my heart with joy, and I’m thrilled every time one of Kurt’s men falls. I’ve counted three possibly dead and a bunch of badly injured.
The brutal fight rages on. Groans and shouts echo in the cramped space. Soon, the balance of power shifts decisively. Despite all their fierceness and desperation, Kurt’s men are subdued one by one.
I’m so thrilled I’d clap my hands if they weren’t bound.
What tipped Elias off that I’m in trouble?I wonder.Neither Audrey nor I had been able to alert them in time… The question whirls in my mind but it’s secondary. They’re here and that’s what matters.
It’s only at that precise moment that I feel the cold press of metal against my throat. Someone’s holding a large knife to my skin.
How long has he been at this?Is that why Elias looked worried a few minutes ago? In my exhilaration and focusing on the fight, I’d forgotten to pay attention to my immediate surroundings.
I shoot the man a sidelong glance. It’s the tablet guy—the smart aleck! He’s sweating profusely. His body is tense, ready to react. Panic surges inside me, but I force myself to stay still, aware that any sudden action could result in the slashing of my carotid artery.
“Nobody moves!” he yells. “I’m prepared to kill her, I swear!”
The room freezes, but for the moans of the wounded.
Elias steps forward, his gaze locked on the knife at my throat. “Let her go.”
“Sure thing,” the man sneers.
