Two guards rushed forward from the kitchen. Bullets clapped. Atlas ducked and aimed at the shooter’s chest, taking him out. Viper’s shot got the guy’s friend in the head.
“Spread out. Find Molly.”
Viper went left through the kitchen and Atlas made his way toward the living room. Beachy furniture sat in front of a TV. A sliding door faced the side of the house. He skirted around the couch and entered a hallway with three doors, two of which were closed. The one on his right nearest him hung ajar, revealing a bathroom sink.
“Molly!” he bellowed.
No movement. Anxiety twisted his gut as he panned his gun from one door ahead of him to the other.
Atlas stepped toward the door on his left and tried the handle. It opened. He flung the door wide and barreled inside, sweeping his gun around the room.
A king-sized four-poster bed took up the center of the space. On it was a figure curled into a ball. Molly.
His breath stopped.
He ran to the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder. Cool skin touched his palm. No, not cool. Cold.
Too cold.
“Molly,” he breathed, bringing his fingers to her neck. No pulse.
No, no, no.
Devastation threatened to bring him to his knees. He was too late— No, he wouldn’t accept that. Couldn’t let her die. He urged her onto her back. Dark hair spilled onto the white pillowcase and he froze. He studied the unfamiliar face. Not Molly.
He expelled a pent-up breath. Sadness for the naked young woman crushed his shoulders. He backed away, his hands shaking.
She wasn’t Molly—which meant Molly was here somewhere. Had to be. He stormed across the room.
Viper came from the living room as Atlas stepped into the hall.
“A woman’s in there—dead.”
Viper’s face contorted, and he sent a fleeting gaze toward the open door, then nodded at the door that was still closed.
Atlas brought his fingers to the cool metal. Locked. “Molly!”
She was in there. Christ, he needed her to be.
Still alive.
Please, God, let her still be alive.
He threw his shoulder against the door. Wood splintered and he tumbled into the room, aiming the weapon.
His gaze locked on two figures standing on the other side of the bed. A lamp illuminated the room’s pink walls, silky sheets, and white marble floor.
Molly stood in front of Willy as a human shield. Her blond hair damp and tangled around her shoulders. Dark circles underscored her eyes and bruises marred her pretty face. Her clothes were soaked, torn, and dirty.
Her terrified eyes landed on him. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she stared at him in disbelief. As if she wanted to believe he was there but couldn’t.
Willy’s hand tightened on her shoulder. A knife hovered at her jugular. “Go on, take one more step so I can open her throat.”
A cold whoosh of calm swept over his heated skin. Molly was alive. The rest was in his hands. And he wouldn’t let her go.
Not this time.
Chapter
