Page 109 of Untamed Sinner

77

HENDRICKS

Harper's voice cuts through the comm, tight and fast. "Signal just crossed onto a fenced property off County Road 9. Looks like an old mill."

"Ashford's?" Jake asks, already turning the wheel.

"Shell company. Buried three levels deep." A pause. "Nope. It’s Turner’s."

“Will that motherfucker never die?” Luke mumbles as he checks the magazine in his pistol, seats it with a slap, and chambers a round.

I lean forward, staring at the dark shape rising out of the trees as we crest the hill. Chain-link fence. Sodium lights buzzing over a loading bay. Two guards visible, moving slow, bored. Not expecting company.

Not yet.

"Guard count?" I ask.

"Two on the exterior that I can see. Could be more inside." Harper's tapping keys somewhere behind me, the sound sharp and rapid. "Cameras are older analog feed. I can loop the one covering the east door for about ninety seconds. Maybe less."

"Make it ninety," Jake says.

From the back seat, Luke cracks his knuckles like he's about to enjoy this far more than he should. "So we're breaking into a haunted lumber mill to steal back Mandy from a guy who probably still thinks kidnapping is a viable business model."

"That's the plan," I say.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool." He picks up his rifle. "Just making sure nobody accidentally came up with a sane plan."

I look down at my hand, the pin digging a groove into my palm. I don’t need sane. I need her back.

78

MANDY

The room is exactly what I’d expect from an abandoned mill owned by a monster.

Concrete floor. Rusted pipes. One naked bulb overhead. A drain in the middle of the floor that I’m choosing not to think too hard about.

No windows.

One door.

And one very large asshole standing between me and it.

He’s apparently the designated torturer. Lucky me.

He’s also my tracking device, since he has—I hope—the comm I slipped into his pocket during the chaos at Ashford’s house.

Assuming it still works.

Assuming Hendricks is tracking it.

Assuming this guy doesn’t decide to go grab a fucking sandwich.

Shifting onto the hard plastic chair he shoved me into, I sigh. There are a lot of assumptions involved in my current survival strategy.

The first punch catches me by surprise.

I turn my head with it, taste blood, and look back at him. What—no foreplay? “That all you’ve got?”