Page 75 of Viper

Havoc opened the rear door. “In the trunk!”

Troy lowered his gun. Pain spread through his neck, a clawing sense of desperation that threatened to hurl whatever food was in his stomach onto the pavement. “Where is she?” he bellowed, turning in a circle to face his friends.

The trunk beeped as Havoc lifted the hatch.

Viper raced around to where the guys stood. Striker lay crunched on his side with a gag in his mouth and sweat dripping off his red face. The second their eyes met, Striker thrashed ferociously.

“Hang on, man,” Havoc said, leaning in with his knife. He cut the zip tie holding his wrists together, then went for the rope around his ankles and sawed that off, too.

Striker shook his wrists, then pulled the gag from his mouth. His wild, terror-soaked eyes landed on Troy. “He fucking took her, man. The cop.”

He leaped out of the trunk and paced, raking his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “That fuck. I can’t believe he got me.”

Troy caught Striker’s shoulder and held firm, bringing his face close to his friend’s. Torment creased the corners of Striker’s eyes—and fear simmered beneath the surface.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Striker shook his head. “He said he was going to arrest me. I fucking knew something was wrong. I punched the bastard—would’ve shot him if my gun wasn’t in the SUV—and ran to get Paige back in the vehicle. Then he got me with a stun gun right in the back.”

Rage blurred Troy’s vision. It was bad enough Paige had been taken, but for that bastard to use a cop to help him? That was something else entirely.

“I shouldn’t have gotten out of the car. Shouldn’t have pulled over.”

Troy had never heard so much regret in his friend’s voice.

“Don’t blame yourself. There was no way to know that cop was connected to Craig. Hell, if you’d fled, your luck and you would’ve been charged with evading an officer.”

Striker shook off Troy’s hand. “No. I fucked up. We have to get her back, man.”

Troy clapped his friend on the cheek. “We will. And both of them will pay in fucking blood.”

Striker’s lip curled. “You’re damn right. Now who the fuck is Vokle to Craig?”

“We’ll fill you in. Get in the truck.” He took in his friend’s weary face. “There’s water in the back.”

Striker nodded and moved quickly toward the vehicle, his sweat-drenched shirt sticking to his skin.

Sickness sat in Troy’s stomach like an undigested meal. He followed the guys to the truck keeping one mantra on repeat.

Craig and Spencer will die painful deaths.

By his fucking hands.

Paige inhaled and exhaled through her nose. The thick black sack on her head made it impossible to see where she was going. Tears stung her eyes.

Seeing Atlas drop to the ground had immobilized her. Paralyzed her to the core. Never had she witnessed her brother so helpless.

She’d tried to run toward the beach, but the cop had tackled her and zip-tied her hands behind her back. Then he’d thrown her in the trunk of his cruiser, secured a handkerchief between her lips and then tied it around her head, and put the sack over her. He’d driven for about ten minutes, then transferred her to a different vehicle. She had no idea if he’d passed her off to someone else or if he was just driving a different car. Not that it mattered.

Atlas.

Her heart ached for her brother. She couldn’t even demand to know if he was okay. Couldn’t do anything but thrash and let out muffled screams. Neither helped matters. In fact, they only worsened her situation.

Her breath wheezed through her nose. It was getting harder and harder to get oxygen into the sack.

If he didn’t let her out soon, she’d suffocate—or at the very least pass out. Her heart pounded like the hooves of a racehorse.

Terror sat on her tongue like a layer of pine needles. Swallowing didn’t help when she couldn’t get enough saliva.