Gambled - A Titan Novella (9 page)

They pointed toward the door, and he clicked them on. The bush was lit up, polka-dotted with white streams of flashlight and the red lasers of the scope sights. The bushes beamed at anyone who exited the side door. It looked like a lot of armed men hid in the bushes with their scopes sighted on the side door.
Good
.

A few seconds later, Brock was by Sarah’s side and shoving a mixture of paper and garbage into a ventilation point. They had only a few seconds before someone saw the lights outside. “You ready?”

She gave a thumbs-up then held out one matchbook, keeping another for herself. Her fingers grazed his knuckles with the exchange. It stopped his heart and reminded him how much was on the line. But she wasn’t staring doe-eyed at him. Her face was concentrated. Focused. God, he loved her.

All right
. Go time. He struck the matches, lit the kindling, and kissed her cheek before running around the corner.

Time ticked by. Each nanosecond an eternity. Sarah was supposed to keep the kindling lit, stuffing more papers in when the burners turned to ash.

Smoke faintly scented the air. It would be overwhelming soon enough with those fast-burn papers, giving off a chemical smell. Brock hit the remote button for the blasting caps. The front door exploded.

Inside, yells and orders to move sounded. With the front door assumed as the breaching point, the traffickers would take defensive action initially. Anyone important would be hustled to the line of waiting cars behind the house, via the closest exit—the side door.

As expected, the side door flew open. Weapons drawn, they fired at the flashlights and scope beams, battling with the bushes. Brock watched for the girl. Watched and waited. No kidnapped girl. Only a semi-guarded man with a flak jacket haphazardly covering his chest was rushed out the door.
Must be their head honcho
. Not his mark, but damn if Brock didn’t want to take the bastard out. But he couldn’t do so without giving away his location.

By now, Sarah should have been safely positioned on the outskirt of the fence, ready to meet him and the teenager. Vehicles peeled down the driveway, deserting the house. Good defensive move on the trafficker’s part, but bad news for his extraction target. Either the teenage girl was sold already, or she hadn’t lived through the initial pickup.

He needed to double-check. Just to be certain. Even if only to report back a grim truth. Brock ducked inside, sweeping his gaze and clearing each room. No girl.

First floor. Done.

He moved fast up the stairs. No telling if the trafficker’s security team had called for reinforcements or planned to drop their boss someplace safe and were regrouping to battle. Brock continued his fast inspection. Last room. He cracked the door.

The girl.

Thank God.

But why had they left her? Probably dead. No blood. No obvious sign of trauma, but she didn’t move.

Her hands were cuffed to one of several metal hooks in the wall. Brock’s stomach turned, knowing that, at one time or another, each hook had had a poor girl tied to it. Heaven help those girls now. But he could help this one. Working fast, he checked her. Faint pulse. Alive.

She was probably drugged. The smoky haze wouldn’t help her case. He tested the ligatures around her wrists. Secure but pickable. With a few tries, he’d unfastened the locks, and her arms hung dead by her side. Brock threw her over his shoulder and ran toward the stairs.

Two steps at a time, the smoke burned his eyes. He rounded toward the side door and saw headlights flying up the driveway. Then another pair of headlights arrived.

Change of plans—he moved to the front door. The girl began to come to. The light kick of her legs turned into a full-scale thrash. She screamed, and he pulled her off his shoulder, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“I’m the good guy.”

He removed his hand, but her disoriented eyes said she didn’t comprehend. Hands back over her mouth, he cradled her and jumped through the remnants of the blasted front door.

Another set of headlights rolled up and parked in the yard. Problematic. They were too close to his exit strategy, but more importantly, they were parked too close to where Sarah was supposed to be.

Holding the girl to his chest, he tried again. “Everything’s okay. Your parents sent me. We’re getting you home.”

He lifted his hand off her mouth, and she stayed quiet. Good, because he needed to check for Sarah. Fear shredded his guts as the vehicle drove into the yard, using its headlights to scan the area. It stopped, highlighting Sarah’s waiting spot.
No
.

Where was she? Sweat poured down his back as Brock searched the perimeter. Two men got out of their car, walking toward—movement caught his peripheral.
Sarah!

She had smartly moved away from the men and the headlights, but also away from an exit.

Brock focused the disoriented teenager’s gaze on him. “We’re moving again.”

He held his rifle outstretched in one arm and picked the girl up, running them both along a wall. Searching voices floated through the night. Sarah didn’t see him coming and gasped as he swooped in, pulling them all behind the protective cover of another hedge line.

Both women leaned against the thick bush, eyeing him. He put a finger to his lips and peered over the top of the bush. Every light in the house was on. The traffickers knew the girl was gone.

Another vehicle pulled up, and two dogs got out, pulling on their leashes and lurching men Brock’s size around like they were playthings.

Brock dropped to his knees. “We have to go.”

Angry, rabid barks howled through the house. No doubt, they were picking up the girl’s scent. He had enough bullets to mow down incoming attacks but had no idea what kind of firepower the enemy housed. If Brock tipped off their location, the traffickers could easily end their night with a grenade launcher.

Sarah nodded, placing a protective arm around the girl. “Ready.”

The determination in his wife’s eyes made him proud, but there wasn’t time for that. The teenager nodded, barely understanding her role in being saved. The dogs and their handlers returned to the backyard. Rough commands and harsh barks were way too close.

Brock moved them behind the hedges, to the fence. A click sounded as the dogs were released. Running. Howling. Barking.

If he could get the girls away, he could take out the dogs and deal with attacks. Sarah put her hands on the wall. Brock leveraged her foot up and her toss over the fence. She crashed loudly on the other side. Next up, the teenager. He did the same move and heard the same sound on the other side, but he also heard Sarah reassuring the rescued girl.

“Go!” He made sure Sarah remembered the plan.

A quick check over his shoulder showed the dogs on him. No time to aim his gun. He palmed the top of the fence and pulled up, kicking one leg—

Goddamn it!

Pain seared his leg. The attack dog bit, and razor-sharp teeth shredded into his calf. His uninjured leg kicked behind him, trying to free the steel trap of that dog’s mouth. No luck, no release. He would have to pull the dog over the fence with him and—

White-hot pain clasped his other leg, spiraling from his limb into his chest. He lost his ability to breathe. His eyes and teeth clenched shut. Horrible waves of agony washed through him. The second dog’s latch ground deep into his thigh. Both dogs, easily one hundred pounds each, tore into his flesh, tossing him side to side as their heads snarled and snapped.

Brock growled back at the mauling animals. He heaved himself up, carrying the two hundred pounds of canine that stayed attached. His biceps quaked. His chest thundered, but he could make it.

Both dogs released suddenly. Their retreat did nothing to ease his mangled muscles. Brock’s head swam. Must be the blood loss. He grunted as he deadlifted his leg onto the wall.

Two hands grabbed the back of his shirt.
Shit
. Arms reaching for the sky, he free fell to the ground. The impact knocked his breath away, turning his world black. His legs screamed in violent pain. Brock opened his eyes and stared into the barrels of two AR-15s.

“Go!” bellowed from his lungs. He pleaded with God that Sarah was already on foot, running toward safety. “Go.”

A boot kicked his temple. Stars exploded and quickly dissolved to black.

CHAPTER TEN

Go.
Sarah had already been on the run, dragging the teenager with her, but Brock’s voice somehow echoed into the night.
Go.
His voice played over and over as she slapped through island undergrowth. Branches sliced at her face, and she had no idea if they were headed toward safety. Instinct pulled her, and that was all she had to go on.

Behind her, all went silent. No more shouts. No more dogs. No more gunshots. It felt like hours had passed since Brock had yelled from the opposite side of the wall. He hadn’t caught up, and in her heart, she knew that he wouldn’t.

They tripped in tandem, tumbling down a hill, and came to a stop in a pile of arms and legs. Sarah jumped up then dropped. Their location was in the open. If a trafficker drove by, they’d be spotted immediately. Blood rushed in Sarah’s ears, and she tried to hear past it. What would Brock do right now? He’d have some kind of plan to get to safety. Her stomach turned thinking of him, but she tried to ignore it. He probably had a plan to get to safety now. The one thing he had said was if disaster struck, she needed to get back to the resort, and he’d see her soon enough. This was definitely a disaster.

Channeling her inner superhero, Sarah resolved to do what she was tasked with. She studied the road. It looked familiar, but everything appeared the same in the dark. Taking a breath, she tried to calm down her sprinting heart. Which way to go? Right, left. Forward, backward. The girl stared at her, clearly expecting her to know what to do next. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Decision made. They were going right.

Crawling like she’d seen Brock do by the trafficker’s house, Sarah tugged the girl behind her. They crept for miles, or at least it felt that far, and something struck her as familiar. Maybe. No, she was sure of it. “We’re here. Let’s go.”

Pulling the girl with her, they crossed the street, crawled through a bush, and—yes, the Hummer. Sarah opened the back door, pushing them into the back seat, and slapped the lock button. Not like that would stop anyone who wanted to hurt them, but that was her first reaction. They hid on the seat, breaths bursting from erratic gulps to semi-manageable lungfuls.

“Okay?” It was all she could say.

The girl nodded.

“Me too.”

Neither said another word. They waited and waited. No Brock. His voice replayed in her head.
Go!
This was a disaster, and he’d given her marching orders. But the idea of driving away from him was painful. She needed help.
No, Brock needs help, and I am his partner
. What she really needed was to keep it together. Crawling into the front seat, she found the key and turned back to the girl. “I’m Sarah.”

“Bethany.” Her eyes were glassy. Shell-shocked.

“Alrighty, Bethany. Let’s get out of here.” She turned the engine over and slammed the gas pedal to the ground. The Hummer bulldozed through brush and bush, bouncing across limbs until they bumbled back onto the road. Driving as fast as Sarah could manage with the headlights out, she gunned down the road, hitting every crack and crevice along the way.

No one had followed them. Sarah flicked on the lights after a mile and, nearly two hours later, made it to the resort side of the island. Her nerves were shot, her mind not recalling the name of their resort. All the entrances looked the same. Fancy sign. Pretty designs. It took twenty minutes of driving in circles to find the right tourist hotspot.

She turned to find Bethany slouched and asleep. “Bethany, honey, can you wake up?”

Tired eyes fluttered then shot open. Bethany panicked, struggled in her seat belt, and eyed the door for an escape.

“No, wait. Bethany. It’s okay. It’s me, Sarah. You’re safe. Remember?” She reached for the young woman. “Take a breath. You’re okay.”

Bethany’s eyes focused on Sarah then she whispered, “Sarah.”

“That’s right, honey. You ready?”

“Ready for what?”

Good question
. “We have to go inside. I have to get help for my husband. You… probably want to call your folks and go back to sleep before you head home?” A sick feeling strangled Sarah’s stomach. Oh, what if those were the least of Bethany’s problems? Please let Brock have reached her in time. “Are you… were you… Do you need to see a doctor?”

Bethany slowly shook her head. “No. They didn’t—” She closed her eyes and took a stuttering breath as tears leaked down her cheeks. “I’m not hurt. Just my wrists were scratched and my tummy hurts; they gave me something that made me sick. I just want to go home.”

“I know. We’ll get you there as soon as possible.” Sarah watched Bethany rub tears away with the backs of her hands. “Let’s go inside. We’ll get you home.”

How Bethany was actually supposed to leave Saint Lucia and get back to the United States, Sarah had no idea. The girl looked too fragile to put on a commercial flight, and if Titan was involved, it probably meant private jets would be used. The logistics would be answered by the same man who would bring Brock home.
Time to call Jared Westin.