Page 73 of Vicious Sabotage

He felt the link give. Victory burst in his chest along with a heavy dose of adrenaline that drove him to his feet. Before the asshole could take a step to get away, Carver whipped the chain around his neck and yanked.

The man’s death was too quick and painless—he deserved far worse. But today Carver wasn’t in the revenge business. He wanted to get the fuck out of here and find out if any of the people he cared about had survived.

He couldn’t allow his mind to touch on Livia for too long. He’d seen that man grab her from behind and drag her away right before the others took him down.

Standing over the man he’d just killed, he dropped the chain on the concrete floor and swiped the back of his hand over his bleeding mouth. It didn’t do much good when blood ran down his hands from his wrists he wrecked while yanking on his bonds.

He bent and patted down the body, searching for a weapon. When he located a set of car keys and a pistol tucked in his baggy jeans, Carver took the weapon and checked the clip. It was full. It would get him by.

Striding to the exit, he threw out his senses, listening for somebody approaching the building. He’d spent hours chained to that pole, searching the space for any indication of where he was. A sign or a cardboard box with an address label would have given him some hint about where they took him.

Since he’d been unconscious at the time, he was clueless. He could be in Eden or across the border in another state.

His gut burned with acid and bile. Livia. Where the hell was she? What had those bastards done to her?

With one hand on the doorknob, he opened it a small crack and placed his ear to the opening, listening. His senses were still sharp as hell, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He’d fucked up and let somebody take Livia.

Hearing nothing but the low chirp of early morning birds, he opened the door fully and crept out. As he reached the corner, he checked that it was all clear before running in a crouch to the car parked in the driveway. He didn’t see or hear anybody around, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. It was unlikely Smythe would only set one guard on Carver, especially knowing how he’d fucked up four of his men before they got the better of him.

He silently opened the car door and slipped inside. Keeping his eyes peeled for danger, he put the key in the ignition and turned it.

Click.

Fuck. A dead battery.

He tried again. After a third failure, he moved to plan B. He’d have to make his way out of here on foot.

It would be rougher travel. The assholes had taken his phone, and the dead guy didn’t have one on him for Carver to take. He set off into the trees. Safer to cut through and find a road rather than walk right down the one in front of the garage.

The blood dripping off his hands made his skin itch, and he stopped to wipe off as much as he could on his jeans before rushing on. The woods weren’t thick here—not even as dense as the patch he and Livia had ridden through that day of their picnic brunch.

More regrets flooded in. He hadn’t spent nearly enough time telling her how he felt about her. Now it may be too late.

No—he was a goddamn SEAL. He didn’t give up until there was damn good cause. And he didn’t have enough information to make that call.

Until he learned otherwise, Livia was alive, goddammit, and he was going to find her.

The light of dawn pooled in spots on the ground, but shadowed other parts, making it easy to trip up on tree roots or fallen logs. He could run fast in any terrain—had proved it during his time in the military—but he was battered and exhausted, which rendered him clumsier than usual.

A twig snapped on his right. He froze, listening. Then he saw a flash of brown as a deer picked its way around the trees.

In stealth mode, he continued on. All sense of time evaporated. He followed one bright light in his mind—Livia. He had to reach Livia.

And his men. He couldn’t forget about them. Right before he took the knee to the temple that knocked him unconscious, he thought of better times with them. Even in the deepest of peril, they still found something to live for. Then the strike came and all that faded to black.

He hadn’t gotten nearly enough time with his brothers since coming to Montana, but the times they had spent at the bonfire and even just texting with each other reminded him of all he had to live for.

Through a break in the trees, he spotted a cabin. Dropping to one knee, he studied it. Small, probably a hunting cabin. It didn’t give any intel as to his location. He could be anywhere this side of the Mississippi.

No movement in the yard or around the structure. Abandoned.

Shoving to his feet, he took off through the last of the trees then pitched up against one, spine flush against the trunk. The scratchy bark dug into his skin, and he used the sensation to help him focus.

He was used to fighting in extreme conditions and going long periods of time without food or drink, but his brain wasn’t as dialed in as he liked it to be. If he could find a way to break into that cabin, he could hope for a little food or bottled water.

And a landline.

After several minutes of staring at the cabin, he determined it was safe. He took off at a fast clip across the span of yard. The grass needed a good cutting and the growth of weeds around the flowerbeds told him that no one had visited in a long time.

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