Page 3 of Stone Cold Sinner

“I got this,” Coy said.

“Damn it, Stone,” Killion shouted. “Stand down.”

Coy paused. “Are the others out yet? The women? Did they make it?”

When Killion wouldn’t respond, Wit chimed in, “They’re all out and being transported to a safe location for triage and aftercare.”

“Good.” Coy started to move on. “I’m going dark.”

“Stone?” Killion hollered. “Damn it, answer me, you rogue son of a bitch!”

Coy didn’t respond, but he left his comms open so as not to alarm his team more than he already had. If something did indeed happen to him, he wanted them to know so they could quickly send that secondary team and rescue the asset should he meet his demise. He crouched back into a deep doorway and made a game of this last encounter. One by one, he drew them out, away from the bunch.

The first was easy. A simple toss of a bullet down the long hall to create a racket they’d surely hear, and the enemy sent their weakest link to investigate. An easy shot. Coy moved forward and perched inside the next doorway, using the same tactic to draw out another. It worked. The second new weakest link was neutralized.

They’re making this too fucking easy, he thought. Two down, two to go. Surely, this has to get harder at some point, his thoughts continued.

Until now, until Coy, this was a highly sophisticated and untouchable crime ring. Yet, it wasn’t hard for Coy to dismantle. The last two bastards fell as fast as the first, and Coy was met with little to no resistance. Either he was that good, or they were that bad. More likely, it was that they knew their time was limited, and they chose death over a life in lockup where death would eventually come for them anyway. They avoided a long, torturous punishment. Cowards.

Coy searched the last guard and found the keys to the room they were guarding. Sure, he could kick it in or shoot the lock, but that wasn’t necessary at this point, and all it would do was further frighten the victim on the other side, who’d probably witnessed enough terror in the previous weeks to make grown men cry.

He unlocked the door and hesitated briefly, taking a deep breath before opening it. He entered the room and found a young pregnant woman curled up and shaking on the floor in a corner of the room. She was wearing a dingy, once-white, sheer nightgown that left little to the imagination. She was covered in dirt and the marks of her abusers, and it made Coy’s stomach sink as he imagined what she’d endured. Her hair was tangled, and her dirty face streaked with tears as big brown eyes looked up at him.

Coy knelt in front of her and slowly reached out a hand to brush the hair from her face. His expression softened when he saw just how young she was.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m here to help you. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe now.”

The young woman stared blankly, and a sob escaped her as if she were in disbelief.

“Come on, darlin’,” he said, turning his hand and inviting her to grab it. “I promise. Nobody will hurt you. Not ever again.”

When she placed her dainty hand in his, he could see burn marks covering her arm as if someone had taken a cigarette or similar to her soft and delicate skin. It took everything he had to contain the anger induced by the marks her offenders left. It was as if they’d been marking her as theirs or leaving a reminder they’d been there. Sick bastards.

Coy gently pulled the girl to her feet and tried to steady her, but her legs gave way, and she began to fall, but he caught her as she began to weep. Both relief and fatigue seemed to overcome her with a guttural cry that brought back the pinch in his chest that left him feeling desperate to save her. He imagined his own wife at that moment and the sheer terror she must’ve lived, just like this woman, and it pained him to relive.

“You’re okay. I got you,” he lied. Physically, he had her, but mentally and emotionally, he was spent.

No matter how many of these cases he ran, it never got easier. In fact, it was torture, reliving it over and over again. Imagining Emery enduring the heinous things these women did. The pain. The suffering. The fear. Her final days, hours, and minutes were unbearable to consider.

Coy scooped the young woman up in his arms and cradled her small, frail body against his as he carried her to freedom. He paused when he reached the doorway, ready to trek back through the compound.

“Face me,” he said. “Turn your head and only look at me. Okay?”

She’d already endured enough horror to last a thousand lifetimes –– she didn’t need to witness the horror that led to her freedom. There was enough trauma to work through without that added layer of murder and mayhem. The woman nodded, turned her head so her face was to his chest, and her body quaked as tears and emotion overcame her.

Coy began to move, slowly at first, but then it happened, as it often did… A vision of Emery in his arms. The rescue he never got to make. Flashes of moments they shared together ran through his mind, and his pace quickened as if he could outrun the beautiful yet painful memories of her. It was odd to him how something that warmed his soul could equally shatter his heart. Thoughts of her and the life he shared with her filled him like a dream that tricked you into believing all was good until it became your nightmare.

He was hanging on by a thread and saving that woman’s life was the only thing he had to hang on to in that moment. He charged through a maze of bodies, remembering each one taking a shot and falling to the ground as if it were playing backward on replay. Coy couldn’t get her out of there fast enough. He couldn’t get himself out. His lungs burned as they began to seize, but the panic never came… Just a numb sensation that left him operating on instinct –– like he’d flipped on his own autopilot because he needed to survive this, just like he had to survive all the other rescues before.

The pain never stopped. The mourning never ended. Coy was in a constant cycle of loss and grief, and it would one day be his demise that he was sure of. But not today. Today, there was too much to live for. There were too many women, just like Emery, that he could save. And he would. Light in the distance warned him he was nearing the end and finally to safety. The image of his wife that danced in his mind began to fade while his chest loosened and his lungs filled with air. The young woman in his arms reached up to swipe away a lone tear from his cheek.

He looked down at her own tear-stained face, and there was a moment shared. One of equal thanks. As if each knew what the other was thinking without shedding a word. In that moment, he realized that he was rescuing her, but she, too, was rescuing him from the anger and the torture he’d reincarnated with every single mission. Clarity returned, and Emery went back to that space in his heart where he held her close and out of his mind because there was still work to be done. Coy had become good at this. Surviving. Even if barely so…

As he breached the exit and daylight nearly blinded him, they were met by a gurney pulled by medics and armed men who rushed to their side. Coy laid her on the gurney, but she was reluctant to let go, her wide-eyed stare filled with fear.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he said, gently pulling her clutched fists from his shirt and holding them in his hands. “They’re with me, here to help you. You’re safe with them.”

She shook her head vigorously and launched herself from the gurney, practically climbing Coy to get away from everyone else around her. This wasn’t unusual behavior. These women had been abused and tortured by strange men and were now surrounded by them once more. Trust was hard-earned after what these women went through, and rightfully so.

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