Page 104 of Extracted

“Hurry up, dude,” Dallas bit out.

“You want to tip them off they’re being followed or get to her before they can retaliate?” Cole’s question whipped out with disdain. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

Dallas massaged his temple. “No need.” Cole never apologized—at least not to anyone else. So the fact that he’d done it now revealed that he knew their situation was dire as fuck.

That there was a good chance Gemma wouldn’t be alive when they got there.

The car bumped along and the SUV, about a hundred yards ahead, turned into a driveway. Dallas sat forward and pressed his palm against the dash. “That has to be it.”

The proclamation was more of a prayer than a conclusion.

If it wasn’t it, they’d failed. He’d failed.

Cole picked up the pace. “I’ll get closer and then we’ll park and go by foot. Get ready.”

Dallas positioned his gun in his hand as they closed in on the property. Anticipation flared in his muscles.

Please, God. Don’t let me lose her.

* * *

Gemma sailed backward through the air, and then her butt slammed hard into the chair. The plastic seat was situated on a large square patch of chipped concrete. The house was several yards away, and the garage several in the other direction. Silas stood near the garage, a cigarette in his fingers. He sucked on the end, and the red ember glowed. Before Gemma could barrel out of the chair, Adam’s strong hands anchored her shoulders in place.

Her chest constricted and she screamed, pushing all her power to her vocal cords.

“Goddammit, you scream again and I’ll cut your tongue out.”

Silas’s threat shook her to her core. She pressed her lips together, her chin trembling.

She struggled against the man’s thick hands, but he worked his fingers down her arms and claimed her wrists then bound them together with a zip tie.

She jerked and bucked, but her hands didn’t come free. Adam came around the chair, two more zip ties dangling from his teeth.

“Let me go, you bastard!” She lifted her feet and booted him in the chest. He staggered backward but clamped his hand around one of her ankles and fought her kicks to pin it next to the chair leg and secure it in place. She swept her gaze over her surroundings.

A large folded-up blanket sat on the ground next to a fire extinguisher. And next to that was a red jerry can.

Doom settled over Gemma, and the panic she’d held back broke lose. Tears coursed down her cheeks and her chest spasmed. She shook her head from side to side, squeezing her eyelids together.

This couldn’t be how she died.

Dear god, why?

Adam reached for her other leg. She kicked him in the gut, but her Jell-O-y legs made the action pathetic. He captured her calf and tied it too.

“Douse her. I want to go in and rest. I feel like shit.” Silas’s words barely permeated the fog of disbelief closing in around her, suctioning the air from her lungs and suffocating her.

The sound of a motor split the night. Headlights lit the driveway, and the slam of a car door came next. Nausea washed over her. Thick vomit clogged her esophagus, but the lead weight in her throat kept her from throwing up.

“Who’s that?” Silas asked Adam.

“Shane. He was stuck at the club dealing with police.”

A lanky man wearing jeans and a T-shirt approached. “Sorry I’m late. What a fuck—” His gaze fell to her, and he stopped in his tracks. “Uh . . . I’ll come back later.”

Adam chuckled as he stood. “Poor Shane. He’s got such a weak stomach.”

Silas pushed away from the garage and opened his arm to the newcomer. “Stay. It’ll be a good learning experience.”

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