Page 41 of Draven

The art of surprise is the biggest weapon when taking someone down. The guy doesn’t even see it coming. I disarm him, lock my forearm around his throat, and cut off his air supply in around five seconds, with minimal noise.

Result.

Taking a roll of duct tape from my inside pocket—yep, I came prepared. A fact I’d kept from Louise—I tape the guy’s ankles, hands, and mouth, then drag him over to some bushes to leave him lying face down. They’re not impossible to escape from, but by the time he does, either this place will be crawling with cops, or I’ll have found nothing, and Louise and I will be long gone.

I pocket the guy’s gun, take mine out, and slip inside the open door. All lights are off except for a white glow on the far left hand side of the vast, empty space. Skirting the perimeter, I make my way toward it. As carefully as possible, I press down on the door handle and ease it open, braced to take down anyone I find inside. The room turns out to be a small office with a desk, a chair, and a lamp, which must be the light I saw when I first entered the building, but there’s no sign of anyone.

Another door leads into a hallway, and at the far end, a metal spiral staircase leads down to… a basement. Color me fucking shocked. With blood pumping around my body—God, I live for this shit—I creep down the stairs.

Once I reach the lower level, I pause and allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When it does, I’m faced with row upon row of cages lined up against the left-hand wall. I tiptoe forward, stopping in front of the first one. Inside, a woman lies on her back on top of a filthy, stained mattress, her wrists and ankles shackled to an iron bedstead. She’s completely naked and appears to be asleep, or drugged.

I move on to the second, the third, the fourth—each one a replica of the last. Naked women chained to their beds, all completely out of it.

Blood pounds in my ears. These fuckers deserve to burn in Hell, and if I have my way, they will. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I curse. There’s no signal. I should go back up top and call it in.

Then again, I never have liked following the rules.

Tiptoeing past the women, I find the one I’m looking for inside the twelfth cage.

Kiera.

Like all the others, Kiera is shackled, her head turned to the side and eyes tightly shut. Even in the dim light, I catch an angry bruise across her right cheek, and several welts to her body where it looks like someone’s used a whip on her. She must’ve fought them, and they punished her.

But she’s alive. We can fix everything else, with the right help in place for her. It’ll take time, but as long as she’s breathing, there’s hope.

Her cell is locked with a chain and a padlock. Rudimentary. Easy to break into.

Glancing over my shoulder to make sure I’m still alone, I pick the lock within ten seconds. The chain clanks as I slide it through the metal door. Grimacing, I set it on the floor and open the door. Dropping to a crouch beside Kiera, I give her shoulder a gentle shake, but she doesn’t even flinch. Now I’m closer, I can make out track marks in the crooks of both elbows. She’s definitely been drugged, probably to keep them all quiet or compliant, or so out of it they can be subjected to anything and not stand a chance of fighting back.

I unfasten the restraints on her wrists and ankles as easily as I had the padlock to the cage. Shrugging out of my jacket, I cover her as best I can and lift her into my arms before I stride back toward the staircase. I send a silent apology to the rest of the women while promising to bring help soon.

I reach the top of the stairs without incident, but as I go through the door that leads back to the office, a man’s voice calls out.

“Samir, ku je ferri?”

With nowhere to go, other than returning to the cells, I barely have time to shift Kiera’s weight and draw my gun before the door opens. I fire, hitting the guy square in the chest. His eyes widen in shock, and he drops his chin, staring down at the rapidly spreading blood stain.

“Kush jane…” His legs buckle, and he collapses to the floor.

“Fuck,” I expel.

Stepping over the body, I reenter the main warehouse space. Gunfire goes off to my left. My arm explodes with pain, and I almost drop Kiera, but I manage to send a volley of bullets in the general direction of where I think the assailant might be before I sprint for the exit. More gunfire follows, with multiple foreign voices screeching out their orders.

I stumble outside, with Kiera’s dead weight becoming a problem. Another bullet whizzes past my ear, too fucking close for comfort. With few options, I set her on the ground as gently as I can and spin around, firing my weapon. The shooter chasing me slumps to the ground. Hoping there’s only three in total—two shot, possibly dead, and one incapacitated—I pick up Kiera once more.

And that’s when I notice blood spurting from her thigh.

“Draven?”

I whirl around to find Louise holding her arm up high, her knuckles white from gripping the hilt of a knife. Her gaze falls on the woman in my arms, and a gasp bursts out of her.

“Kiera? Oh, God, Kiera.”

“Go get the car,” I bark. When she doesn’t move, I yell, “Now, Louise! And do it quick! I’ll make as much headway as I can on foot.”

“What… how?”

“Save the questions for later, and fucking move.”

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