Page 44 of Hemmed

“Dead,” said Trevor, wiping his hands as he came into the hallway.

“Get all the kids from upstairs. Some need to be carried,” said Angel.

He looked at his old friend, Trak, and saw the anger in his eyes. It had been a while since they’d been on a mission like this, and the warrior was prepared to kill everyone.

“I know what you’re thinking, brother,” said Miller. “Let’s get the kids to safety, and we’ll take care of the guards at the mansion.”

Trak hesitated for just a moment, then saw the next group of kids coming down the stairs. Two young girls seemed more alert than the others, holding the little ones’ hands.

“Are you going to hurt us?” asked the girl. Trak tried his best to soften his face, but it had been in a picture of anger for so long it wasn’t working. She repeated her question. “Are you going to hurt us?”

“No, little one. We will not be hurting any of you. We are going to get you to safety,” he said calmly, releasing his pent-up breath.

“Let’s go,” said Rory. “We have some people we need to say hello to.”

The eight men led the twenty-one children down the beach, hidden in the darkness. Rory had one on his back and two in his arms, the others following with one on their backs and one in their arms. Any who could walk held their hands and followed.

When they reached the small fishing boat, they looked at one another.

“It’s gonna be a tight fit, Trak,” said Trevor.

“You’re a SEAL. Figure it out. Rory, Miller, and Zulu are going with me.”

“You’re not leaving me out,” said Whiskey. “The others can handle the kids, and it will leave more room. Get them to the mainland and to a hospital.”

“Alright,” nodded Angel. “The gear is still stowed. You can gear up again and take the underwater propulsion devices across the river. Go get ‘em.”

Trak took off in a jog back down the beach, Zulu, Rory, Miller, and Whiskey following. One by one, the men handed the children to a man in the boat.

“I wanna go home,” said a little girl in Trevor’s arms.

“I know, sweet girl. Me too. We’re taking you home, I promise you. No one is ever going to touch you again.”

“Promise,” she asked, looking at him wide-eyed.

“Cross my heart.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“What do you think is happening?” she asked Richard, gripping his arm.

“Yulia, I don’t know,” he said, trying to calm her.

Fifteen years of this. Fifteen years of working for this woman, hoping to keep her alive. Although Krauss wanted nothing to do with her, he didn’t want her dead, and his biggest fear was that someone from Russia would come for her. Yulia had something he needed. Richard just didn’t know what it was.

“Those two men. The ones from New Orleans. We should have killed them a long time ago. They were both despicable men.” Richard could only nod, trying not to point out the obvious that she and her ex-husband were far more despicable.

“It will all be fine. Krauss is just being cautious,” he said.

“Do you think he knows?” Richard stared at her. He wasn’t sure what she meant, but maybe if he played along, she would tell him.

“Maybe. What should we tell him?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head nervously. “Nothing.”

Her neurotic behavior had only gotten worse in the last ten years. Never leaving the mansion unless forced to, not speaking to anyone except her main guards, Krauss, and once in a great while someone in Russia. A distant cousin that kept her up on what was happening there and any danger headed her way.

But it was the paranoia that made Richard’s life hell. Screams in the middle of the night. Calls to his room, saying that someone was in her suite. Refusing to eat because she believed the new chef had poisoned her.

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