Page 21 of Tormented Heir

“You have your silencer on?” I ask Riley.

He nods.

“Okay, Duke and myself will head around the back. We’ll take out the two smoking, using knives. Silent. Can you shoot the other two? And, Blade, you cover us.”

They nod, and we move toward the building.

There’s only four of us and ten of them, but it can work in your favor to have a smaller, tighter, team.

Duke and I take off at a silent jog down the side streets leading to the back of the building. We approach the two men smoking while one of them is putting his cigarette out on the ground with the heel of his boot.

I grab him, hand over his mouth to stifle the yell he will automatically make. The slice of my blade across his throat is silent but his gurgling death rattle is loud enough that one of the two not smoking whips around and starts to reach behind him. Before he can do anything, red blooms on his shoulder as he jerks forward with a moan. He jerks again, and then again before falling to the ground. Nice shot.

Duke has the second smoker in his grasp, and he stabs him three times in the guts before he lets him drop to the ground. The man twitches two or three times, and I take my gun from the holster and aim at his head. He goes still the minute the bullet hits.

The fourth man is hit before he can react. Riley emerges from the shadows across the street as we all meet at the front of the building. Blade joins us last, jogging across the road from where he had us covered.

We enter the building as silently as we can, but the big old door creaks when we push it open. I listen and hear voices at the far end of the large space.

We have a map of the layout, and it’s basically one big room, with a smaller room to the back, alongside a catwalk and small office building above some steel stairs. They must have her in the smaller room to the back.

I point in that direction, and we all file toward the door. It’s slightly ajar, throwing some light into the space. I pull my night vision goggles down and pause for a moment as my eyesight adjusts.

The air is both dusty and oddly damp. It tickles my nose, and I try not to sneeze.

As we near the door, loud clattering has us all freezing.

Fuck.

I glance down to see a discarded paint can rolling across the floor.

The noise rings out, deafening in the silence. Shit.

“Ella, yannis?” The shout comes through the gap in the door.

I speak a lot of languages well, but Greek isn’t one of them. However, courtesy of a Greek girlfriend in the past, I know some very basic words. Ella means come, or come here. But it is used universally to also mean hello, is that you? Hurry up. Come on.

Heart racing and weapon raised, I blithely reply. “Neh, malaka.”

I’ve just answered yes, asshole, basically. She also taught me that malaka is practically a term of endearment in Greece.

The other man starts to speak in a string of words that mean nothing to me, but we’re already running toward the door. It opens wider, throwing a blinding rectangle of light in our path.

I reach it just as a man steps into the larger space we are occupying.

Duke grabs him and yanks him to one side. I reach for him and pull him to me from behind. Arms around his neck, I twist viciously before he can react or make a sound.

He slumps in my arms, and I drop him to the floor.

“Fuckers, stop messing around and get in here.” This time the voice speaks in accented English. It’s a Russian accent.

A muffled scream has every hair standing on end. Nataliya.

We reach the door, and I peer around it, taking a quick inventory of the inside. My stomach churns as I see Nataliya zip tied by an old radiator. Her face is bruised, and she has a cut on her cheek. Her blouse is torn, but she still has her bra on, and her other clothing is intact.

Thank God.

I’ve seen rape in war, and the aftermath is horrific. The idea of Nataliya going through that had me churned up inside.

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