Page 97 of Don't Let Go

I had charges that would work.

Four small devices, each planted at key points for lock and hinges, and I backed up and around the corner. The blasts were localized, but they would do the job.

I hit the trigger and there were four small pops, followed by a distinctive thud of a heavy door falling. I loved a dramatic entrance.

Striding forward, I walked through the debris and smoke straight inside. A guard fumbled to his feet, but I didn’t wait for him. He didn’t match the photo I had for my targets, so he got the express pass to getting the fuck out of my way.

Two bullets to the head.

Continuing forward, I slowed at the curve in the hall. Pulling out a flash bang, I flicked out the key pin and then tossed it around the corner. Eyes closed, I gave it the three second count to stun and disorient. Then I started forward.

Two more guys were staggering, one had dropped his weapon. The other was waving his around. Close contact gun to the chest of the gun wielder. I fired twice. Then another clean grouping into the staggering one.

No joy on the targets. But they did have security keycards.

Helpful.

I’d memorized the layout of the place. The offices were down one flight. Everything up here was just for show. The guys did their work in their hellish little pits.

At the end of this hall was an elevator and I used the security pass to open it, then reached inside and inserted a key to lock the elevator to this floor.

Then I went to the stairs.

No easy exits for them. If they had soundproofing down there I might still have time to surprise them. My evening was lookingup. I unlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs and opened it, threw out a couple of flash bangs then closed the door to wait.

Violent cursing carried through the door.

Bingo.

Yanking it open, I stalked through to make my way down the hall. The body armor I was in was light, it would take a shotgun shell, but I’d prefer to not give them that opportunity.

The first guy rushing toward me went down with a swift gun to the face. I had more magazines, but I didn’t want to waste the ammo. I zip-tied his hands and feet, then continued on.

I found Robert “Bobby” McCoy first. He rushed me, swinging a knife. I avoided the first two wild slashes easily. Then caught the arm he was using, twisted it back and then broke it with a solid blow to the elbow.

His scream was pure agony as he dropped the knife and to his knees at the same time. Gripping his hair, I jerked his head back. Shaggy brown hair, a scar distorting his upper lip on the right side and dirty stained clothes. The man had no pride in himself.

“Hello, Bobby.” I smiled and then slammed him headfirst into the wall before securing him back in his office. A good choice because bullets struck the dry wall next to the door as I started back out.

Oh, someone was actually giving a real fight. Adrenaline surged in my system. I lived for this shit. Especially when it involved dealing with scum who deserved zero mercy.

I returned fire, four shots in rapid succession. Then I released the magazine and reloaded as I headed out. I went low, but I’d already made it halfway down the hall when Karl Seward twisted into the hall again, firing.

His first two shots went over my head, but the third slammed into the tile in front of me. I’d admire his aim later, I returned fire and chased him around the corner. Just as I reached the edge, he pivoted to face me again.

I had a headshot and center mass. He was already a dead man. But I wanted him to suffer first. So no fast passes for him.

Instead of the easier shots, I went for the shoulder of his gun arm. The first shot knocked him back, the second spun him around. He lost the gun, but grabbed for it with his good hand and pointed it.

Clever.

Another two shots in rapid succession. This took his second shoulder and he slammed back against the wall in a spray of crimson. Smears of blood followed him as he sank down to the ground.

“Asshole,” the man said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t spitting or swearing. His face didn’t contort. If anything, you wouldn’t even know he was in pain if not for all the damage.

“Pleased to meet you,” I told him. He was perfectly manicured, though that wasn’t going to do his useless hands any good. His face was smooth, there was no stubble. His expression devoid of even the normal human reactions of shock, pain, fear, or fury. “Karl Seward.”

“You know my name,” the man said in an empty voice. “Should I be impressed?”

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