Page 96 of Resurrection

“The house is dark, sir.”

“And that’s weird because…?”

“The house has security lights. They aren’t on.”

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I try to remember what the property was like a few days ago when we drove up. He’s right. There were a few guards at the entrance, and the place was lit up around the perimeter. There’s not a single light. If the kid hadn’t told me we were nearing the house, I wouldn’t have a clue.

“Park here. We’ll enter on foot. Your gun loaded?”

His hand shakes when he picks up his weapon from the passenger seat.

Christ. He’s going to be no fucking good to me. “Don’t shut the car door when we get out. We’ll leave them open, so the slam doesn’t tip anyone off. Stay behind me. Avoid making any noise.”

“When do I shoot, boss?” His voice wavers.

“Not until I do and not when you’re behind my fucking head. You got me? You don’t fire on anyone first.”

Once I’m out of the car, I try to forget he’s following. There’s no way he’s going to be worth anything to me in the next few minutes. It doesn’t take long for us to come across our first body. One of the original security guys Eric and Charles had with them lies with his face in the grass. We keep moving forward, body after body.

The kid whimpers behind me.

When we get to the front door, thrown open, my heart is in my throat. No one is alive so far. If Carys is injured or worse, I’ll hunt the people who did this, pound a stake into the ground, nail them to it, and light them on fire.

Back from the entrance, I turn to the kid. “Keep your gun in your hand. Search the perimeter. You find anyone alive, you come to the front door and wait for me. You don’t shoot anyone unless I give you the order.”

I will him to meet my gaze, but he doesn’t. He’s is in shock, but he’s not getting an ounce of sympathy from me. This is the life we live, the sooner he knows this path is not for him, the more likely he is to remain alive.

“O-O-O-kay.”

Carys would find his sudden stutter endearing, but it pisses me off. He’s my only backup, and he’s fucking useless.

Checking my gun one last time, I consider using my phone as a flashlight. Everything is pitch-black. At least I’m dressed in dark colors too. Harder to see. Harder to shoot. Instead of taking out my phone, I slip into the house.

There are two or three men dead in the main living room. None of them are guys I recognize. Doesn’t mean much since I barely knew the security detail we hired. I left that up to Jay. Leaning down, I touch the neck of the nearest man. He’s warm. Relief and fury surge through me in equal measures. If Carys ishere somewhere, hurt, she could be saved. I’ll give up the rest of my nine lives to save hers. My chest and throat are so tight I can hardly breathe. Wherever she is, I will find her.

My gun up, I sweep every hiding place on the main floor. I explore the kitchen at the rear. When I start up the stairs, a figure is sprawled on the landing. My heart kicks in my chest. A woman’s outline. Taking them two at a time, careful to avoid the creaks I discovered earlier, my breath leaves me in a whoosh.Galina.

I don’t stop to check for a pulse but continue toward Carys’s room. Her door is ajar, and I keep my gun raised in front of me as I open it with my fingers. It’s empty. I examine the whole room and en suite as quickly as I can. Her purse is on a chair, and her phone is charging by the window. Both are like bright neon signs telling me wherever she is now, she was in danger earlier—might still be in danger. She wouldn’t leave those items behind by choice.

Without giving myself time to consider where she might be, who might have taken her, I go through the rest of the rooms on the second floor. They’re empty. No Lucas. No Jay. No Carys. No more bodies.

Just outside her room, I peer at Galina’s dead body sprawled near the top of the stairs. Where are you, Carys?

Basement.

Whoever was on the property seems to have cleared out, so I don’t bother to keep quiet as I take the stairs. I clutch my gun as I hurry to the middle of the house and the narrow stairway just off the living room that leads to the basement. In no time I’ve searched everywhere and come up empty-handed. At the bottom of the stairs, I examine the layout of the basement again. I’m missing something, but I can’t put my finger on what’s making my senses tingle. Pinning down the feeling is a waste of time.

What if they tried to run? What if they’re outside somewhere? So many bodies.

My stomach has never been weak, but it rolls once at the thought of her scared, alone. From an early age, I learned to control my emotions, to quiet my natural sense of unease when I’m on the hunt. But right now, knowing she is most likely in danger, anxiousness is a vise around my heart, squeezing it so tight I’m not sure it’ll recover. Her name is a drumbeat against my soul. Finding her is my central focus.

When I get to the front door, I lead with my gun.

“Boss,” the kid hisses when I step out.

At the sound of his voice, my shoulders relax. “What’d you find?”

“I got a guy, alive. Barely, but alive.”

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