Page 45 of Single Mom for the Firemen

“Good,” I reply. “But we still need to get Callie and Vanessa out of there.”

Killian nods as he drops his phone back into his pocket. His jaw is set tight, and I can see the tension written all over his face. I don’t often see him like this, so lost to fear and anger and desperation, but I get it. All of us have lost enough as it is. And the threat that’s hanging over their heads right now—I won’t let it come to fruition. I just won’t.

“There’s one guard inside, looks like he has a gun, but I doubt he’s expecting any kind of attack,” I explain to him swiftly as we turn our attention to the warehouse. “Probably just waiting for his boss to arrive so he can get this over with.”

Killian narrows his eyes. “I don’t see what we’re waiting for,” he mutters. I grab his arm before he takes a step toward thewarehouse. I can tell from the look on his face that he means business, but I don’t want him running in there, all guns blazing, only to wind up getting injured in the process.

“Keep your head, Killian,” I warn him, and he inhales deeply. His eyes are so dark they almost look black, and I can see in his face some memory of the day we lost our parents, not too far from here. He might not want to admit how hard that hit him, how much pain he still carries, but he can’t deny it.

None of us can.

“I’ll go in first,” I tell him. “Through the front—you head in the back, see if you can find them. I couldn’t see them through any of the ground-floor windows, so chances are they’re being held somewhere further into the building or on the second floor. You got that?”

“Got it,” he replies. And with that, we move in on the warehouse, ready to end this shit for good.

It’s a tall building, at least for this part of the forest—used to be an old logging warehouse, I’d guess, judging by the smell of sawdust in the air. It looks as though it’s been a good decade or two since someone has been using the place, but it doesn’t surprise me. Not as though sawing through this forest is exactly a good look, especially not after the wildfires…

I push the thought aside quickly as I close the distance to the front door, pressing myself against the wall just beside it and stealing a glance through the slat in the metal that looks inside. I can’t make out the attacker I saw stalking around in there when I did my recon, but I know he’s in there somewhere. And he’s armed. We don’t have guns, don’t need them out here, but thatdoesn’t mean I don’t know how to use them. And if I have to pull that trigger to save their lives, I’ll do it. I won’t hesitate.

I inhale sharply, let it out, and then turn to slam my foot into the door. It takes a couple of tries to send it flying from its hinges, but after a moment it crashes into the ground. Not exactly a subtle entrance, but that’s not what we’re going for, not here. No, we have the element of surprise on our hands, and we need to instill as much panic as we can to give ourselves the upper hand…

“What the fuck?—”

I hear an exclamation from the other end of the corridor, and I flatten myself against the wall just in time for a bullet to fly past my face. Shit—he’s ready to go. I hoped he might be reticent about actually pulling the trigger, but I should have known better, especially when it comes to these cartel bastards. Once he’s let off a volley of panicked shots, I turn to face him again as he scrambles to reload. Before he can get himself ready to go again, I rush him, catching him around the waist and sending him smashing into the ground with a painful grunt.

The gun slips from his grasp and skitters across the floor beside us. He scrambles to try and grab it, but I kick it aside, sending it flying along the corridor where he can’t reach it. Slamming my arm into his throat, I pin him to the ground, my eyes blazing into his as I stare down at him.

“Where is she?”

“Get the fuck off me!”

“Where thefuckis she?”

The words surprise even me—I haven’t heard myself this angry in a long time, though I know it’s fear that truly underlies the emotion. He tries to squirm loose, and I drive my knee into his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. I need him to talk, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to suffer first too.

“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he wheezes back at me once he finally manages to catch his breath.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You so sure about that? Because if you think your little cartel boss is going to make it, you’ve got another thing coming. In a few minutes, the cops are going to have him in handcuffs. If you’re lucky, they might let you testify against him, get a few months off your sentence, yeah?”

His eyes widen—I can tell it’s not what he expected, but there’s a thrill of satisfaction in watching him start to really panic like that.

“So tell me,” I growl, pushing my face close to his. “Where are they?”

He parts his lips, but before he can answer, I hear a voice calling my name.

“Jake! Hey, Jake! Up here!”

It’s Killian—he must have figured out where they are.

“What’s up?” I call back, keeping my eyes pinned on him.

“They’re upstairs,” he yells down to me. “We need a key. You got anything?”

I reach into the man’s pockets, and find another handful of bullets—along with a keychain with a single key dangling off ofit. I grab a fistful of his hair and slam his head back against the cold concrete floor.

“Thanks for your help,” I mutter to the now-unconscious man, and I spring to my feet and take off up the stairs. I round the corner to find Killian standing there next to a door with a frosted glass window. On the other side, I can make out a mess of hair, and a face that I recognize at once.

“Jake!” Vanessa cries out to me, her voice laced with relief. “Do you have the keys to get us out of here? Please, we need to be quick, he told me that?—”

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