Page 100 of Mountain Daddy

The main entrance is too obvious. I circle the building. Find a loading dock at the back. Door hanging off its hinges.

Perfect.

I slip inside. The warehouse is cavernous. Half-collapsed roof lets in strips of moonlight. Crates and machinery create a maze of shadows.

Voices echo from somewhere ahead. Three, maybe four men.

I move from cover to cover. Staying low. Using the darkness.

Then I see her.

Lilly.

Tied to a chair in the center of the room. Head lolling forward. Hair hanging in her face. Unconscious but breathing.

Four men around her. Armed. Laughing about something.

One of them slaps her face. Not hard. Just trying to wake her.

My vision narrows. Goes red at the edges.

The radio I took crackles. “Perimeter check. Report.”

The men look at each other.

“Perimeter, report.”

One of them—tall, scarred face—grabs his radio. “Ivanov, Petrov, report in.”

Silence.

“Something's wrong,” one says. “Check it out.”

Two men head toward the exits. One east, one west.

Good. Splitting up makes this easier.

I wait until they're out of sight. Then I move.

The first one doesn't see me coming. He rounds a stack of crates, gun drawn.

I grab his wrist. Twist until something snaps. He opens his mouth to scream.

My hand clamps over it. Muffles the sound to a whimper.

The knife slides between his ribs. In. Out. He goes limp.

Three down.

The second one is more cautious. Checking corners. Moving slowly.

I throw a piece of metal. It clatters across the floor.

He turns toward the sound. “Who's there?”

Huge fucking mistake. Hasn’t he heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

I come at him from behind. He hears me at the last second. Starts to turn.

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