Page 56 of Assassin's Prey
I approached the door.
The sound of a locker door slamming—or maybe a head slamming into a locker door—reached me from the other side of the room, but I ignored it. If there was trouble, my brothers would signal me. As it was, I counted that side of the room taken care of. Instead I focused ahead, where two men shouted to each other over their shower stalls, debating the best locally brewed beer. I shot each man in the neck before they could decide—and didn’t worry about catching them as they fell.
Back in the main room, Remi and Eli met me at the door. “All set?” I asked.
Eli gave me a thumbs-up.
We repeated the routine in the remaining basement rooms. The first floor was mostly empty at this time of night, though the front security guard put up a little fight before the ketamine kicked in. Remi dragged him behind his desk, and we proceeded to the second floor. Same procedure, same results, with only a handful of personnel. The third floor wouldn’t be as easy.
“How’s it looking?” I asked Eli as we crouched in the stairwell on the second floor.
Eli shrugged. “Same as before. Maybe fifteen goons on the next level.”
Remi pulled a flash grenade from his belt. “Shock and awe, bro. Ready?”
Before we could start up the stairs, an upper level door opened. The three of us crouched behind the center half wall and waited, dart guns at the ready.
The door above clanked shut. Damn heavy steel doors. Laughter filtered down the stairwell, followed quickly by theshtckof a lighter and the faint scent of cigarette smoke.
I darted a glance around the wall. No one stood on the next level. They must still be back near the third-floor entry, directly over our heads. Probably relaxing against the wall for a break from prying eyes.
I motioned behind me for Remi and Eli to fade back and keep their eyes and ears open.
“What the fuck was Chadwick thinking?” A hushed snort echoed down the stairwell. I tilted my head, trying to decipher the situation with what clues I could gather.
“He wasn’t thinking,” Man Number Two said in a gravelly voice that spoke of a longtime smoking habit. “His dick was.”
A pause, punctuated by the rustling of clothing and the occasional gusty exhale, came next.
“Like Redding is going to give up his prize to that idiot.”
“Right?” Another exhale. “If he didn’t give a shit, he’d let Rathlin take possession—and we’d be the ones with the prize.”
“Too fucking bad too. I’d do some serious damage to get a piece of that.”
I leaned back to glance at my brothers, a frown conveying my question: what the fuck were these men talking about? The trust? Why wouldn’t Chadwick expect a piece of that?
Remi shook his head, looking equally puzzled. Eli shrugged.
Deciding it didn’t matter, I turned back around and tensed, ready to storm up the stairs and tag them both with darts as quickly as possible.
“You think that’s what Redding’s after?” Man Number One asked. “I didn’t peg him for the type.”
“Every man’s that type,” the smoker said.
Feeling thoroughly confused, I leaned forward to place one booted foot as carefully as I could onto the first step up.
“I don’t know. Redding is probably too old for his dick to work very often. And he’s definitely not spry enough to avoid what that redhead’s dishing out.”
The faintest scratch of rubber against concrete came from behind me—too light for our friends to hear, but I glanced back sharply. Remi had eased a couple of steps closer, and as I looked, I realized his face had gone pasty white. One hand was up in awaitgesture.
I cocked a brow at him. His gaze darted up the stairs.
“More likely the chick’s got money,” the first man said. “Redding don’t give a shit about kidnapping women for sex; he could have it anytime he wants to pay for it, and cheap too. No, it has something to do with money, I bet my ass on it.”
The smoker grunted. “I’ll take that bet. And maybe when he has what he wants—whatever that is—we’ll get a turn.”
The sound of shuffling—the men getting to their feet—echoed down the stairs, followed by a cigarette butt hitting the back wall above me. The upper door slammed shut, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My brain was too busy putting the pieces together, making five out of a two-plus-two equation I knew wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. And yet, when I glanced back at Remi and Eli, their faces reflected my confusion and, God help us, the smallest traces of hope. It was wrong, I knew it was wrong, but something inside me screamed that five was the right answer, no matter what my fucking head said.
