Page 53 of Oblivion

He pressed his phone to his ear and snapped, “Give me one fucking minute.” His tone then changed when the call connected. “Jackson, we have an exact location. She’s in room five-oh-nine at the Ceilo Hotel.” He flicked his watch. “As soon as they fucking can, man.”

The call ended and Tate turned his steely eyes on me. “Thirty.”

“Thirty?Fuck that! I’m going up, whether you’re coming or not. I’m not waiting half a goddamn hour!”

He looked torn between orders and what his heart told him to do. Not waiting around to watch his internal war, I strode across the reception foyer and stabbed the elevator button multiple times.

“Jesus, Bateman, you know I won’t send you up alone.”

“Where’s the fun in that, right?”

He scoffed. “Fucking Army doing whatever the hell they want. Just give me a sec to update Paul.”

“It’s called getting shit done, frogman.”

The elevator doors spread wide, and I impatiently held the door while Tate thumbed a quick text to the Prescotts.

He then packed in and leaned against the back wall. “It’s called letting your dick lead the way.”

“It’s called following my instincts,” I countered, hitting the button for level five.

If I wasn’t so tightly wound, I would have cracked a laugh, flipped him off, and thrown back an insult. But as the elevator slowly crept toward our destination, unease and the importance of our situation bore down.

I shoved at the doors as soon as they began to crack open, then Tate and I were running down the long corridor, shoulder to shoulder, looking for our room.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Penny

Psycho Killer’s phone rang, and he answered immediately. It was the first call he’d received since yesterday evening, and as with all of them, I tried to eavesdrop.

Yesterday, I’d been tied to the chair with my mouth masked each time Psycho Killer needed to use the bathroom, or leave the room for a while. Today, I was thankfully yet to be restrained. My wrists and ankles were raw and suffering the punishment, and I dreaded being tied again.

I inched closer, hoping to hear anything that might help me escape. It proved futile the moment his face paled. He started rushing around the room, furiously gathering his belongings.

“Fuck, okay. Half a minute. Bye.” He hung up and finished shoving the last few items into his bag.

I rushed closer, throwing caution to the wind. Something was obviously going down. “What’s happening?”

Psycho Killer did one last visual sweep of the suite. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put.”

With the urgent warning still hanging in the air, he flung the door open and ran from the room.

My hammering pulse left me short of breath. It took moments of standing dumbfounded in the silent room to fully realize I was alone and unrestrained for the first time in three days.

Not waiting around for a second longer than necessary, I threw myself at the door and wrenched it open. The first taste of freedom reignited my fight to escape. I didn’t stop to check if the corridor was deserted; I simply picked the opposite direction Psycho Killer had veered, and ran as fast as I could.

My legs were heavy and refused to move as quick as I needed them to. The fear of someone chasing me made me dig in and sprint harder along the patterned carpet.

As I neared the corner of the corridor, I slowed to take the sharp right-angle turn. Two men came out of nowhere. The fortified wall of muscle blocked the entire width of the corridor and erased all chance I had of slipping past. A cry of distress tore from my open mouth, and my heart sank.

One in particular stood out. His expression appeared more pinched than the other. More determined.

I was running too fast to skid to a halt, and fear tempered my reaction time. I collided with a solid chest, already fighting and struggling before strong arms completely clamped around my torso.

I screamed and bucked, clawed and tugged with all my might, but nothing broke his anchoring hold.

Breathless ragged words were murmured against my ear, over and over until they finally penetrated my panic-stricken mind.

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