Page 103 of Fight for Me

He went and inspected a few. The ones he needed had to be cleaned and checked before tonight. The last thing he needed was a gun locking up on him. The knives needed attention, too. But he’d wait until after he took Anne home.

It was only about thirty minutes before Anne appeared, her hair in long damp strands down her back. She’d found a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved jersey style shirt. New sneakers were on her feet and she looked about nineteen years old.

He took her home, kissed her, and returned to the house. There was work to be done.

* * *

It was just under four hours to drive to New York. Kade and Blane arrived at the fashionable Greenwich brownstone shortly before eleven. Blane drove while Kade was on his computer. They both were in all black, combat boots, and Kevlar vests.

Kade parked about a block away from the target. They each armed up. Knives and guns in all the places.

“I have had surveillance on the place,” Kade said. “The guards are complacent. They have a set routine. Two of my guys are on it. They’ll let me know when it’s done.” He adjusted his earpiece.

They waited approximately thirty seconds before Blane and Kade both heard the report in their ears.

“Targets neutralized.”

“Let’s go.” Blane got out of the car. His adrenaline was pumping and he took a deep breath to calm and steady himself.

“Alarms and cameras are all neutralized,” Kade informed him. “Let’s go.”

They were perfectly in sync as they approached the house, sticking to the shadows. They knew each other and barely had to communicate.

Kade covered him as they approached the back door. It was just a moment to pick the lock and then they were inside. Using hand signals, they made their way through the kitchen to the front room. Blane stopped to listen.

There were slight sounds coming from upstairs. Blane motioned to Kade. Guns leveled, they climbed the stairs. No one impeded them.

There was music coming from a room at the end of the upstairs hallway. Something classical. Excellent. Blane could use a soundtrack.

They stopped at the corner, Blane’s gaze ahead to look for threats, Kade behind him. He felt the double-tap on his shoulder and proceeded down the hallway.

Unlike the movies, you didn’t bust open the door, guns blazing. You kept your presence as silent and hidden for as long as possible. With that in mind, Blane slowly turned the knob on the door, and gently pushed it open. He stood to the side in case someone took a shot. But there was nothing.

Blane stepped into the room. Mamoud was sitting on a sofa in front of a fireplace, his back to them. He had a drink in his hand. No one else was there.

Blane motioned for Kade to watch the door, and he kept moving forward. Satisfaction and eagerness sang in Blane’s blood. Payback was a bitch.

Moving forward, he placed the muzzle of his gun against the back of Mamoud’s head. He froze, the glass inches from his lips.

“Hey, motherfucker,” Blane growled. “Stand up.”

Mamoud slowly stood, then spun and hurled the glass at him. But Blane had been expecting it and knocked the glass harmlessly away. Then he hammered a punch to Mamoud’s jaw and the bastard went down like a sack of potatoes.

It was a matter of moments to grab a chair and zip tie Mamoud to it before he regained consciousness. Blane slung his rifle onto his back. Kade was still guarding the door.

Mamoud groggily woke, helped along by Blane slapping his face.

“Wake up, asshole.”

Mamoud glared at him. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m here to teach you a lesson.” Blane’s voice was ice. “When you mess with one of mine, I’m going to mess with you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mamoud was blustering but Blane saw fear hidden in his eyes.

“You attacked and threatened a woman a few weeks ago. Anne Holton. You broke into her apartment, assaulted her, tore her clothes. Ring a bell?”

Mamoud said nothing. Blane took the opportunity to hammer another punch to his jaw. Mamoud spit blood.

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