Page 65 of Saved from Obsession

At Cole’s motion, we spring into action, sprinting off in two directions. Cole and Niall dart across the yard to the far side of the house, so fast they’re nothing but a flash of shadows. Rylan, Zane, and I run from the tree to the closest side of the house, pressing ourselves against the wall once we get there.

Zane takes the lead, slinking along the short side of the ranch, keeping crouched down to avoid the windows. I follow Zane and Rylan has my six—it doesn’t appear there’s any threat outside, but we know better than to make assumptions. As we hit the end of the wall, Zane pauses to peer around the corner before giving the command to move forward.

As we come around the back of the house, I take a quick sweep of our surroundings. Plain backyard with no furniture or decorations, just a few scattered shrubs and trees. Five windows, light filtering through blinds on the two closest. Then toward the end of the house, a small stoop with a door that should lead to the garage—our point of access into the house.

The low rise and fall of a man’s voice stretches toward us from one of the windows. I strain my ears to hear a female voice, but I can’t catch any sign to confirm that Georgia is in there. My pulse is thundering from a combination of fear and anticipation and I have a crazy, irrational thought that it’s so loud it will give us away.

Get it together. This is not the time to forget all my training. She’s in there, we’re only minutes away from rescuing Georgia, and I need to keep my head in the game instead of letting my emotions distract me.

Zane pauses as he passes the first window, then points at it before continuing along the wall. As I follow his path, my gaze lifts to the same window and I see the hastily scrawled message Georgia left for us. The relief almost makes me fall to my knees.

She’shere.Alive. And not hurt so badly that she couldn’t figure out a way to get a message to us.

“She’s here,” I whisper the obvious news to Zane as we gather by the entrance to the garage. “If she could get free of him long enough to write that message, he can’t have hurt her too badly.”

“Probably not,” Zane murmurs. “It was smart, leaving the message like that on the outside of the blinds.”

Rylan dips his head in agreement before pulling out his lock-picks. Thankfully it’s just a standard lock, so it takes him less than thirty seconds to open it. It’s surprising with all the security cameras installed that Frank doesn’t have smart locks—maybe he doesn’t trust them, or maybe he’s so confident because of the cameras that he doesn’t think he needs better locks.

We move into the garage and quickly clear the space before moving to the kitchen door. It’s darker in here, so Rylan pulls out a small Maglite and aims it at the lock. Before he starts, he asks in a low voice, “The alarm deactivated?”

“All set,” I tell him quietly. When I hacked into the security camera earlier, I noticed some magnetic alarms hooked up to the wi-fi, but it was an easy fix. On the way here, I tricked the alarms into thinking they’re always closed by sniffing and cloning the signal, so we’ll be able to enter the house without Frank having any idea.

A minute later, we’re inside the house, standing in a basic kitchen illuminated by the oven clock and a small nightlight by the doorway to the dining room. On the counter is a collection of vials and syringes, some used, and another blast of rage hits me.

Hedruggedher. He had to have drugged her—there’s no other way he could have driven five hours with her without arousing suspicion. And the thought of him touching her unconscious body…

No. Lock it down.

Still following Zane, we head further into the house, meeting up with Cole and Niall in the living room. Like the rest of the house so far, it’s basic, barely any decorations, and nothing to hint at the cruelty of the man who lives here.

Until I see the large dog kennel in the corner of the room stocked with bottles of water and a blanket and pillow.

When Rylan notices what I’m looking at, his expression goes rigid. Cole and Niall already saw it and are grim-faced as they look at me. Zane hisses a low curse, his eyes going deadly. I’m barely hanging on to my control as fury engulfs me.

Thankfully, Cole doesn’t waste any time. He gestures for Rylan and Zane to follow him, slipping silently down the hall toward the bedroom. Soft-footed, Niall and I come after them, our experience allowing us to move without making a sound.

As we approach the last door on the left—the primary bedroom—I finally catch the soft sound of Georgia talking.Thank God. She sounds scared but not panicked, answering Frank with quiet yesses and nos, clearly trying to placate him. He’s lecturing her, his tone tense and agitated, explaining something about the perfect weekend routine.

We don’t get to hear what this routine entails, because Cole is at the door and ready to breach. We’ve all been through the plan so no more directions are needed, just absolute concentration on our mission. On getting him away from Georgia.

When the door crashes open, time seems to slow, although everything happens quickly. Details are cataloged lightning fast. Sounds, smells, objects, shadows, even temperatures are assessed whenever we enter a new environment.

Muscle memory takes over. Our minds tick through logistics and risk factors and commands. We’re sentient machines at that moment of attack, adapting, re-assessing, single-minded in completing our task.

As we burst into the room, I notice everything. Heavy oak furniture—a dresser, a desk, two stocky nightstands. Two more doors, one open to the bathroom, the other to the closet. Windows with blinds pulled down and covered with thick green curtains.

A slender, brown-haired man with a startled expression, leaping up from a chair near the bed. The bed, queen-sized, with unbuckled leather restraints attached to it.

And Georgia, hunched over her knees on the bed, her relieved gaze leaping toward me. She’s wearing unfamiliar clothes, a thin T-shirt and shorts that don’t cover the red abrasions on her wrists and ankles. There are fresh bruises on her upper arms and dark fingerprints marking her neck.

I want tokillhim for putting his hands on her. But my priority is Georgia. As long as she’s safe, nothing else matters.

We race into the room in a flurry of movements, but adrenaline makes them feel slow, each one a freeze-frame lingering.

I race toward the other side of the bed, opposite Frank, reaching for Georgia, ready to pull her out of the way.

Cole, Rylan, and Zane move into a semi-circle, closing in on Frank.

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