Chapter 25

chapter

twenty-five

"Drop it," the leader ordered. A black tactical mask obscured his face, but his eyes gleamed with cold calculation. The muzzle of his rifle was aimed squarely at Pierce's chest. "No heroics."

Pierce's jaw clenched, his eyes darting around the room, assessing, calculating. Rhiannon could almost see the gears turning in his head as he searched for a way out. But there was none. Not this time.

"I said drop it!" the man repeated, his finger tightening on the trigger.

With agonizing slowness, Pierce lowered his weapon to the floor. As soon as it left his hand, two of the men surged forward. One kicked the gun away while the other grabbed Pierce's arms, wrenching them behind his back.

Rhiannon cried out as another man seized her, his gloved fingers digging painfully into her biceps. She struggled against his grip, but he was far stronger.

"What do we do with her?" he asked.

"Kill her," the leader said. "We got what we need."

The sound Pierce made was inhuman, a guttural roar of rage and desperation that tore from his throat despite his inability to speak. He thrashed violently against his captor, his eyes wild with fury as he fought to free his arms.

Time seemed to slow. The man holding her raised his gun, and she felt the cold press of the muzzle against her temple. She closed her eyes, bracing for the end.

But the shot never came.

Instead, a familiar voice rang out. "Stop!"

Izzy burst into the room, her face pale and drawn. "Don't hurt her. That wasn't part of the deal."

The leader turned, his eyes narrowing behind his mask. "The deal was for St. James. We don't leave witnesses."

"No," Izzy said firmly, though Rhiannon could see her hands trembling. "I won't let you kill her. That's not what I agreed to."

"You're not in a position to negotiate, Deputy Delgado."

Izzy stared at Rhiannon with a look of stark hopelessness in her eyes, then seemed to deflate. "I'm sorry. I had to. They have my family."

The leader's cold laugh cut through the tension. "How touching. But I'm afraid you and your family are no longer needed." He raised his gun, aiming it at Izzy's head. "You've outlived your usefulness."

"No!" Rhiannon cried out, struggling against her captor's iron grip.

In that moment of distraction, Pierce made his move. With a powerful surge, he broke free from the man holding him and lunged for the leader. They collided in a tangle of limbs, wrestling for control of the weapon.

Chaos erupted. Gunshots rang out, deafening in the confined space. Rhiannon was thrown to the ground, and a weight landed on top of her. She twisted, expecting to see her captor, but instead found Izzy shielding her with her body.

"I'm so sorry," Izzy whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "I'm so sorry."

All too soon, the intruders subdued Pierce again.

"We don't have time for this," the leader barked. "Bring the woman. We'll sort it out later. Deputy Delgado, go home."

Two men yanked Rhiannon to her feet and while another ushered Izzy out the door.

A fierce surge of satisfaction tore through Rhiannon when she saw that the leader's lip was split open and soaking the front of his mask with blood. Pierce had gotten a punch in before they recaptured him.

The intruders herded them out of the safe house at gunpoint, the cool night air hitting Rhiannon's skin like a slap. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stumbled down the porch steps, gaze darting frantically around the yard. Bodies lay scattered across the grass, some still and others moaning in pain. She caught a glimpse of Zak facedown in the grass, unmoving. Rylan was slumped against a tree, blood matting his hair.

Oh, God. Had he been shot?

Police sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the fog that had settled over everything in a thick blanket.

Two sleek black SUVs idled at the end of the driveway, their engines a low rumble in the eerie quiet that had fallen over the property.

"Torch the place," the leader commanded, and some of his men began throwing accelerant at the house. From the smell, it was good old gasoline.

Rhiannon craned her neck, desperately trying to keep Pierce in her line of sight. He walked stiffly, favoring his left side, where a dark stain spread across his shirt. Their eyes met briefly, and she saw a mix of pain, fury, and gut-wrenching fear before he was shoved into the back of one of the SUVs.

"Move," a gruff voice commanded, pushing Rhiannon toward the second vehicle. She climbed into the back seat, her heart pounding, and two armed men flanked her on either side. The door slammed shut, and the men pulled hoods over their heads, sealing them in darkness.

These fuckers were going to die.

Pierce fumed as he bounced around in the backseat of the SUV between two armed men. His hands were still trapped behind him, and they'd gone numb a while ago.

Through the bottom of the hood they'd stuffed on him, he saw flashes of streetlights and passing headlights. The vehicle swerved sharply, throwing him against one of his captors. Pain lanced through his side where a bullet had grazed him during the firefight.

Pierce forced himself to breathe slowly, channeling his rage into focus. He needed to stay alert, to memorize every turn and sound that might give him a clue to their destination. But his thoughts kept drifting to Rhiannon.

Was she okay?

Scared?

Alive?

He clenched his jaw, picturing her wide, terrified eyes as they'd been shoved into separate vehicles.

The SUV hit a pothole, jostling everyone inside. One of the men cursed under his breath.

"Watch it," he growled to the driver. "We need him in one piece."

"Relax," came the reply from the front seat. "He just needs to be breathing when we get there."

Pierce's muscles tensed at the casual discussion of his fate. He flexed his wrists, testing the zip ties that bound them. No give. But maybe, if he could dislocate his thumb, he could slip free...

The SUV slowed and then came to a stop. Pierce held his breath, straining to hear any clues about their location. Gravel crunched under tires as another vehicle pulled up nearby. Car doors slammed.

"Get them out," a muffled voice ordered.

Rough hands seized Pierce's arms, hauling him from the vehicle. He stumbled as his feet hit the ground, fighting to keep his balance. The hood was yanked off his head, and he blinked against the sudden brightness.

They were in some kind of warehouse, the cavernous space dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The air smelled of rust and motor oil. He looked around, taking in every detail. Two exits. A row of windows high up on one wall. Stacks of crates and barrels that could provide cover.

His eyes locked on the faded symbol on the far wall. He'd seen that symbol before—during his time in the military, in places where no one wanted to be, where no one should have been.

It was a symbol associated with covert operations, black sites, places that didn't officially exist. Places where dangerous things were hidden, and even more dangerous things were done. This wasn't just an abandoned building—it was something far more sinister.

And there, being pulled from the other SUV, was Rhiannon. Her face was pale, her hair a mess from the hood, her eyes wide with fear.

But she was alive.

The rush of relief was so potent, his knees wobbled. But it was quickly followed by a renewed surge of rage as one of the men shoved her forward.

A figure stepped out of the shadows, and Pierce's blood ran cold. He recognized that swagger, that arrogant tilt of the head. Colonel Travis Drake. His former commanding officer and the mastermind behind Project Iron Horizon.

Well, Major General Drake now. Pierce had kept tabs on the bastard, and he'd been steadily promoted through the ranks, winning the trust of high-up government officials.

"Well, well," Drake drawled, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "The prodigal son returns."

Pierce's hands clenched into fists behind his back, his jaw tightening as he glared at the man who had once been his mentor. Drake's gaze swept over him, assessing.

"You've looked better, Jameson," he remarked casually. "But then again, treason isn't good for one's health."

Pierce's muscles coiled, every instinct screaming at him to lunge at Blackwood, to wipe that smug look off his face. But with his hands bound and armed men surrounding them, he knew it would be suicide. Instead, he glared at his former superior, pouring all his fury and contempt into that silent stare.

Drake chuckled. "Still the strong, silent type, I see. How fitting." He turned his attention to Rhiannon, his gaze raking over her in a way that made Pierce's skin crawl. "And who's this lovely creature? Your latest conquest? You always did have a way with women."

Pierce's muscles coiled as Drake sauntered toward Rhiannon, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to tear the man's throat out for even looking at her.

Rhiannon lifted her chin, meeting Drake's gaze with a defiant glare even as the man holding her tightened his grip. "Rhiannon Cross," she said, her voice steady despite the fear Pierce knew she must be feeling. "And you must be the psychopath behind all this."

Drake chuckled. "Charming. I can see why Pierce is so... attached to you." He reached out, tracing a finger down her cheek. Rhiannon flinched away from his touch.

A guttural sound tore from Pierce's throat, raw and feral. He lunged forward, only to be yanked back by his captors. Pain exploded in his side as one of them drove a fist into his bullet wound. He doubled over, gasping.

"Pierce!" Rhiannon cried out, straining against the arms that held her.

Drake tsked, shaking his head. "Still so impulsive, Jameson. I thought you would have learned to control that temper of yours." He nodded to the men holding Pierce. "Stand him up."

Rough hands seized Pierce's arms, hauling him upright. He swayed unsteadily, pain throbbing through his side. Drake circled him slowly, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"I must admit, I'm impressed you've managed to elude me for this long," he said. "But did you really think you could hide forever?"

Pierce glared at him, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. If looks could kill, Drake would be a smoldering pile of ash.

Drake smirked. "No witty retort? Ah, that's right. You can't." He tapped a finger against his temple in a mocking gesture. "Such a shame, what happened to your voice. But then again, loose lips sink ships, don't they?"

Pierce's hands clenched into fists behind his back, the plastic zip ties biting into his wrists. He knew Drake was goading him, trying to provoke a reaction. He refused to give the bastard the satisfaction.

Drake's gaze slid back to Rhiannon. "She really is quite lovely, your Miss Cross. It would be a pity if something were to happen to her. So, here's what we're going to do." He made a motion with his hand, and one of his goons pressed a gun under Rhiannon's chin.

"You are going to help me fix Tectra-X. It's malfunctioning, and none of my people have been able to figure out why. Or…" His gaze skipped meaningfully over to Rhiannon. "Her brains paint the wall."