Page 69 of Fighting for Valor
I can feel my heartbeat in my neck, the anxiety crawling up from my stomach to settle in my chest, but I can do this. For Cara. For myself. For Ry and West and this whole family of men and women who want me with them.
Drawing down on the shadow creeping towards me, I blow out a breath and squeeze the trigger. The shots land center mass, and the guy’s down. Probably not dead if he’s wearing body armor. Holstering the weapon, I leap over the decrepit fence and sprint for him, knife at the ready.
When I reach his prone form, he’s clawing at his chest, the wind knocked completely out of him, but when he sees me, he tries to raise his gun.
My knife slides across his throat, severing his windpipe and his carotid artery like they’re made of butter, and I’ve just killed a man. “Target down.”
Falling back on my ass, I want to be sick, but a quiet series of pops behind me pulls me out of my panic. I race back to the main building, weaving back and forth to make myself a more difficult target.
“Pinned down on the top floor,” Ry says in my ear. More pops echo from inside the building, too many to be from only one gun, and definitely not the sound of our H&Ks.
“How many?” I trade speed for stealth as I reach the rusty metal stairs, creeping slowly, testing each step.
“Three.”
“Second target neutralized. And I disabled their vehicle.” This, from West, whose voice is rougher than normal. “Headed to you now.”
The gunfire doesn’t let up as I climb, and at the top, a long, dark hallway looms ahead of me. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling, leaves cover the floor, and the stench of dead animals fills the air.
But floating on top of all that? Sweat. A lingering hint of harsh cologne, and gunpowder. Five doors in this hall, all yawning open, and I have to clear each room before I can get to Ry.
The first is nothing but broken down pallets. The second, an odd closet through which half a dozen pipes crisscross, some with shut-off valves on them. As I head for the third, a solid weight slams into me, taking me down to my knees. The knife tumbles from my hand, and the barrage of punches to my back leave me gasping for breath.
“Where’s. My. Money?” Jessup hisses in my ear as he grabs my hair, yanks my head up, and then slams it back down. I see stars, and then he straddles me.
The flash of terror fades when a pistol presses to the back of my neck. He won’t kill me. He needs me. “Where’s Cara?”
Ry and whoever he’s fighting continue to exchange gunfire, and then an explosion rocks the far side of the facility.
“She got away. You want the chance to find her, give me my goddamned money or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”
I don’t know what it is in his voice that makes me believe him, but I do. He doesn’t know where she is, which means it’s possible she’s still alive.
“You have ten seconds, Richards. Or make peace with your God.
Not a chance, asshole. I survived six years of hell, and I’m getting my fucking happy ever after.
“You want your blood money? Fine,” I spit out. “I just need my phone, shithead. Reaching for it now.” The barrel presses harder against my skull, and I dig into one of the pockets of my tactical vest. “Got to see to initiate the transfer. Or are you just that stupid?”
The pressure lets up as he rises, and he mutters, “I should kill you anyway. Get the fuck up.”
Slowly, I get to my knees, then stand, keeping my back to him. “Sixty million coming at you in three, two—” Whirling around, I punch Cara’s kitty cat brass knuckles into Jessup’s forearm, sending the gun flying across the hall. My next punch pierces his cheek, the cat ears digging into the soft flesh just above his jaw.
He howls in pain, and I sweep his legs out from under him, aim a swift kick to his mid-section, and pick up my knife. “You’re the worst of humanity, Jessup. Profiting off the suffering of others. You knew what Faruk was doing to me. You fucking saw me there and did nothing. Didn’t tell my brothers. Or JSOC. You know what he did to me?”
When he doesn’t answer, I kick him again, and he curls on his side in the fetal position. “Do. You. Know?”
“Fuck you, Richards. I don’t care.” Jessup pulls a small pistol from an ankle holster, and as he fires, his aim so far off it’s almost comical, I drive the knife through his heart.
“No. Fuck you.”
Chapter Thirty
Cara
The gunfire stopped a few minutes ago. I should try to climb out of my hiding place, but I can’t move. Sliding down the pipe was easy. Stopping? Not so much. Everything hurts. In order to wedge myself into this broken-down industrial fan hood, I had to wade out into the murky, frigid water of the Duwamish. I fell over when my foot caught in a soft patch of mud, I lost both shoes, and I’m still soaked to the skin.
“Cara!”
