“I was this close to charging down here and putting a bullet through his skull.” Kev kisses my forehead, holding me tight. “I know Higgins and Mead would’ve covered for me, and it was tempting, but death is too easy for a bastard like him. I want to see him behind bars.” He eases back, gripping my forearms. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
I vigorously nod. “I am. I’m not backing out now. I’m seeing this through to the end.”
His eyes spark to life. “In that case, I’ve got good news.”
My breath hitches. “You mean—”
“I found the tunnel baby. We’re going to finish this tonight.”
Chapter 24
Keven
“Oh my God.” Cheryl’s eyes are almost bugging out of her head as we stand in front of the open closet in the guestroom. A blast of cold air slaps us in the face as I pull the cord dangling from the top of the closet, and light floods the entryway to the tunnel below.
After I’d hurriedly replaced the boxes, I’d hidden in the closet, listening to the wire feed as that asshole terrorized Cheryl. Suspicion was clear in his voice, and I was on the verge of tearing down to the kitchen so many times, but I managed to restrain myself.
I had a feeling deactivating the camera feed might trigger a warning, especially so soon after the last time. I’m hoping he had it set up to receive automatic alerts. The alternative is that he pays for live monitoring which would be problematic, but I can’t consider that now. I’ve got to keep my focus. There’ll be time to consider the fallout after the operation has completed.
When I heard her say he was hurting her I slammed my fist into the back of the closet, my heart stuttering when I heard the hollow sound echoing back at me. I’d traced my fingers around the edge, feeling the small breeze blowing over my fingertips and I knew I’d hit pay dirt. But I couldn’t risk exploring further, not with that bastard downstairs, so I had to bide my time until we enticed him out of the house again.
It seemed to take forever for news of the second explosion to reach Stanten’s ears. We’d had a Plan B in case he showed up at the house, and once Wentward updated the SSA, he gave the order to detonate the second device at another one of his warehouses, over on the other side of the city.
I was confident once Stanten heard that another one of his warehouses had gone up in flames he wouldn’t stay home even if he’s now harboring doubts about Cheryl’s reappearance in his life.
Or, perhaps, he’s considering alternatives. Maybe believing the DeLuca family is making a reckless play. It’s not a huge stretch at all. It’s better if he believes the explosions and camera failures are connected to his Boston rivals; at least it will deflect suspicion from Cheryl. I make a mental note to leave a few crumbs pointing in that direction for him when I get back home.
The instant I brought Cheryl up to the guest room, I ripped the false panel off the back of the closet, exposing the stairs leading down to the tunnel. I wish I could do this alone so that I can keep her safe and out of harm’s way. But the SSA was very clear. We need proof before the FBI can officially come barging in. Given what I suspect awaits us, there’s no way I’m going down there without backup. Besides, I know my girl. There’s no way she’d stay behind even if I begged her to.
So, it’s up to the two of us to explore this tunnel.
I face my love, pinning her with a grave expression. “Stay behind me at all times, and once we reach the tunnel, take your gun out, and keep it armed and ready.” She nods, visibly gulping. “Just keep calm and remember everything you’ve learned. I don’t know if anyone is manning these tunnels, so expect the unexpected.”
Determination glimmers behind her eyes as she straightens her shoulders. “I know what to do. I’ve got this, and you don’t need to worry about me. Just concentrate on the path ahead and know I’ve got your back.” She pulls back the chamber of her gun in one fluid, confident move, unlocking the safety and positioning her hands in the correct position before drilling me with a feisty, determined look.
“Damn, that’s fucking hot,” I admit with a smile, checking the knife is securely strapped to my calf and unlocking the safety on my Glock.
A muscle clenches in her jaw as she stares at the stairway to hell. “Let’s go nail the bastard.”
I descend the staircase slowly and carefully, my eyes and ears primed for any signs that we’re not alone. When my foot hits the ground, it triggers some kind of electric sensor, and lights flare to life, illuminating the passageway in front of us. Cracked stone walls attest to the age of the tunnel, but the pathway looks new, and it’s been swept clean. There’s no mold, debris, or any obvious sign of rodents or water leakages.
Cheryl’s breathing puffs out in audible spurts, but she’s steadfast as she follows me. There only seems to be one route, one destination, although we pass by several older tunnels, jutting off to the left and right, that have been sealed behind iron doors. It’s clear Stanten had this infrastructure upgraded to suit his purpose.
We walk for fifteen minutes, and I’m beginning to wonder if this is leading us anywhere when a piercing cry rings out up ahead. I slam to a halt, spinning around to Cheryl and placing my fingers to her lips. She nods, and I detect no outward fear on her face, only dogged determination. I tap the communicator in my ear, whispering, “Stand by” to Higgins and Wentward, but I’m met with empty static.
Fuck.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers, seeing something on my face.
“We’ve lost contact with the guys. The tunnel must be disrupting the signal.” I scrub a hand over my jaw, wondering if we should turn back.
“We’re not going back,” she says, as if she’s read my mind. “We’ll scout it out, and if it looks like something we can’t handle, we’ll go back and call for reinforcements.”
I kiss her feisty mouth. “I fucking love you.”
She grins. “I fucking love you too, now let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.”
I inch ahead slowly, keeping tucked in close to the side of the wall with Cheryl at my back. The closer we get, the louder the pained cries become, and the more my rage builds. The screams are clearly feminine, and she’s hurt or hurting. When I round the next bend, I instantly retreat, forcing Cheryl back the way we just came. Using hand gestures, I motion for her to stay put. I can tell she doesn’t want to let me go by myself, but there’s no way I’m letting her go any farther until I’ve checked it’s safe.
I creep around the corner, scanning the space. We’ve come to a dead end, facing into a small rectangular room with four iron doors on one side and a wide set of stairs on the other. The wooden double doors at the top are sealed, but I’ve no idea if anyone stands guard outside them. I’m guessing we’re underneath the barn, and this is where Stanten has been keeping the kidnapped girls until they’re sent out to work. I creep past the first two closed doors, inching toward the only open one. Raising my weapon, I draw a deep breath and take a quick peek inside.
The room is tiny, and four girls are imprisoned inside, semi-dressed, sitting on dirty mattresses with their hands shackled to the wall. One of them looks at me with stark eyes, and I lift my fingers to my lips, urging her to stay quiet.
The fifth girl is naked, bent over a table in the corner of the room, as some asshole thrusts into her from behind. Her shrill cries slice a line straight through my heart, and I don’t hesitate, reaching for my knife and tiptoeing up behind him.
Grabbing him by the hair, I yank his head back so his throat is exposed. Before he can call for help, I bring the knife straight across his throat, embedding it in one fluid motion, feeling zero remorse as his lifeforce drains out of him. This is a fight or die situation, and I’m not taking any chances with these thugs. He slumps to the floor, his hands frantically grasping his neck, a gurgling sound bubbling from his throat.
Two of the girls start crying, and the girl who was being raped lo
oks over her shoulder and screams. I clamp a hand over her mouth—I have no choice—pleading with her to keep quiet. “I’m with the FBI,” I say in a whisper, sliding my badge out of my back pocket and flashing it to the clearly terrified girls. “I’m going to get you out of here, and I promise I mean you no harm. Does anyone speak English?”
“I do,” a skinny girl with beautiful brown eyes and a sad smile says.
“Okay. Can you explain to the others that they need to keep quiet? There are more men upstairs, and if they don’t stop screaming and crying, they’ll come down here to investigate.”
She nods, speaking rapidly in Spanish as I search the pockets of the dead man for keys. I find them and quickly unlock the chains around the girls’ hands and feet. Advising them to stay put and keep utterly quiet, I run out and retrieve Cheryl, getting her to stay with the girls while I check out the other rooms. The girl who speaks English comes with me as I unlock the doors, one at a time. One room is empty, but the other two hold another nine girls between them, making it fourteen in total being held down here.
Once everyone is unchained and the little Mexican girl has translated for me, we start moving back down the tunnel in the direction of the house.
I keep guard at the rear while Cheryl leads. We run, needing to get clear before someone figures out they’ve escaped, but it’s no easy feat for the girls as they are all barefoot and weak, and some of them are sporting minor injuries. However, their survival instincts are strong, and they don’t complain as they run after Cheryl, shivering and whimpering but determined to get out of here.
A shot whizzes over my head from behind and the girls start screaming. Spinning around, I fire blindly in the direction the shot came from while roaring at Cheryl. “Keep going! Get them to safety, and I’ll hold them off.”
I remove my backup weapon from the waistband of my pants and walk back the way we came, firing both guns at the man ducking behind the nearest corner. Behind me, I’m aware of running footsteps growing more distant, and I’m glad Cheryl has taken my instruction and is sticking to the plan.
A shot embeds in the wall right beside me, and I lunge over to the other side, narrowly avoiding impact as the guy continues firing at me. Tucking myself into the small crevice in front of one of the old iron doors, I’m strategically firing while mentally calculating how many bullets I’ve got left. Then I get lucky, and one of my shots hits its mark. The man goes down, and he’s not getting back up. Unwilling to take any chances, I run toward him with both weapons raised, firing another couple of rounds into his prostrate body.
When I reach his side, I prod him with my booted foot, but his rigid limbs and glassy-eyed stare confirm he’s dead. I’m turning around to go after Cheryl and the girls when the cold metal barrel of a gun juts into the side of my head, and I freeze. A guy steps out from behind the corner, nudging me with his weapon. “Time to die, motherfucker,” he says in a furious voice, and the distinct clicking of a weapon rings out before I’ve had time to make any move.
Everything happens in slow motion as my life flashes before my eyes.
A shot rings out, and my ears are on fire. I drop to the ground, clutching my head and roaring as pain explodes in my skull. My ears throb, and I rock back and forth on my heels as pain holds me captive. My stomach lurches violently, and nausea builds in the back of my throat.
It takes me a few moments to realize Cheryl is kneeling in front of me, her lips moving, but I can’t hear anything.
I glance at the dead body lying by my side, the back half of his head missing and a pool of blood spreading outward. Bloody spatter coats my clothes, my face, and my hands. Cheryl pushes him away with her two feet, clearing a path for our escape. Helping me to my feet, she keeps her arm wrapped around my waist as we hobble down the passageway. I can scarcely keep myself upright. I’m staggering all over the place like I’m smashed. The ringing in my ears is affecting my coordination, and our progress is slow, but somehow, she manages to keep me moving. Sweat beads on my forehead and rolls down my back as we advance, and when we reach the stairs which lead back into the house, I slump against the wall, depleted of all energy.
Cheryl’s lips are moving again, but I still can’t hear over the ringing in my ears. Then Colin Wentward is there, forcing Cheryl up the stairs while grabbing my arm and slinging it over his shoulder. We climb the stairs slowly and awkwardly, and I wince as intermittent bursts of noise attack my eardrums while my ears struggle to regain their hearing.
It’s mayhem when we step out of the tunnel back into the house. My FBI colleagues mingle with DEA agents and various medical personnel, searching rooms and attending to the frightened young girls. I drop down onto the ground, resting my back against the wall. It’s like I’m a silent bystander, invisible as the madness swirls around me.
Cheryl hunches over me, worry etched across her pretty face. She’s saying something, but I still can’t properly hear. Fleeting words register too late, and I haven’t a clue what she’s saying. I point to my ears, shaking my head, and she nods in understanding, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and holding me tight. I rest my head on her shoulder, feeling her body shake with unshed tears. We cling to one another until an EMT forces us apart to check my vitals.
While he checks me out, I keep my eyes trained on Cheryl, watching as she momentarily leaves the room, returning a couple minutes later with an armful of T-Shirts. She walks around the room, distributing them to the girls. Gradually, my hearing returns, in more fits and spurts, and I wince every time, as pain darts through my skull, piercing my eardrums.
“Kennedy, you okay?” SSA Clement towers over me, extending his hand to help me up. I take it, struggling to my feet.
“I’m good.”
“I want you to go to the hospital to get properly checked out.”
I try to shake my head in protest, but moving it fucking kills.
“I’ll go with him,” Cheryl says, and the sound of her beautiful voice is like music to my ears. She loops her arm through mine. “Don’t even think about arguing with me,” she warns, already guiding me out of the room behind the EMT. “You know, if the tables were turned, you’d insist I was fully checked out.”
“I’m not arguing,” I say in a croaky voice, my throat feeling like it’s been scraped with sandpaper. “And if I never see this house again, it’ll be too soon.”
Cheryl rides with me in the ambulance, holding my hand and staring at me with a look of pure relief. “I thought I was going to lose you,” she says, tears streaming quietly down her face. “I’ve never been so scared.”
I squeeze her hand tight. “Me too,” I admit. “He was going to kill me, and I knew there wasn’t enough time to react, but you took him out first.” I gulp over the messy ball of emotion clogging my throat, staring into the face of the woman I love. My angel. My savior. “You saved my life, Cheryl.”
“And I’d do it all over again if I had to.” She sweeps hair back off my forehead, pressing a chaste kiss to my brow. “Even if the fact I killed a man today has me a little freaked,” she honestly admits.
“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t feel like that, and it’s a normal reaction.”
“But I have zero regrets, because he was going to kill you, and I didn’t hesitate. I just pulled the trigger.”
I pull her hand to my mouth, planting a soft kiss on her skin. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and, for as long as I live, I’ll never forget what you did for me today.”
Chapter 25
Cheryl
It’s crazy when we arrive at the hospital. A bunch of doctors and nurses wait in the lobby for the ambulances transporting the Mexican girls, and I discover a crowded building downtown collapsed a couple hours ago causing several fatalities and copious injuries. So, the hospital is swamped, and the noise levels are deafening. Kev has his head in his hands while the EMT wheels him through to the emergency room.
&n
bsp; I called Kaden just as we left the house, and he made it to the hospital before us. He’s called the whole family, and slowly, they trickle in. Once Alex arrives, she immediately takes charge, getting us moved to the private wing where we await news of Keven. He was whisked away for examination the second we arrived, and we haven’t heard a peep since.
“What happened?” Kyler asks, bursting into the room with Faye and Brad hot on his heels.
I offer them the same explanation I gave the others, and Kyler sinks into a chair in relief when I confirm he hasn’t been seriously injured. Just then, the door opens, and Keven is wheeled in by the doctor.
Alex and James rush to their son’s side, fussing over him. “He looks cranky,” Kaden says, his lips tugging up at the corners.
“So would you be if a gunshot went off right beside your ear,” Eva chastises him, nudging him in the ribs.
“That’s just his resting bitch face,” Kent unhelpfully supplies.
“You’re lucky he can’t hear you right now,” Keaton says, thumping his brother in the arm.
“Don’t fucking joke about that,” Kyler says, glaring at Keaton. “We still don’t know if there’s any permanent damage to his hearing.”
Kev stands, walking straight toward me and pulling me into his arms. He kisses the top of my head before turning us around to face his family. “Thanks for coming, but it wasn’t necessary. I’m fine,” he says, while contradicting himself by tugging on his earlobe.
“You need rest, Mr. Kennedy,” the doctor says, narrowing his eyes at him. “We don’t know what long-term trauma may have occurred or whether there is any permanent damage yet. My office will call you to schedule an appointment for two weeks. In the meantime, get this prescription filled. It will help with the pain, and the ringing in your ears should stop within the next twelve to twenty-four hours.”
Forgiving Keven: A Stand-Alone Second Chance Romance Page 20
