by Selena Kitt
With his weight gone, she sucked a breath in. “M’okay. Wha-winded.”
“Thank... fuck.” He breathed hard against the side of her face. “Sorry, but you’ve got ten seconds to play dead while you get your breath back. Then we’re going for the alley.”
She nodded, willing her body to ignore the bone-deep ache in her back from the impact of her gun butt. She took a few quiet, panting breaths, then squeezed his hand to indicate she was ready to move.
You’re on a running machine, going your fastest. Just run like all the hot guys in the gym are judging you.
The moment Ric’s full pressure released, she pretty much threw herself onto the balls of her feet and sprinted with him as they darted between loud spots of light along the wall of the kill house perimeter, lunging down the alley to the side door.
He pushed her in front of him, spinning around to fire at two guys running in after them, then picked a third off the roof. She hung back, planning to cover him with her Lady Sif while he got the door open, but he yanked her hard against the panel, his broad body over hers, protecting her from immediate shots as he punched the number in.
A shot rang out right behind them and she saw a bullet hit dust, scattering it. Ric aimed up to the roof and picked off the sniper, holding the rifle in one hand while pushing the door with the other.
It fell open behind her and she staggered back, taking a couple of stumbling steps before hitting the floor. Ignoring the reignited burn from the sore spot on her back, she yanked her knees up to her chest so her feet wouldn’t get caught as Ric slammed the door shut behind them. She reached her hand up automatically so he could help haul her to her feet.
“Well done,” he murmured. “Quiet as you can, in my tracks. We just need to clear three hallways and one flight of stairs, then we’re into the main offices.”
Oh, is that all?
Her adrenaline did all her nodding for her.
The first hallway was clear, as was the second, but just as they were heading for the stairwell, a shot rang out.
Ric grabbed her arm so hard she slammed face-down on the ground along with him. At least this time, she landed on her forearms to keep from getting the wind knocked out of her again.
She raised her head an inch to see a blossom of red over the bottom of Ric’s right shoulder. Another half-inch rise showed legs storming towards them, and then the descending barrel of a gun.
She swung her Lady Sif around and fired three times, center mass, hitting him in the chest and blinking in stupid shock as he pitched over backwards and didn’t move anymore.
She’d done plenty of target shooting, but she’d never shot any living thing before, let alone a human being.
Ric pushed up onto his knees, twisting back to stare at her in slow confusion.
“But... you wouldn’t take the handgun!”
“Because I had my own.”
“Coulda said!”
“I tried! We were sort of interrupted by gunfire!”
“Keep that hidden, Leese.” The tiniest flicker of a grin showed at the corner of his mouth. “Could be our ace in the hole.”
“Ric, your shoulder—”
“Yeah, it stings. But it just stings. Let’s keep moving.”
She re-holstered her gun at her right hip in case something else sent her crashing over backwards and followed in his shadow as they ducked into the stairwell and crept along the hallway to Brad’s outer office.
His secretary’s door was wide open. Annalesa saw the elderly personal assistant splayed across the floor, her face to the left, a pool of blood staining the carpet.
There were tiny lumps scattered about in all that sticky red liquid and Annalesa had to clamp her hand over her mouth to stifle both her yelp of shock and the bile pushing past her gag reflex.
She stepped back into the hallway to get a grip, and in the one second she’d closed her eyes against the horror, reopened them to find Ric gone.
Before she had the chance to even wonder what he was doing, he was backing in the hallway with her, hauling a chair loaded down by a sagging figure.
She gasped as she took in the poor Henrik’s condition. His hands were bound behind the chair and his t-shirt ripped open at the front to show a chest and gut marked with slashes and burn marks. His chin drooped down between his collarbones.
“What the...?” she whispered.
“Beaten with a live electric flex,” Ric muttered, putting his fingers to Henrik’s neck. He looked down at her and kept his voice low. “Get his wrists, okay? Anders is in Dad’s office with Bremmen. If things go down badly in there, I need to give Henrik a chance to escape.”
She got Henrik’s left arm free easily enough—he must have really thrashed around, loosening things up—but as she worked on the right, he responded helplessly to the agony of the feeling suddenly returning to his arms being bound for hours.
Ric clamped his hand over Henrik’s mouth to keep him quiet and the guy struggled furiously for a second before recognizing Ric and sagging with a soft groan.
Ric bent down and asked something in Norwegian, his face darkening at Henrik’s brief, croaked response before the poor guy passed out again.
Ric eased Henrik to the floor on his side, tilting his chin to keep the airway clear.
Keeping his voice really low, he explained, “Anders wanted photos of us together and Henrik said he didn’t have them. Anders knew he was lying.”
Annalesa bit her lip, knowing that if she replied, her voice would pitch high and betray her.
“Ryker?” Arensen’s voice blasted out from Brad’s inner office into the hallway.
Annalesa’s breath froze in her lungs.
“Ric, I know you’re here. You stole my captive. My eyes work, you know? Alan and I have been pretty busy with the contract sign-off, but I notice the little things—like a huge blond traitor being removed from a room.”
A muscle jumped in Ric’s jaw. He glanced up at Annalesa, mouthing: stay quiet, whatever he says.
She nodded but went for her gun anyway, her nerves making coordination difficult. Her hand snagged her jacket pocket instead of her holster, and she felt something cold—the letter opener she’d stuffed in there before chasing Ric.
She yanked it out, crouched down and pressed it into one of Henrik’s limp hands. It was a shitty weapon, but it was better than nothing.
“No, b-b-but I signed!” Bremmen’s voice carried, high and hysterical, into the corridor. “You got what you wanted—I signed!”
The blast of a gun resounded in Brad’s office and Ric clapped his hand over his mouth, his gut responding to Alan’s death as hers had a moment ago to the fate of Brad’s secretary.
She couldn’t help thinking that Alan Bremmen would never tell that stupid joke about lawyers and accountants ever again—and that made her crazily, incredibly sad, even if she had to fight the urge to laugh.
You’re getting hysterical. Get a grip!
“I’m getting bored,” Arensen called. “I know you’re both out there. Ric. I’m giving you to the count of three to get into the office and go down on your knees with your weapons in the air or your step-slut gets the next bullet. Is that in any way unclear?”
Before Annalesa could even process the insult, Ric was up on his feet and storming the office. He’d barely disappeared round the corner when a shot rang out, there was a yell, then silence.
Chapter 23
A deep, drawn out groan came from Brad’s office—unmistakably Ric’s—then Annalesa jumped as something was thrown just past her and skipped through the blood pool on the carpet before clattering against the back wall of the secretary’s outer office. It was Ric’s Brann Jotun handgun. She peered around the corner and saw Ric face down on the carpet, Arensen’s heel grinding down on the bloody spot at the bottom of his shoulder.
Ric’s arm was trembling, his hand stretching out towards the stock of the assault rifle just an inch out of reach. He pushed forward from his knees, releasing a strangled cry as Arensen stamped him ju
st as his fingers brushed the weapon.
Annalesa darted forward to grab it and her sight exploded in a red-and-white bloom of pain as something hit her in the face. She stumbled sideways at the blow, crashing into a swivel chair and hitting the floor.
Her cheek was on fire and she clutched at her face, feeling for blood. Her fingers came away dry, but she couldn’t see them. Black bursts mingled with the red and white clouds.
A muscle-crushing grip around her upper arm made her cry out, and between the stars exploding inside her head, she caught the briefest glimpse of the muzzle of Arensen’s gun, inches from her nose.
“No!”
Ric’s outburst exploded in almost the same moment that the grip on her arm gave way. She dropped back to the floor, her sight returning in a series of strobe-like flashes.
Arensen’s gun fired, and then there was a grunt as he hit the deck, brought down by the scissor-grip of Ric’s calves around his ankles. Annalesa pressed up onto her knees, massaging alertness back into the less tender side of her face just as Ric straddled Arensen, snatching his handgun and tossing it into the outer office to join his own Brann Jotun.
“Stay the fuck away from Leesa!” Ric grabbed a fistful of shirt, pounding Arensen’s face again and again until the man’s head lolled on the carpet.
Annalesa got back up to her feet just as Ric scrambled off Arensen backwards, then turned, bending with a grunt to pick up the assault rifle.
Arensen had been exaggerating the power of Ric’s blows. He flipped up onto his feet, reaching for the knife at the side of his belt. He moved too fast for Annalesa to yell, but Ric swung around in time to fire a shot off before Arensen could get close.
Arensen roared, grabbing his upper left arm, then flung a foot out, catching Ric in the gut. Ric doubled over onto his knees, retching, but managing to fire the rifle again. Nothing happened. It clicked empty. Arensen let go of his injured arm to snatch the rifle back with a short, mirthless laugh.
There was a long silence in the room as Ric fought for breath, trying to straighten up. He put a shaking hand to where he’d been kicked. Annalesa’s gasp merged with his as his palm came away bloody. Clearly, Arensen’s shot had hit its mark before Ric had managed to take him down.
Arensen moved between Annalesa and Ric, reloading the rifle.
“I’m guessing this is the one you found in Brad’s Jeep. I didn’t think it was wise to put more than a couple of rounds in it.”
Ric wheezed. “I trusted you!”
“Always so fucking emotional,” Arensen muttered. “It’s why you’ll never get anywhere in this trade, Big Dick. Those guys you wouldn’t trade with? They respected me. I had them in the palm of my hand with the promise of incoming millions, and we could’ve armed the one group best positioned to take out the likes of the Islam State, but no—their form of activism was too ‘inhumane’ for you. Weak. Pathetic. To think I honestly believed you’d grown a pair.”
Ric got to his feet, using the table to haul himself up. “You lay another hand on Leesa—”
Arensen snapped an arm out and grabbed her hair, wrapping it hard around his fist. He pulled her temple up to the muzzle of the rifle. “Back off, Ryker.”
“Don’t hurt her.” Ric had his hands out, palms up.
“Get over to the window, hands behind your head. I don’t want you and ‘Leesa’ anywhere near each other. I think you’ve had enough ‘closeness’ already, don’t you? The pair of you make me sick!”
Annalesa’s teeth chattered together as Arensen stroked the rifle up and down her face. Moving as slowly as possible, while Arensen’s attention was on Ric, who was struggling to get his arms up over his head, she eased her hand towards her left hip, hoping get under the jacket and reach for the handle of her Lady Sif.
“Don’t fucking move!” Arensen roared in her ear, twisting her hair. “Big Dick’s not the target he was, but he’s still a big man. I can put at least another couple of bullets in him before he stops feeling them!”
She fought against the strong urge to cry as Ric gritted his teeth, his face white and pained as his surrender position strained the wound at his waist.
“You know, Ric,” Arensen went on, his voice calmer. “You’ve actually made things a little easier on me, for once. When the Feds run the ballistics on the shots fired in this room, they’ll find my blood on a bullet fired from the rifle that killed your father.”
“With my prints all over it,” Ric growled, hate radiating from his face. “You’re going to make out you were wounded trying to rescue us? How do my prints fit in with your story? How about your bullet in me?”
“You took the gun from the first man you killed.” Arensen shrugged. “We made it all the way to this office before being overpowered, and I caught you in the crossfire. Predictably, you were fatally wounded trying to shield your sister.”
Annalesa felt the broad, cold patch of the gun muzzle being removed from her face and drew in a short breath as she heard the soft click of metal on a hard surface as he put it down somewhere. Her hand moved to her gun again but Arensen strengthened his grip on her hair. Then there was the cold slide of a blade stroking across the bottom of her throat.
“Anders...” Ric’s voice was ragged. “Please don’t. Don’t hurt her like that.”
“You’re a sick boy, you know that? You’ve always had this stupid weakness for Annalesa, and it’s fucked with your head. I actually thought you might be ready to lead Ryker Arms, but it took just a few days of having her back in your life for you to turn back into a childish, greedy kid. You can’t have her and the company. Did you seriously think you could fuck her and fuck me over at the same time?”
“Anders—”
“Do not call me that! You lost the right to call me that the moment you decided you were going to live a double life!” Arensen sprayed spittle. “Who looked out for you all these years? Who turned you into a man? Who made your father take you seriously? I did! And just because you couldn’t keep your cock out of your kid sister’s cunt, you threw that all away! You may look like a man now, but you’ll never amount to more than Big Fat Dick!”
Annalesa froze as the blade pressed harder against her neck. She didn’t dare move a muscle, but couldn’t take her eyes off Ric either. Her vision was still hazy, but she could see the bloody patch on his waist growing. He was starting to sway.
She saw a flicker of red out of the window, blinked and it was gone. She stared again but it didn’t reappear. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, frustrated that she couldn’t focus.
Anders slipped the knife from her throat down her front, pressing just hard enough to cut the thin jersey material of her top and leave a stinging line of broken skin.
Ric staggered forward, eyes blazing, and Anders immediately put the knife back to her throat. Ric backed up, hands raised again.
“Keep making me mad, and I’ll make you watch me cut her open.”
She didn’t understand why, if Arensen was so angry, he didn’t just shoot them both and start setting up his failed ‘rescue’ scene, if that’s what he had planned. He’d need time to move bodies around, make sure Henrik was dead...
Arensen wasn’t a ranter. He was—
It dawned on her. He was waiting for something. She saw that flicker of red through the window again, and she knew it was a sniper dot.
“Ric, get down!”
Ric lurched to the side as the window smashed and she had a split-second’s hope he’d been missed but he crashed down on his knees with a guttural cry. Blood thumped from his right wrist and he grabbed at it, trying to stem the flow.
Arensen yelled something in his native tongue and suddenly Annalesa felt her hair being released. He stepped out from behind her and bore down on Ric with the knife, his face a mask of rage.
Still gripping his wrecked wrist, Ric brought both hands up between Arensen’s legs in a volleyball blow, hitting just hard enough for Arensen to back up a couple of paces with a grunt, his upper body pitchin
g forward.
Annalesa snatched at her Lady Sif before he could go for Ric again and squeezed off three shots, trying to hit Arensen in profile, her hands shaking badly.
Arensen stumbled and dropped his knife, turning to her with a long, confused look. She squinted at him, trying to figure out whether he was astonished at the sudden appearance of her weapon, or the fact that she’d actually hit him.
She kept her arms straight, ready for a full-frontal shot, but he put his hand just beneath his armpit and stared long and hard at the blood that came away on his palm. He coughed, releasing a thin dribble from the corner of his mouth, then his legs folded.
“But you...” His words came out in a rasp and he looked up at her with huge eyes like she’d betrayed him. “You don’t... carry.”
“I didn’t. I do now,” she snapped, still keeping her gun trained on him.
Her whole body shook like someone was throwing her around by her shoulders, but she was ready to fire off another three shots if that’s what it took to make sure he was really gone.
She didn’t have to. His eyes rolled up in his head and he pitched forward onto his left shoulder and hit the carpet face-first. She kicked the knife across the room and nudged him with her foot, but he didn’t move.
A soft groan met her ears and she looked over to see Ric down on his side, facing away from her. He’d managed to stagger far enough away from the shattered pane to not land in the immediate detritus, but the glow from the spotlights showed multiple shards of glass scattered across his upper shoulders and back from the initial blast.
She dropped her gun and darted over to him, leaping over his legs, yanking her jacket back over shoulders as she knelt by his chest. His eyes were closed, his left hand too limp to stem the blood pumping out of his right wrist.
She couldn’t help remembering the hostage simulation she’d participated in, hearing the echo of Arensen’s voice in her head as he sneered about Ric having a minute’s fight left in him with the brachial artery gone.
Well, fuck that.
Ric may have lost the fight after defending her from Arensen, but he wasn’t losing the war. She yanked her top off over her head, stretched the sleeves out wide to either side and flipped the material of the body over and over to make a fat-middled rope.
