His breathing matched mine, and then we slept.
8
LIGHTNING STRIKE
Four short, sharp raps on the door jolted me awake. I glanced out the window and saw that it was probably an hour or two before dawn, the sky still black but with muted shades of gray staining the horizon where it met the rippling, glinting sea.
"Mr. Roth." It was Alexei. "Your presence is required, sir. Immediately as possible, please."
I was still blinking myself awake as Roth scrambled out of bed and jumped into his shorts, not bothering with underwear, shirt, or shoes.
"Stay here," he commanded as he glanced briefly at me.
"Fuck that. I need to know what's going on." I was out of bed too, grabbing an ankle-length stretchy cotton sundress, not bothering with any undergarments either.
"I said stay, Kyrie."
I pushed out the door past him. "I'm not a fucking dog, Valentine."
Alexei was waiting just outside the door, dressed exactly as he had been the last time I'd seen him, but now his jaw was dark with beard growth and his eyes had circles under them, although his gaze was as alert and sharp as ever. He had his finger along the outside of the trigger guard on his weapon, I noticed, rather than just casually gripping the handle. The webbing on his body armor now held three magazines of ammunition, as well as two grenade-like objects which I assumed were flash-bangs.
Something significant had happened, I realized.
Something bad.
Another man dressed and equipped identically to Alexei stood at the back door of the kitchen, rifle held in both hands, his finger as well snugged across the trigger guard, rifle butt tucked against his shoulder. I glanced out at the darkness of the forest beyond the courtyard and saw a shadow move in the darkness, starlight glinting on a gun barrel. Another figure emerged, this man wearing a pair of night vision goggles on his face, which he lifted as he approached us, leaning close to Alexei and muttering in his ear. Alexei keyed his mic and spoke into it in Russian.
Looking from Roth to me, Alexei simply said, "Follow me."
He jerked his head toward the dense forest, and set off toward it at a quick walk. He had his rifle tucked into his shoulder, held at the ready, moving in a crouch and sweeping the barrel from side to side. The man with the goggles brought up the rear behind Roth and me.
"What the fuck is going on, Valentine? Where are Layla and Cal?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I know as much as you do, but I'm certain that Harris has Layla and Cal under protection."
There was no clear path that I could see, but nonetheless Alexei led us unerringly between the trees through near complete darkness to a long, low building. He held open a thick steel door and ushered us in. I glanced back the way we'd come and realized I'd never be able to find the house by myself; a few yards into the undergrowth and everything looked different. Wilder, less tamed. And this place was hidden well, screened by foliage. The building was surrounded by a good twenty yards of clearing--for sight lines, I figured--but until you were right at the clearing, you'd never see it.
The building was windowless, lit only by fluorescent tubes. One entire wall was taken up by a bank of monitors, each screen showing a room in the main house. Most rooms, including the beach itself, were shown from two different angles. There were even cameras positioned in the forest. Opposite the bank of monitors was a floor-to-ceiling case containing an arsenal: assault rifles like those I'd already seen, as well as a huge assortment of handguns, shotguns, sniper rifles, machetes, flash-bangs and actual grenades, body armor, night vision goggles, and even something huge and terrifying that I thought might be a grenade launcher.
Harris was sitting at a metal table, a map spread out in front of him, a red pen in one hand and a ruler in the other, marking lines and Xs on the map. He was dressed like the rest of his security force: gray BDUs, black body armor, black "A1S" ball cap, sidearm, knife, and a rifle hanging by its strap from the corner of his chair. He had extra magazines on his body armor webbing, as well.
Harris didn't just have a security company; he had a small mercenary army, each man armed to the teeth, loaded for bear.
So what had them on high alert?
I was about to ask when the door opened, and another member of the security team entered with Cal behind him. Cal looked overwhelmed and bewildered, and not a little amazed.
"Holy shit, Key," he said. "You people don't fuck around, do you? What's going on, you have any idea? Ivan here won't tell me."
"Name is Sasha, Mr. St. Claire," Cal's escort said, his voice thick with a Russian accent.
"No, Cal, my people do not fuck around," I said, "and no, I don't know what's going on. I think we're about to find out, though."
Cal went over to the rack of weapons. "Fuck me running, dude! Is that an M-203?"
"Touch that and I'll break your fingers, kid," Harris said, not looking up. He marked one more X on his map and then swiveled on his chair. "All right, now that we're all here--"
"Wait," I protested. "We're not all here. Where's Layla?"
Harris's expression hardened, fury darkening his face. "That's why we're here. I'm not going to mince words, Kyrie: Vitaly took her. Snatched her right out from under my fucking nose."
"How the fuck is that possible, Harris?" Roth said, snarling. "I thought you had this place more secure than the Pentagon?"
"I did," Harris said, his voice a little too calm. "About an hour ago they set off some kind of low-tech EMP bomb that fried our circuits. At the same time, they hit my guys on the beach as a distraction. Lucas and Thresh both took heavy fire. Lucas is down but not out, and Thresh is--well, I'm pretty sure Thresh could lose a limb and still wreck shit, so I'm not worried about him. They also went after the Eliza, which, along with the the beach hit, was just a distraction. While that was going on four men infiltrated Layla's room and took her. Dane gave pursuit and took out two of them, but received a wound to the throat in the process. Not sure he'll make it. They had a launch waiting down by the beach, and by the time we had comms up and running and could coordinate with each other, they were gone. This was a pro hit, Roth. These weren't Vitaly's usual half-assed gorillas with AKs. It was quick, precise, and coordinated, and done by serious professionals."
I was having trouble processing what he was saying. "Hold on, Harris. You--you're saying someone kidnapped Layla? And someone is dying? Why did the gunfire not wake us up?"
Harris lifted his assault rifle. "Suppressors. Ops like this, you can't have machine guns going off in the middle of the night or the local government would be all over our asses."
"People were killed?"
"Vitaly's guys lost six men and one was injured. Lucas took a round to the thigh and will be out of commission for a few months. Thresh took two rounds, one to the shoulder blade and one to the bicep, two more direct hits on his body armor, but that'll leave nothing but bruises. Dane took a single round to the throat. He's alive for now, but I don't like his chances."
"What about--what about Layla?" My voice cracked as I said her name.
"Before he lost consciousness Dane was able to communicate that she was unhurt." Harris's jaw clenched, his molars grinding. "It's both good and bad that we're dealing with Vitaly directly now rather than his crazy-ass daughter. You did the world a favor when you took her out, Kyrie. Vitaly has a different approach than his daughter. He doesn't do things rashly out of passion. He won't kill her or even hurt her unless it benefits him. If he wanted her or all of us dead, he would have just hit us with an airstrike or something. If he knows where we are and chose not to wipe us off the face of the planet, he has something else in mind. So that works in our favor. He won't kill her unless he has to, because he really wants you two--" he pointed at Roth and me with a sweep of his index finger, "but we know he will kill her, which works against us. We don't know where he has her, or what his long game is, which also works against us."
Cal cleared his throat. "Hold on a fucking second, people. I have so ma
ny questions I don't even know where to start. Who took Layla, and why? And when you said Kyrie 'took her out', what does that mean? Who did she take out? Kyrie...killed someone? And--"
I left Roth's side and put my finger to Cal's lips, silencing him, although I had to reach up to do so. "Calvin, little brother. Do me a favor, okay? Shut the hell up."
"Don't tell me to shut up, Key. Layla is gone, people are dead, and now I'm hearing that you killed someone? How did I not know about this? You've got to tell me what the hell is going on!"
"Cal, look--"
Roth stepped forward and put himself between Cal and me. "It's a very long story, Cal, and we don't have time to fill you in. The short version is this: I've got enemies you don't want to know about--for your own good. My enemies are Kyrie's enemies now, which she found out to her detriment several months ago. She did what she had to in order to stay alive, the details of which are her story to tell, not mine. And because my enemies have become hers, they've also become yours. Which means I've had--or rather Harris has had--men watching you for nearly a year now. Every move you made, every date you went on, every night spent studying or fucking or partying, they've been there out of sight, watching and protecting. You never knew, because you didn't need to. But now that Layla has been abducted, you've been forced into a more serious situation. Going forward, you will be given information on a need-to-know basis, and you'll stay here in this bunker under guard and you'll keep your mouth shut, because it's for your own good. We'll have you returned to Chicago as soon as we deem it safe to do so, which could be a matter of days, or a matter of weeks. Months even. All of your needs will be seen to. I've been paying for your tuition and room and board for months now, and I will continue to do so for the foreseeable future, because you are important to your sister, and thus you are important to me. But, for now, what I need from you is for you to step back and shut up. Got it?"
Cal's mouth snapped shut and his eyes glittered. "Got it."
Roth turned to Harris. "Contact Ella and tell her--"
"Already done. I've got a man on her as we speak, sitting in her living room, watching the exits. I've got visuals on Robert, your parents, and Kyrie's mom as well, and I've heightened security on all of them. Shit is locked down."
Roth crossed the room to stand in front of Harris. Roth had two inches on him, and used them to good effect, staring down at him with anger in his eyes. "Swear to me right now that this couldn't have been prevented, Harris."
Harris stared back, chin lifting. "It was a calculated strike, Mr. Roth. It was fucking surgical. The whole thing with Layla took less than three minutes from first contact to when Thresh lost visual on the Zodiac. There was nothing else we could have done, sir. I've got two wounded and one dead or...as good as dead."
Roth stepped back. "What are we doing to get her back?"
"I will rip this planet open to find her," Harris said. "I swear on my immortal soul I will find her, and I will end the life of every motherfucker involved in taking her." The vicious look in Harris's eyes sent shivers down my spine.
"Get her back, Harris," I said. "Please get her back."
Harris moved to stand in front of me. "I'm so sorry, Kyrie. You have my word. I got Roth back, I got you back, and I'll get her back. I promise."
Roth took me by the arms, turning me to face him. "I hate to have to say this, love, but I think we have to postpone--"
I cut him off. "You think I'd get married when my best friend is missing? Really? I love you more than life, Roth, but I'm not getting married without Layla. She's my family. So get us aboard the Eliza and get us out of here."
Harris pointed at Alexei. "Alexei, you're with them, Sasha, you too. You are to maintain direct visual at all times. Guys, I'm sorry, but privacy is going out the window until this is over. Either Alexei or Sasha will be in the room with you twenty-four hours a day. We've got the ship refueled and stocked, so you won't be making landfall anytime soon."
"Are you going after Layla alone?" I asked.
"Hell no. I'm bringing Thresh with me. I'd rather have him at my side than a dozen other men. Thresh is...well, he's one of a kind. He makes the Terminator look like a pussy."
Harris turned to scan the monitors, and then keyed his mic. "Eliza, prepare to receive primary. Immediate departure, emergency profile Zulu-Echo-Romeo-Oscar." He turned back to us. "You guys are gone. Cal stays here. I'll send an update when I can, but don't expect word from me for a few days."
We were out the door in a matter of seconds, Alexei in front, Sasha behind. I glanced back and saw a man lying prone on the roof of the building, holding a sniper rifle.
Harris stood in the doorway, ball cap turned backward. "I'll get her back."
"You better." It was all I could say.
I didn't even say goodbye to Cal. I saw a glimpse of him over Harris's shoulder, and he looked pale, even a little green. His usual bravado was replaced with an embarrassed silence.
Layla. God, Layla.
Be safe, hooker. Stay alive. Harris is coming for you.
Part Two:
Layla
9
KIDNAPPING IS FUN
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. I do not like being kidnapped. I don't recommend it.
I've seen some pretty gnarly shit in my life, but that scene? I'll have nightmares for the rest of my life, that's for damn sure. One second I was sleeping and having a nice little dream about Harris--although I'd deny that if pressed--and then the door was exploding and four dark shapes surrounded me. They tossed a black bag over my head, jerked my arms behind my back and wrapped zip-ties tight around my wrists, and shoved me forward.
The assholes didn't even let me put on my fucking pants. That's right, they kidnapped me wearing nothing but a thigh-length white V-neck T-shirt and my favorite red thong. No shoes, no pants, no bra.
Then they forced me into a run, one guy on each arm, pretty much carrying me across the courtyard. I couldn't see shit, because it was nighttime still and because they'd put a damn sack over my head. This was a legit third-world mafia kidnapping. I heard something behind me go poppoppop--poppop--poppoppop. And then there was a wet thwack, a grunt and the hands on my left arm fell away. Someone had been shot, I realized. Different hands grabbed my free arm and lifted me, carried me in a flat-out run.
Poppoppop--poppop; this was a different weapon, similar silent clicking, but a different tone. The good guys were getting closer. My kidnappers were firing back with everything they had. Then I heard a gurgle from behind.
"Dane! Shit!" A voice, male, low, American.
That wet gurgle, then the voice of someone calling out to the guy who'd clearly just died trying to help me...nightmare fuel right there.
I felt my feet hit the sand, and I heard the surf followed by the quiet rumble of an outboard boat motor. I was lifted clear off the ground, and a gust of wind kicked up, tossing my T-shirt up to bare my ass cheeks and a good portion of my naked titties.
This was not lost on my kidnappers: I heard them exchanging what I assumed, judging by the tone of their voices and the lecherous laughter, were disgusting guy-comments about how sexy I was. I didn't need to speak whatever barbarian language those fuckers spoke to understand what they were saying. So I did the only thing I could. I started thrashing and kicking, biting at whatever flesh was closest to me.
"LET ME GO YOU FUCKING FUCKS!" I screamed. I felt my foot connect with bone, and I kicked again, as hard as I could. I heard a grunt and a curse. "I'll kick all ya'll's fucking asses. Put me the fuck down!"
Something hard, cold, and round touched my temple. "Shut up, cunt, or you die. Be still, or you die." This was in a thick accent, Greek, or Italian, or--who the hell am I kidding? I don't know one foreign accent from another.
I went completely still and let them set me in the boat, cold, hard, wet rubber under my thighs. The gun barrel was pressed against the back of my skull, digging in hard. It hurt like hell as the boat was shoved into the water, and then the outboard motor kicked to life
and I was thrown to the side as the pilot pulled the craft sharply around. We hit a wave and I was tossed airborne, only to slam back down with a slap of flesh on rubber and a curse, which only earned derisive laughter from my captors.
I had no way to brace myself for the next wave, not being able to see, or grab onto the sides of the Zodiac. So I was tossed like a rag doll as the boat hit wave after wave, and the farther we got from shore, the larger the waves got. This was a tiny boat, I sensed, and we were heading out into open water. I wondered how far they were taking me, and why, and where, and who, and how soon I could expect to raped, tortured, and killed.
Thank you, Kyrie, for the terror-inducing warnings as to what I could expect if these dick-nuts got hold of me.
Well, they've got hold of me. So now what?
The worst part about being tossed around in the stupid little boat was that with every slam of the boat bottom on the water, cool salt spray hit me, soaking my face and my T-shirt. Did I mention my shirt was white, and that I was naked underneath it? No bra, and a tiny little thong. I mean, that thong barely covered my hoochie-coo in front, and didn't cover a damn thing in back. I like to both look and feel sexy, but not for the benefit of goons like these.
Also, I had been kinda hoping to let Harris get an eyeful of what I've got going on--which didn't happen, obviously. What can I say?
So...slam, slide down a wave, rocket back up, airborne--slam...and I'm wetter and nakeder. More naked? I don't know. Grammar isn't my strong suit under the best of circumstances and certainly not when I'm under duress. I've almost got a college degree, so I can put together a coherent essay on pretty much any topic, but it takes some effort to make sure I've edited the ghetto out.
It wasn't cold out, not by a long shot. But being three-quarters naked and wetter by the second will leave you shivering regardless of the temperature. So my teeth started chattering, my skin was covered in goose bumps, and my nips could cut glass.
None of this was lost on my captors. More than one pair of fingers pinched my nipples, hard enough that I ground my teeth together to keep from whining about it. I wasn't about to let these fuckers see me hurt. Let them pinch. Let them see me in a wet white T-shirt. I had one goal from here on out, and that was to stay alive. Dignity, virtue--heh, who am I kidding? I ain't got none of that anyway--privacy...none of that mattered. Men had died. This wasn't a game. It wasn't a prank or a joke. Real bullets had been fired, and real blood had been shed. Someone named Dane had gotten shot because of me. He was probably dead trying to protect me.
Omega Page 12
