Black Out

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “It’s four-thirty,” Ian said. “We need to get over there asap. If Angie’s not there, then we’ve got to get to the meeting by six and find out what Sobol wants.”

  It was more than a matter of driving up to the warehouse and knocking on the door. They had to infiltrate a shipping company’s operations, which ran around the clock, and pinpoint the precise warehouse Angie was in. Then they had to breach it, disarm and disable any guards, and rescue her before the clock ran out.

  If she wasn’t there, they had to make it across town to the meeting before her kidnapper decided they weren’t coming and killed her out of spite.

  “Make a left turn at the next street,” Dax said.

  Jared was driving and he did exactly what Dax told him to do for the next twelve minutes. Colt checked his weapons. The rest of them did the same. When they reached a spot about a mile from the warehouses, they ditched the SUV and went on foot.

  It added time, but it was necessary to stealth.

  They had to scale a brick wall and cut through barbed wire, then they skirted the perimeter. There were trucks backed up to loading docks and a steady pace of activity as trailers were loaded and unloaded.

  Colt and his teammates wore black assault suits, night vision goggles, and they had state of the art weaponry. Each one of them had been a military special operator at some point, whether in the military of the United States or a foreign military, and they knew what they were doing. They weren’t cautious for their own sakes. They were cautious for Angie’s.

  If a direct assault was needed, they’d do it. Not one of them gave a shit about killing anyone who intended to harm Angie. For now, stealth was the correct action. Until someone gave them a reason to abandon it.

  Ian held up a hand when they reached the far end of the complex. One warehouse sat by itself, away from the rest. It was older and smaller than the others, a rusted hulk of a building with a crumbling loading dock. There was only one bank of windows with light spilling over the sills. A single entry door stood on the dock level near the windows. There were also two loading bays with their sliding doors all the way down.

  A white van sat in front of the building along with a sleek McLaren.

  Ian signaled Jared, Ty, and Brett to head around the right side of the building. It was understood they’d report if they found anything. Ty snapped shots of the license plates as they went, using the digital camera embedded in his goggles. He would send them to Dax, and they’d know who owned the vehicles in minutes.

  Jace and Colt crept over and slapped trackers on the car frames, then took the left side of the building with Ian, moving through the overgrowth that swept up the side and onto the roof. It was probably kudzu, except it was too dark to know for sure. Halfway down the side of the building, the path cleared and a metal staircase appeared. It went up to the second floor of the warehouse. A door with a padlock stood at the top of the stairs.

  Colt looked at Ian. Ian nodded and Colt started up the rickety structure, being careful to move slowly so he didn’t make too much noise. If anyone saw him, he’d be a sitting duck up there. When he got to the top, he tried the lock. It was newer than the door. He dug into the gear at his belt and produced a set of picks. Then he went to work on the padlock.

  “Red team, report,” Ian said in his ear. “Black team’s found a door. We’re breaching.”

  “Nothing to report,” Jared said.

  “Watch for movement in front,” Ian told him.

  “Roger that.”

  “Let’s get inside and see if she’s there,” Ian said. “We have approximately fifteen minutes before we need to hit the road if not.”

  Colt buckled down and worked harder on popping the lock. It was supposed to be pick proof, but they hadn’t planned for the likes of him.

  Colt could pick anything.

  Paul knew what he had to do. It was too late to salvage the situation so he was going to do what Charles had wanted in the first place. Fucking Charles and his goddamn conscience. The dude had stolen plenty of dirty money from Steve and hadn’t cared where it came from.

  Get some Afghani terrorists involved and suddenly he was the Virgin fucking Mary.

  Now, the only way out Paul could see involved selling Steve and his sons down the river. His sister would get over it eventually. Maybe.

  Before Paul did it, however, he was going to use Angie Turner to get himself a new identity. A new face, a new name, new everything. Ian Black hated the mafia, but he was a man of his word. Paul had heard that often enough whenever Black’s name came up. Steve hated him, but he also kind of perversely admired him.

  Paul stood. Tommy looked up at him. Tommy was a sociopath who never shrank from dirty deeds. Tommy liked killing. Marco, though… Marco was calmer, cooler. He did what needed doing, but Paul didn’t think he particularly got any pleasure from it. Further, Paul suspected Marco was there to report back to Steve more than he was there to do Paul’s bidding.

  “Time to head to the meeting,” Paul said.

  Tommy was spinning the gun he’d taken from Colt Duchaine’s place around his finger like a toy. If he shot himself, Paul wouldn’t waste any time calling an ambulance.

  “Want me to stay here with the girl?” he asked. There was a strange light in his eyes that told Paul that’d be a terrible idea.

  “No, I need you with me. Marco can stay.”

  “I got it,” Marco said. He didn’t look up from his phone. He was playing a game. Bejeweled, it looked like.

  “Man, I want to fuck her. She looks like an uptight bitch that’ll scream good for me,” Tommy said.

  “There’s no time. You can fuck her when we come back.”

  It was a lie and Paul felt no remorse saying it. If Black agreed to his conditions, they would have to release her. No damage or the deal would fall apart.

  Tommy shoved to his feet. His eyes gleamed. He rolled the gun around his finger like Clint Eastwood—then pointed it at Paul.

  “Put that damned thing down,” Paul ordered.

  Tommy grinned. It was a stupid grin, filled with malice and maybe a touch of insanity. Then he flipped the weapon and shoved it into his pants.

  Paul thought if there was any justice in this world, the damned thing would go off and Tommy would lose a nut.

  It didn’t though.

  “If you’re ready?” Paul asked coolly.

  “Yeah, man. Ready when you are. Let’s go meet these assholes.”

  Marco looked up with an arched eyebrow. There was wisdom in that gaze. And a touch of meanness. Had to be to work for Steve.

  “Guard the girl,” Paul said. “I don’t want anything happening to her.”

  “Got it, boss,” Marco replied with a smile. “She’s safe with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Angie moved in the direction of the stairs as soon as the men were gone. It took her a little bit of time, reaching blindly in front of her, to find the metal railing. She didn’t really think the door at the top was a way out, but she had to try.

  It was better than sitting on her ass and waiting for them to come back. Especially the creepy one who’d asked if redheads felt more pain than other people. She didn’t want to be alone with that one, ever.

  Angie moved cautiously. She hadn’t had enough time to assess the condition of the stairs before the lights went out. She’d had a vague impression of metal stairs and railings leading up to a gallery. But were they safe?

  She didn’t know, hence the caution. She knew she had to be careful once she reached the top. The door wasn’t directly in front of the stairs. She remembered that. She would have to turn to the right and make her way along the wall. If the door didn’t open, she’d need to get down on hands and knees to make her way back. She’d be less likely to lose her balance that way.

  Angie was about halfway up when she heard a scratching sound. It was soft, deliberate. Rats?

  “Shit. Not rats. Please no rats.”

  Rodents hadn’t occurred to her before, but
that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Didn’t mean they hadn’t crawled over her while she’d been passed out on the mattress, or hadn’t scurried out of her way as she’d made her circuit of the room.

  The thought gave her the heebie jeebies. The scratching continued and she pictured rats, everywhere, with their long yellow teeth and red eyes. Waiting to jump on her. Angie’s heart beat harder, making it difficult to hear the scratching over the pounding in her ears.

  She had to keep moving. Had to get to the door and find out if it opened. If it didn’t—well, she’d worry about rats afterward.

  Marco stood up as soon as he heard the van drive away. That little prick Tommy thought he was going to fuck the redhead. Maybe he was, but Marco was going first. Paul and Tommy would be gone for an hour, maybe more. Plenty of time for Marco to make her strip naked for him.

  He’d keep the flashlight in her eyes so she couldn’t see him. Then he’d put the hood on her if she’d taken it off again, and make her get down on her hands and knees so he could fuck her doggy style.

  His dick was already hard thinking about it. He’d been thinking about it since he’d tossed her over his shoulder and held her by the ass. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were so sharp they could cut glass. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on them.

  Marco grabbed the keys as he passed from the office to the interior hallway. Then he walked down a set of stairs to the door which led into the warehouse. There was a flashlight on a table beside the door. He grabbed it and inserted the key into the lock.

  When he had the flashlight ready, he opened the door and shined it into the room. The girl wasn’t on the chair or the mattress. He shined the light up—and found her on the stairs. She’d lifted an arm over her eyes to shield them from the light.

  She was almost to the top. Marco walked inside and shut the door behind him. He pocketed the keys and took out his pistol. Gun in one hand, flashlight in the other.

  “What’re you doing up there, girlie? Better get down here before you hurt yourself.”

  He talked nice because that’s how you coaxed a skittish woman to do your bidding. You were nice to her. If that didn’t work, then you shoved the barrel of the gun into her mouth and threatened to blow her away.

  “What do you want?” she asked. She wasn’t moving, though. She gripped the railing tight and looked off to the side, away from the light.

  “I want to help you. The others are gone. It’s just you and me.”

  He saw her hesitation. Then her jaw firmed. “You aren’t going to let me go, so what do you really want?”

  “No, I can’t let you go. But if you come down here and play nice with me, I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll make sure you get to go home when this is over.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Marco was a patient man. He was also a horny one. “You can do this easy or you can do it hard, princess. When they get back, he’s gonna let the young one have at you. I can stop it, but only if you’re nice to me.”

  She didn’t speak. And then she did.

  “Define nice.”

  Marco smiled. He had her now. Whether she knew it or not.

  He made her skin crawl. She couldn’t see him because he kept the light shining in her face, but she didn’t need to see him. He was scum, just like the other two.

  And she knew what he meant by nice. Her skin crawled even more. What was she supposed to do? Stay up here and stay away from him, or go down and do as he said? If she pretended to go along with it, maybe she could get the gun away from him.

  She’d have to touch him. Or let him touch her. She’d have to take a risk that she could win, all while letting him feel her up. And if she failed, he’d shove himself inside her and make her afraid again. She’d have to endure being raped—and then, if she lived beyond today, she’d have to fight violent memories while trying to have a relationship with Colt.

  It would be almost impossible. She could lose the man she loved and all because some asshole wanted to ruin everything she and Colt had begun by taking what he didn’t have a right to.

  She hated him. If she could take his gun and blow his brains out, she’d do it without hesitation.

  “Come on down here and we’ll discuss it,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

  Bile flooded her throat. She turned her head, breathing deep, trying to think of what to do. On the next to last stair at the top, not too far away, lay a metal pipe. It looked like it wasn’t attached, but maybe it was. If she could get to it, she’d have a weapon of her own.

  Against a gun? Are you crazy?

  “You have to move that light. I can’t see,” she said, her heart pounding a crazy rhythm.

  “I think I’d better keep it on you,” he replied.

  “Shine it at the bottom of the stairs. It’s blinding me and I don’t want to fall. It’s not like I can run away, is it?”

  He snickered. It was an evil sound. “Nope. Nowhere to go, little mouse.”

  “Please then. I’ll come down if you move the light.”

  It was several seconds before the pool of light dropped to the floor beneath her. She didn’t know if he could still see her or if she was completely shadowed, but she made a decision to take a chance anyway. Angie grabbed the pipe and held it tightly to her left side, which was the side that faced away from him. Her heart raced as she took the steps down. When she stood in the pool of light, she didn’t turn. She just stared down at the floor and didn’t move.

  “Good girl,” the man said.

  The light bobbed and she knew he was moving toward her. She kept her head down, like she was defeated, and prayed he wouldn’t ask her to turn toward him. The pipe in her hand was solid, rusty beneath her fingers, and about three feet long.

  Angie didn’t look at him. He kept the light on the side of her face to prevent her from looking. She knew when he stopped to pick the hood off the floor. He planned to make her put it on again, of course. So she couldn’t see his face.

  Angie shivered with the cold, or maybe it was adrenaline racing through her veins. She watched the way the light bobbed out of the corner of her eye, watched as it got closer. Her grip tightened on the pipe.

  He had a gun. She knew he did, but she couldn’t see it. If she hit him hard enough, maybe she’d knock the gun away. Or maybe he’d shoot her dead and that’d be the end of it.

  “Turn around,” he told her. “Face away from me.”

  Angie shifted the pipe as she did what he told her to do. It was a stroke of luck she hadn’t been counting on. She gripped the pipe in both hands, muscles coiling. She couldn’t move too soon.

  You shouldn’t move at all. You’ll get your fool self killed.

  His footsteps were closer now. Almost there. Angie sucked in a breath—and then she whirled with the pipe, holding it like a baseball bat and lashing out with all her strength.

  She caught him by surprise. The gun and flashlight went flying. The light rolled over to the wall, illuminating everything between her and the door he’d entered through.

  It did not show her, though. Yet another piece of luck.

  He came up raging, lunging toward her, and Angie swung the pipe again. This time he grabbed the end of it and started to tug her toward him.

  Angie fought, but he was stronger than she was. Instead of continuing to pull on the pipe, she aimed a kick at his kidney. It’d be a lot better if she had shoes on, but maybe she’d connect in the right place.

  The man yelped in pain—and let go of the pipe. “Fucking bitch,” he screamed. “I’m going to kill you.”

  Angie dashed around behind him and took a swing at his head. She connected with something that cracked sickeningly. The man dropped—and the door above her head burst open.

  Colt heard voices in the room. He hesitated, trying to make them out, but all he could make out was a male voice and a female one. It might be Angie, or it might not be. He applied torque on the wrench and scrubbed the pick in the lock until all t
he pins were set. The instant the last one fell into place, the male voice inside roared in fury.

  “Fucking bitch, I’m going to kill you!”

  Colt freed the lock and kicked open the door. Ian and Jace rushed up the stairs behind him. He didn’t know how many men were in the room, but he knew that two had exited the building. Brett reported them leaving in the white van eight minutes ago.

  Dax was tracking them as they drove across town, so no fears they’d get away.

  The room Colt burst into was black but he could see everything with the NVGs. A man lay immobile on the floor. Angie stood above him, holding a long cylindrical pipe. She raised it as Colt, Ian, and Jace hurtled down the stairs.

  “Don’t come near me,” she growled. “Stay away.”

  “Angie, it’s me.”

  The pipe dropped to her side. “Colt?”

  “Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

  Angie rushed toward him. He opened his arms and she barreled into them, throwing her arms around him.

  “Colt, oh thank god. I fought back this time. I knew you’d come and I fought back.”

  He pressed her head to his chest, held her hard to him. His heart pounded and his eyes stung. She was safe. They’d gotten to her in time.

  Jace checked the man’s pulse. “He’s alive,” Jace said before flipping him over and cuffing him.

  A door at the front of the warehouse opened. Jared, Ty, and Brett sauntered in, weapons at the ready. “All secure,” Jared said. “Nobody else here.”

  Colt rubbed Angie’s back. She hadn’t eased her grip on him. “Are you okay, Angie? Did they hurt you?”

  She sniffed as she tipped her head to gaze up at him. “One of them hit me. They left me in the dark. I couldn’t see anything, Colt. I was so scared. But I didn’t stop trying to get out.”

  Ice flooded Colt’s veins. He wanted to kill these men for hurting her. For scaring her. He wouldn’t, but he damned sure wanted to.

  He slung his assault rifle around to the back and picked Angie up. She protested, but he shushed her with a quick kiss.