by Maya Banks
That wasn’t the case now. She didn’t have Cole as her partner. She didn’t have her team to back her up. She was flying solo straight into the lion’s den.
She was smart enough to be scared, but she refused to allow that fear to paralyze her and make her helpless and weak. Never again.
She held her breath as she stared through the binoculars to the residence below. Two armored cars had arrived, and she watched as Brumley got out on one side. Nelson got out on the other and looked around, his gaze obviously searching for any threat.
You won’t find me, bastard. Not until I’m ready.
Brumley went in, surrounded by his guards. It would be so easy to pick the asshole off with her sniper rifle. But it was too easy. She wanted him to suffer, and she wanted her face to be the last he saw right before he died. So he’d know it was her and that she’d made him pay for his sins.
Nelson lagged behind, lighting a cigarette as Brumley entered the house.
P.J. smiled. Arrogant assholes. They thought the high fence and million-dollar security and surveillance protected them from the outside world. That she couldn’t come in. That they were safe.
They were wrong.
She eased from her hiding place, making sure the silencer was attached to her gun properly and that the knife Brumley had used on her was in her grip.
Over the past months, she’d spent a frustrating amount of time frequenting places that Brumley was rumored to enjoy. She’d gone through every penny of her savings to support her search for the men who’d raped her.
And it was worth being dirt-poor for the rest of her life if she accomplished her mission.
She pulled out a handheld PC and quickly typed in a series of commands. Donovan wasn’t the only one handy with computers. They just bored her to tears.
In the first hour of her surveillance she’d hacked into the estate’s security monitoring system. It had been a piece of cake. It baffled her that with as much money as Brumley threw around, he’d actually have such a pussy surveillance system.
She programmed the system to replay the tapes of the last four hours, ending before the procession of cars arrived. She’d only have two hours before they’d know something was up, because the sun would start to sink and dusk would be upon her.
Two hours to get in and kill the men responsible for the scars on her body and the damage to her soul.
She’d had less time to perform a mission before. This one wasn’t any different. Objective must be achieved. She told herself that over and over.
She darted toward the house, keeping behind cover so she wouldn’t be spotted through one of the windows. Nelson was still out front smoking his damn cigarette, and that wasn’t where she’d wanted to confront him. But he didn’t show signs of moving elsewhere, so she’d have to do the job there and make it fast instead of making him suffer the long, drawn-out death she wanted.
When she reached the house, she put her back to the stone exterior and inched her way toward the front where Nelson stood.
“What the h—”
P.J. whirled around at the voice and squeezed off a round before the man could shout a warning. He fell to the ground with a loud thump.
Shit! The bastard had lucked onto her and had come in from behind. What the hell was he even doing there? Had Brumley ordered his men to patrol the exterior of the house? Did Brumley realize by now that she was hunting him?
She hoped to hell she was keeping him up at night. That he lived in fear of when she would get to him. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was when.
Her heart was pounding as she peeked around the corner again. Nelson was still there, but he’d just taken a last drag, tossing aside the butt as he blew out a cloud of smoke.
She shuddered, remembering the stench of tobacco on him while he’d pushed his body onto hers. Before she lost her courage, she rounded the corner, gun in one hand and knife in the other.
As much as it pained her to make his death quick, she was going to have to cut her losses and take Nelson out so she could get to her prime objective. Brumley.
“Nelson,” she called out, wanting the bastard to face her and at least know who would claim his death.
He swiveled, his expression a mixture of what-the-fuck and fear.
The sound of the front door opening jerked P.J.’s attention from Nelson long enough to see that she’d been made.
A gunshot sounded and pain lashed through P.J.’s leg. Stupid motherfucker couldn’t aim for shit.
She squeezed off a shot, downing the guy who came out the door. Then she turned rapidly to Nelson, who was attempting to flee. She shot him in the back of the leg, just to slow him down, and then she turned her attention back to the front entrance.
When two more men appeared, she dove behind one of the armored cars, ignoring the screaming agony in her leg and the smell of blood.
In the distance, Nelson lay on the ground writhing in pain, shouting curses and orders for someone to give him cover.
Hoping they were temporarily distracted by Nelson’s rantings, she pushed herself upward, leaning on the car, and got three shots off. She ducked back down and then peered underneath the car toward the steps. One of the men was lying motionless, half down the steps, his leg dangling in the shrubbery.
She couldn’t see the other, which meant he was either on top of her or he’d run back inside.
She glanced down at her leg and swore as she saw all the blood soaking her pants. It was just a flesh wound. A clean through and through. Thank God the bullet hadn’t hit bone or she wouldn’t be walking.
Pain she could handle.
She picked herself up again, took a clip out and shoved another in.
“Come get me, fuckers,” she bit out.
There were six unaccounted for. A total of ten men had arrived, including Nelson and Brumley. Three were dead and Nelson was on the ground whimpering like a baby.
A loud roar sounded. P.J.’s brow wrinkled and then she realized it was a chopper starting up. Son of a bitch. Brumley was escaping.
Throwing caution straight down the toilet, she bolted from behind the car and ran for the front entrance. She passed the one dead guy on the steps and nearly tripped over the second guy who’d shot at her.
He was lying just inside the foyer, eyes wide open in death. Now there were only five unaccounted for. She was relieved to know she still had good aim.
Teeth clenched to ward off the pain, she shuffled as fast as her injured leg would allow through the house, gun up, clearing each room she hurried through.
When she got to the back enclosure, she saw the helicopter lift into the air.
“No!”
Goddamn it. She couldn’t lose him. Not when she’d been this close.
She dashed through the doorway and raised her gun, squeezing off shot after shot at the departing helicopter. Through the glass, she saw Brumley. Made eye contact with him. The bastard actually looked at her and gave her a cocky two-finger salute.
She took another shot, even knowing it was pointless. She fired until she was out of ammo and then let her arms fall to her sides. She closed her eyes in bitter disappointment.
Failed.
She turned, having to drag her leg. It was growing more numb all the time, and as the adrenaline wore off, the pain became more unbearable.
There was still Nelson to contend with.
She popped in another clip and limped through the house, delighting in the fact that she’d tracked blood all over the posh furnishings. When she walked back out the front, she saw Nelson trying to drag himself to one of the cars.
Stupid fuck.
Unlike the idiot who shot her, she’d placed her bullet so it shattered his leg. He didn’t have a prayer of walking anywhere.
She holstered her pistol and then opened the knife. The blood of the two other men she’d killed had dried on it and she hadn’t bothered to clean it. It would only get dirty again.
She came to a stop just over Nelson, and he turned his head upwa
rd, his eyes full of fear as he stared into hers.
“D-don’t k-kill me,” he stammered. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want.”
She shook her head. “You’re a pathetic piece of shit, Nelson. You’re quite the badass when you’re up against a drugged, helpless woman. Not so badass when she’s armed.”
She kicked him so he rolled to his back, and he let out another groan when it jarred his leg. Then she knelt awkwardly, grimacing as her own bullet wound protested the motion.
It should feel empowering to tower over the man who’d brutalized her and know that his fate was entirely up to her. That he was begging her for the mercy he’d been unwilling to give her.
But all she felt was paralyzing fear. Panic rose, making her shaky where she’d been rock steady just before. She stared into his eyes and remembered staring into them when he’d raped her. They were as soulless now as they’d been then, only then they’d glowed with power. A savagery that he’d enjoyed despite his grumbling that he preferred a fight.
The knife shook, and she tightened her grip, fully intending to mark him as he’d done her.
“Where can I find your boss?” she demanded.
He spit at her, and she backhanded him with the butt of the pistol. Blood streamed from his lips and nose as he turned back to glare his hatred.
“Tell me what I want to know or I’ll gut you like a pig and leave you here to die a very slow, painful death. The buzzards might not even wait for you to die before they start feasting.”
He paled and licked his lips, but he hesitated.
She flicked the blade at the fly of his pants and deftly sliced the material so it gaped open. Then she pressed the blade under his navel and carved a line from one side to the other, drawing blood.
He screamed in pain and sucked air through his nostrils. He was gasping like a fish sucking his last breath on land.
She put the tip of the blade lower until it rested right over his dick. He went completely still, his eyes so wide with fright that they bulged and looked as though they’d pop right out of their sockets.
“Okay, okay! Just take it easy. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just put the knife down for God’s sake.”
“Tell me where to find Brumley,” she said coldly.
“He’ll be in Jakarta,” he choked out. “Three weeks. You won’t find him until then. I don’t even know where he plans to be. But there’s a big deal going down there. One of his contacts has promised him the best of the best girls. If his contact is telling the truth, this will make Brumley millions. He’s already lining up buyers based on information he’s received about the girls. Guy’s name is Dimas. He’s a big shot in Jakarta. Local businessman who’s delving into human trafficking for the first time. Word is, he’s delivering virgins and Brumley’s clientele is going nuts. He’s planning to auction them individually in an exclusive, high-security, extremely private venue on the island he owns.”
P.J.’s lips curled into a snarl and a sound of rage burned deep in her chest and bubbled outward, vibrating her throat. Red clouded her vision. She raised the knife, prepared to end it now.
“Hands up!”
She froze, fear scuttling through her stomach. She turned her head to see two armed men at the corner of the house. They carried assault rifles and they were both pointed at her.
One man jerked the barrel of the rifle in an upward motion to indicate she was to raise her hands.
Fuck. She’d acted like a goddamn rookie seeing her first live action. She’d holstered the gun instead of keeping it out because she’d assumed that the house had been vacated and that all of Brumley’s men had escaped with him. As Steele always said, people who assume are usually the ones who end up dead.
She’d forgotten her training, so eager had she been to exact justice. And now she was going to pay dearly for that mistake.
The two men started forward, their guns never lowering. P.J. kept her hands in the air, the knife still gripped in one of them.
She could probably take one of them out by throwing the blade when they got close enough, but she’d have to rely on the other guy either being distracted or missing if he shot so she’d have enough time to draw her own gun.
As if reading her thoughts, the two spread out, circling in a wide berth around her. Then one motioned for her to get down on her knees.
Her mind buzzed with possibilities. She had to think of a way out of this.
She started downward, taking her time, playing up the injury to her leg as if she were close to dying. She groaned and grunted before settling to her knees. The entire way down, she slowly lowered her empty hand, hoping the men were more fixated on the one holding the knife.
Just a little more . . .
“She’s going for her gun!” Nelson cried out.
P.J. cringed and waited for the bullet to hit her.
To her utter shock, one of the men went rigid. A hole bloomed on his forehead and blood streamed down his face as he slowly crumpled to the ground like a deflated balloon.
She went for her gun and rolled, just as the other man went down, blood splattering everywhere.
A hand grabbed her ankle and jerked. She tried to kick with her injured leg and couldn’t hold back the scream of pain. She came up with a vengeance, launching herself at Nelson. He was desperate to save his ass and she was just as determined to kill him.
She didn’t have time to wonder what the hell had just happened to the other two. If she didn’t take Nelson out, he would take her out.
She doubled her fist and punched him in the jaw. When he reeled back, she jumped on him, knife in hand. He grasped her wrist and squeezed, but she refused to let go of her weapon. She punched him with her free hand, but his grasp didn’t loosen.
Son of a bitch. She wasn’t going down to this bastard and she wasn’t going to let him break her arm.
She lunged forward, head-butting him right in the nose. She saw stars, but he got the worse end of the deal. More blood spurted from his nose and his hand fell away from hers.
Using his moment of distraction, she drew up her knee and then rammed it into his crotch. He yelped and rolled, throwing her off him as he curled into a ball, one hand on his nose and the other cupping his dick.
“You’re a worthless piece of shit!” she raged at him.
She kicked him in the ribs, and then remembering that someone had shot the other two, she dropped down, knife high overhead, and she struck quickly, slashing a line down his chest.
As much as she wanted to make this as ritualistic as the two earlier killings, she knew she didn’t have the time and this had already been a cluster fuck from the very start.
She leaned down close, so he would hear every word.
“This is for every girl you ever tormented, tortured and raped. This is for all those babies you sold into slavery. And this is for me, a woman you had to drug in order to rape. I’m not so helpless this time, asshole.”
The knowledge of his death was in his eyes and she savored it a moment before slicing his throat.
Blood gurgled out and then she heard the hissing sound as air escaped from his lungs. His eyes went glassy and his head lolled to the side.
She closed the knife, stuffed it into her pocket and started to drag herself upward. She hoped to hell one of these damn cars could be hot-wired or she was fucked for transportation. No way could she get back to where she’d parked her vehicle nearly two miles away.
She managed to gain her footing, but she swayed like a sapling in the wind. And then she heard her name. Loud and growing louder with every second.
She turned in bewilderment and then sank to her knees when she saw her entire team burst onto the scene. Cole was in front, his features carved in stone. He was focused on her. His gaze never left her as he ran toward her.
“You were the one who took them out,” she said when he dropped on his knees in front of her.
“Dolphin got one,” he said. “He’s not a bad shot. Not as good as you, but he’l
l do in a pinch.”
She couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that her team was here. That they’d come through right when she needed them most. She would be dead if they hadn’t arrived when they had. But why were they here? How?
The question bubbled out. “What are you doing here?”
Suddenly she was shaking so bad that her teeth were clinking together with enough force to chip them.
She stared down at her hands. Hands that were covered in blood. Some hers, but mostly Nelson’s. And they shook uncontrollably. Nothing she could do could stop it.
She should be jubilant. Triumphant. And instead her insides were so cold that she didn’t feel anything at all.
“Did you honest to God think we wouldn’t be here?” Cole demanded.
He sounded furious. The heat in his words scalded her, and yet it was so welcome she wanted to hug him. But there was also worry.
“Where are you hurt?” Cole asked with only a little less edge in his voice.
She looked at him in bewilderment.
Now he sounded impatient. “You’re bleeding, P.J. You’ve got blood all over you.”
“My leg,” she finally managed to get out. “I took a bullet.”
Cole cursed.
As her team gathered, something popped inside her. It was like cutting a taut rope and having it recoil like a viper.
She closed her eyes, the stench of blood and death overwhelming her.
Strong arms surrounded her, pulled her in close and then rocked her gently back and forth.
“It’s all right now, P.J.,” Cole soothed.
He stroked her hair and held her close.
“We’re here to take you home.”
CHAPTER 20
COLE gathered P.J. in his arms and carefully lifted her. Dolphin and Renshaw immediately flanked him to provide cover while he hurried in the direction of their SUVs.
“Open the back,” Cole barked. “I need to be able to stretch her out so we can see how bad the gunshot wound is.”