Gambled - A Titan Novella

by Harber, Cristin

  Holding the girl to his chest, he tried again. “Everything’s okay. Your parents sent me. We’re getting you home.”

  He lifted his hand off her mouth, and she stayed quiet. Good, because he needed to check for Sarah. Fear shredded his guts as the vehicle drove into the yard, using its headlights to scan the area. It stopped, highlighting Sarah’s waiting spot. No.

  Where was she? Sweat poured down his back as Brock searched the perimeter. Two men got out of their car, walking toward—movement caught his peripheral. Sarah!

  She had smartly moved away from the men and the headlights, but also away from an exit.

  Brock focused the disoriented teenager’s gaze on him. “We’re moving again.”

  He held his rifle outstretched in one arm and picked the girl up, running them both along a wall. Searching voices floated through the night. Sarah didn’t see him coming and gasped as he swooped in, pulling them all behind the protective cover of another hedge line.

  Both women leaned against the thick bush, eyeing him. He put a finger to his lips and peered over the top of the bush. Every light in the house was on. The traffickers knew the girl was gone.

  Another vehicle pulled up, and two dogs got out, pulling on their leashes and lurching men Brock’s size around like they were playthings.

  Brock dropped to his knees. “We have to go.”

  Angry, rabid barks howled through the house. No doubt, they were picking up the girl’s scent. He had enough bullets to mow down incoming attacks but had no idea what kind of firepower the enemy housed. If Brock tipped off their location, the traffickers could easily end their night with a grenade launcher.

  Sarah nodded, placing a protective arm around the girl. “Ready.”

  The determination in his wife’s eyes made him proud, but there wasn’t time for that. The teenager nodded, barely understanding her role in being saved. The dogs and their handlers returned to the backyard. Rough commands and harsh barks were way too close.

  Brock moved them behind the hedges, to the fence. A click sounded as the dogs were released. Running. Howling. Barking.

  If he could get the girls away, he could take out the dogs and deal with attacks. Sarah put her hands on the wall. Brock leveraged her foot up and her toss over the fence. She crashed loudly on the other side. Next up, the teenager. He did the same move and heard the same sound on the other side, but he also heard Sarah reassuring the rescued girl.

  “Go!” He made sure Sarah remembered the plan.

  A quick check over his shoulder showed the dogs on him. No time to aim his gun. He palmed the top of the fence and pulled up, kicking one leg—

  Goddamn it!

  Pain seared his leg. The attack dog bit, and razor-sharp teeth shredded into his calf. His uninjured leg kicked behind him, trying to free the steel trap of that dog’s mouth. No luck, no release. He would have to pull the dog over the fence with him and—

  White-hot pain clasped his other leg, spiraling from his limb into his chest. He lost his ability to breathe. His eyes and teeth clenched shut. Horrible waves of agony washed through him. The second dog’s latch ground deep into his thigh. Both dogs, easily one hundred pounds each, tore into his flesh, tossing him side to side as their heads snarled and snapped.

  Brock growled back at the mauling animals. He heaved himself up, carrying the two hundred pounds of canine that stayed attached. His biceps quaked. His chest thundered, but he could make it.

  Both dogs released suddenly. Their retreat did nothing to ease his mangled muscles. Brock’s head swam. Must be the blood loss. He grunted as he deadlifted his leg onto the wall.

  Two hands grabbed the back of his shirt. Shit. Arms reaching for the sky, he free fell to the ground. The impact knocked his breath away, turning his world black. His legs screamed in violent pain. Brock opened his eyes and stared into the barrels of two AR-15s.

  “Go!” bellowed from his lungs. He pleaded with God that Sarah was already on foot, running toward safety. “Go.”

  A boot kicked his temple. Stars exploded and quickly dissolved to black.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Go. Sarah had already been on the run, dragging the teenager with her, but Brock’s voice somehow echoed into the night. Go. His voice played over and over as she slapped through island undergrowth. Branches sliced at her face, and she had no idea if they were headed toward safety. Instinct pulled her, and that was all she had to go on.

  Behind her, all went silent. No more shouts. No more dogs. No more gunshots. It felt like hours had passed since Brock had yelled from the opposite side of the wall. He hadn’t caught up, and in her heart, she knew that he wouldn’t.

  They tripped in tandem, tumbling down a hill, and came to a stop in a pile of arms and legs. Sarah jumped up then dropped. Their location was in the open. If a trafficker drove by, they’d be spotted immediately. Blood rushed in Sarah’s ears, and she tried to hear past it. What would Brock do right now? He’d have some kind of plan to get to safety. Her stomach turned thinking of him, but she tried to ignore it. He probably had a plan to get to safety now. The one thing he had said was if disaster struck, she needed to get back to the resort, and he’d see her soon enough. This was definitely a disaster.

  Channeling her inner superhero, Sarah resolved to do what she was tasked with. She studied the road. It looked familiar, but everything appeared the same in the dark. Taking a breath, she tried to calm down her sprinting heart. Which way to go? Right, left. Forward, backward. The girl stared at her, clearly expecting her to know what to do next. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. Decision made. They were going right.

  Crawling like she’d seen Brock do by the trafficker’s house, Sarah tugged the girl behind her. They crept for miles, or at least it felt that far, and something struck her as familiar. Maybe. No, she was sure of it. “We’re here. Let’s go.”

  Pulling the girl with her, they crossed the street, crawled through a bush, and—yes, the Hummer. Sarah opened the back door, pushing them into the back seat, and slapped the lock button. Not like that would stop anyone who wanted to hurt them, but that was her first reaction. They hid on the seat, breaths bursting from erratic gulps to semi-manageable lungfuls.

  “Okay?” It was all she could say.

  The girl nodded.

  “Me too.”

  Neither said another word. They waited and waited. No Brock. His voice replayed in her head. Go! This was a disaster, and he’d given her marching orders. But the idea of driving away from him was painful. She needed help. No, Brock needs help, and I am his partner. What she really needed was to keep it together. Crawling into the front seat, she found the key and turned back to the girl. “I’m Sarah.”

  “Bethany.” Her eyes were glassy. Shell-shocked.

  “Alrighty, Bethany. Let’s get out of here.” She turned the engine over and slammed the gas pedal to the ground. The Hummer bulldozed through brush and bush, bouncing across limbs until they bumbled back onto the road. Driving as fast as Sarah could manage with the headlights out, she gunned down the road, hitting every crack and crevice along the way.

  No one had followed them. Sarah flicked on the lights after a mile and, nearly two hours later, made it to the resort side of the island. Her nerves were shot, her mind not recalling the name of their resort. All the entrances looked the same. Fancy sign. Pretty designs. It took twenty minutes of driving in circles to find the right tourist hotspot.

  She turned to find Bethany slouched and asleep. “Bethany, honey, can you wake up?”

  Tired eyes fluttered then shot open. Bethany panicked, struggled in her seat belt, and eyed the door for an escape.

  “No, wait. Bethany. It’s okay. It’s me, Sarah. You’re safe. Remember?” She reached for the young woman. “Take a breath. You’re okay.”

  Bethany’s eyes focused on Sarah then she whispered, “Sarah.”

  “That’s right, honey. You ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  Good question. “We have to go inside. I have to get help
for my husband. You… probably want to call your folks and go back to sleep before you head home?” A sick feeling strangled Sarah’s stomach. Oh, what if those were the least of Bethany’s problems? Please let Brock have reached her in time. “Are you… were you… Do you need to see a doctor?”

  Bethany slowly shook her head. “No. They didn’t—” She closed her eyes and took a stuttering breath as tears leaked down her cheeks. “I’m not hurt. Just my wrists were scratched and my tummy hurts; they gave me something that made me sick. I just want to go home.”

  “I know. We’ll get you there as soon as possible.” Sarah watched Bethany rub tears away with the backs of her hands. “Let’s go inside. We’ll get you home.”

  How Bethany was actually supposed to leave Saint Lucia and get back to the United States, Sarah had no idea. The girl looked too fragile to put on a commercial flight, and if Titan was involved, it probably meant private jets would be used. The logistics would be answered by the same man who would bring Brock home. Time to call Jared Westin.

  They left the Hummer, and she ignored the wayward glances from the lone bellboy and front desk girl manning the graveyard shift. Sarah’s and Bethany’s clothes were tattered, and their bodies were scratched. Quite the sight. Sarah led the way to her suite and opened the door. Her adrenaline had fizzled, but determination was front and center. Brock needed help, and she’d make it happen. Every other need—sleep and thirst—was secondary.

  Without Sarah giving Bethany any direction, the girl crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately. Sarah sat down at the desk and stared at all of Jared’s emergency messages. Each said to call, but none left a phone number.

  Sugar.

  Sarah jumped for her cell phone and hoped it would turn on. It’d been on airplane mode since she’d boarded the plane a day ago. No telling if it needed to charge before she could use it.

  It sat at the bottom of her purse and—bingo—still had fifteen percent charge left. No international calling, but she could pull up her contacts and use the hotel room phone to call.

  A moment later, Sarah was asking the operator to connect a call to the US, then Sugar answered on the second ring.

  Her voice was sleep drenched. “Hello?”

  “It’s Sarah. Wake up.”

  Sugar’s voice cleared. “You okay? It’s the middle of the night. Wait. Aren’t you on vacation—”

  “Yeah. Was. I need Jared’s help.”

  “Help?” The one-word question was loaded with confusion.

  There wasn’t enough time to explain. Simple version. “Jared asked Brock to do a job—”

  Sugar sucked in a wary breath. “Jared did what?”

  Come on, Sugar. Sarah kept plowing through her explanation. She really just needed Jared on the phone. “Asked Brock to do a job. To rescue a girl. She’s safe. With me. But Brock’s still there. I had to leave him behind.”

  “What? Hold on.”

  Muffled voices sounded in the background. “Sarah.” Jared boomed into her ear. “You have the girl?”

  “Bethany’s with me. Brock’s not.”

  “You both safe?”

  “Fine, Jared.” Sarah glanced at Bethany, who’d burrowed deep under the covers. “Fine enough. She wasn’t hurt and wants to call her parents, but she’s sleeping. Brock didn’t make it home with us. They have him.”

  Sarah’s heart screamed in her ears waiting for Jared to respond. He didn’t.

  “Jared!”

  He cursed. “Sorry, but Brock knew the deal. I don’t have anyone down there who can help.”

  Wrong answer. “So get someone down here.”

  “Sarah—”

  Sugar’s voice pulled Jared away from the call, but Sarah couldn’t make out their conversation. Hushed, harsh whispers volleyed back and forth on the other side. Scattered sentences filtered through her earpiece. “No way.” “Not alive.” “Never going to happen.”

  Tears burned Sarah’s eyes. They were talking about her husband. The one who she’d abandoned at home and then again in Saint Lucia. Her insides cramped in desperation, and the tears escaped, running down her cheeks. “Jared, please. Get him. Save him.”

  He sighed into the phone. “We don’t have any intel. You don’t even know that he was taken alive.”

  “How do you think I got this girl here? I was there. I saw it all, heard it all. I know he was alive because he told me to go. To save Bethany. And I did. Now it’s your turn.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes. He needed help, and I was the only option. Now, you’re the only option.” She could almost see Jared shaking his head, not believing that she’d been there. “He’s alive.”

  “You were—”

  Really? He wants to focus on me? There wasn’t time for this. “What, Jared? I’m too broken to help? Useless? Pathetic? Take your pick. But I helped Brock because he needed it. I survived, and Brock will too, so help me God.”

  Sugar started in on Jared again in the background. Sarah would kill to hear specifics.

  Jared grumbled back to the phone. “Sarah?”

  “Yes?” Please, please. She swallowed the apprehension choking her windpipe.

  “See you in a few hours.” The line went dead.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Falling asleep hadn’t been part of Sarah’s plan, but exhaustion called the shots. She blinked her eyes open and ached. Brock. Then she jumped. A shadow in the sun-drenched room shifted.

  Jared stood in the corner of her suite, looking out the window. “You’re a light sleeper.”

  “You’re in my room.”

  “Knocking’s not really my style.” A knock sounded. “But it is Sugar’s.”

  He walked over and let his wife in. Bethany snored next to Sarah on the bed but didn’t stir. She tucked the teenager in. “How long have you been here?”

  “About ten seconds.”

  Sugar rolled her eyes as she waved. “He didn’t knock?”

  Sarah shook her head. How long had she been out? Checking the alarm clock, not that long. They’d definitely hopped a private jet and maybe even a helicopter from the airport.

  Jared ignored them. “Here’s how this is going to go. It’s a long shot that your man’s alive.”

  Her chest seized, but Sarah nodded.

  “You and Sugar are going to get Bethany safely stowed on a waiting jet. I’ll go see what there is to see about Brock. If it’s good news, I’ll bring him home to you. If it’s not, at least you’ll know.”

  “Jesus, babe.” Sugar cocked one hip out and propped a hand on it. “Quit the dick role already.”

  Jared glared. “Let’s not pretend this—”

  “Thank you.” Sarah slipped out of bed and tucked the comforter around Bethany. “I understand what happened. So, just…” Pain choked her silent.

  Sugar slammed Jared with a glare. “No need to explain or apologize.”

  He cursed, threw Sugar a kiss, and stalked to the door. “I’ll be back, with or without Brock.”

  ***

  Back to square one. Brock was handcuffed to the wall where he had found the girl earlier. Weak-muscled and mind spent, he was content to hang by the wrists. His legs had started clotting, and the pool of blood tapered off on the floor. Between the bloody wounds stymieing into scabs and having a good feeling Sarah had safely evacuated with the victim, he would rest long enough to rejuvenate and bust ass back to the resort. Someone would have to kill him before he gave up on his rope and ice cream shopping list.

  The deadbolt lock turned. Well, so much for taking it easy.

  A well-dressed man walked in, eyeing him. It was the same man who the security team had evacuated with a flak jacket the night before.

  “Glad to see you are awake.” His pointy nose and beady eyes went perfectly with his French accent.

  Brock shrugged. The better-than-thou attitude always irked him. “I’ve been in and out. Accommodations could be nicer.”

  “Aren’t you cute?”

  “My
wife thinks so.” Maybe.

  The Frenchman pulled a cigarette container and gold-plated lighter from his pocket. With much fanfare, he selected a hand-rolled cigarette and lit it. Sweet tobacco burned into the air. “You stole from me.”

  Brock squinted one eye and tilted his head, sarcastically considering what the man had said. “I returned something that wasn’t yours to take.”

  The man rolled his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “You have quite the attitude for a bleeding man tied to a hook.”

  “I’ve made a lot of bad decisions lately. Starting to think I shouldn’t trust my own judgment.”

  The Frenchman took a long drag and let the smoke waft out his mouth while he paced the tiny room. “Interesting.”

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  “I agree.”

  Brock laughed and dropped his gaze. “Fucker.”

  Polished shoes stopped pacing by his busted calf. He knew what would come next. Bad news was always so predictable. But the pain still exploded when the Frenchman reared back his toe and punted into his leg. Vicious torment shot up his thigh and down to his toes. Brock grunted, absorbing the impact.

  “Tough man,” Frenchie sneered.

  “Just another day in the life of me.” Brock gritted his teeth together. “Each one getting better than the last.”

  “Explain to me why one man freed my girl?”

  “Seemed like the right thing to do. You sickos have messed with enough kids. My day would be a better day if someone took you out. Penance for making the world a worse place.”

  “Ah, and I think the same about you.” Smoke encircled the man’s head. “I hate losing my merchandise.”

  Brock’s brow pinched, and his molars ground. “She’s a kid, asshole.”

  “She was my product. Hand-selected, I’ll have you know. That young woman met very specific criteria I’d been searching for. And for losing her, you will pay.”

  Anger boiled under Brock’s skin. “Nothing about that kid was a woman. Get over yourself.”