His Last Breath

by S. M. Butler

  Chris nodded. “Anyone from my life, actually.”

  Murphy shook his head. “I don’t know what it is about you Hardys. Stubborn and stupid.”

  Chris chuckled. “You knew that when you asked my sister to marry you.”

  Murphy growled and stood up. “I’d hoped you’d be better than that.”

  Chris sighed. “Do me a favor. Forget I said anything. Drive home. Be happy with each other.”

  “Why should we?” Addison crossed her arms indignantly.

  “You’ve seen me. You know I’m okay. You have to leave.”

  Addison stood from the stool and crossed the room to him. She stood toe to toe with him. He towered over her, but somehow the way she buried her gaze into him made him want to step away. “Are you in trouble because we’re here?”

  “It’s not that.” He was, actually. But even if they left, it wouldn’t ease the punishment. He just needed to make sure they survived it. “I love you both, but I’m in the middle of a mission. I need to focus on that.”

  “The senator’s daughter?” Addison asked. “You like her a lot. Is that wise?”

  “I can handle it,” Chris replied.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Murphy said as his gaze shifted to Addison. Chris wasn’t sure Murphy was even aware he moved, but he did, wrapping his arms around Addison into a protective cocoon. He looked at Chris, his face stoic and determined. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” Chris said, shaking his head.

  “Yes,” Murphy replied. “Someone has to make sure your idiocy doesn’t get you killed.”

  Fuck. Nathan was going to have a field day with this.

  “Let’s go,” Murphy said, heading for the front door. Chris glanced at Addison, who just gave him a smug look.

  “Go,” she told him. “I’ll be fine.”

  He wrapped her in a deep brotherly hug, quick, but he poured everything he wanted to say to her in that hug. Then he released her, kissed her cheek, grabbed his bag and ran after Murphy.

  “There’s just one more thing I need to tell you,” he said as he fell into step with Murphy.

  ~*~*~

  Abigail blew out a breath and left the bathroom. The stench of death and blood filled her nostrils as she stopped cold. Six men filled the small motel room. Suddenly the walls were shrinking. She backed away, towards the bathroom, but hit a warm body instead.

  She tried to scream, but a sweaty hand covered her mouth instead. She fought against the hold even as a strong arm wrapped around her, caging her arms at her sides. Her eyes fell on the body in the floor.

  Claude.

  A knife protruded from his ribs, blood coloring his shirt. It stuck to him, and the blood continued to pool beneath his body. Tears dripped freely from her eyes as another man came toward her, something shiny in his hands.

  The handcuffs were cold as they locked them around her wrists, tightening them painfully. She pushed up with her feet, trying to knock herself loose, but the man holding her didn’t budge.

  “Easy, now,” the man whispered in her ear. She wasn’t sure where it came from but a damp, white cloth replaced the hand over her mouth. She tried to scream but it came out muffled. Another man came toward her. She kicked out her feet, slamming her feet into the guy’s chest. He grunted, his face turning into an angry snarl.

  He sidestepped her second attempt. As soon as the man holding her moved his hand, she tried to scream, but they were too fast for her. He held her legs off the ground as she kicked and screamed against the cloth, realizing too late her screams had forced her to breathe in the sick scent of whatever they’d put on the cloth.

  Her vision turned gray, her body stopped responding as it was supposed to. The man behind her scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack. Her vision wavered as he walked her out, and she lifted her head briefly, catching the sight of Claude’s lifeless body, bloody and alone on the floor. Another man grabbed the hilt of the knife and yanked it out. He wiped the blade on Claude and followed them out.

  Her hands dangled in the cuffs as they took her from the room, down the stairs into the cold night air. She couldn’t feel anything as they tossed her into the harsh darkness of a car’s trunk and slammed it shut. She wasn’t sure where the darkness began and where she ended. Finally, she gave in to it, and let it take her away. Somewhere in the night, she heard screams, but she wasn’t sure that they weren’t hers.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chris stared at the empty motel room. The dark-haired man that had taken Abigail away was sprawled out on the floor, blood soaking deep into the cheap old carpeting. They’d missed her. Her tracker had been here not thirty minutes before. They’d rushed here, and they’d missed her.

  A gun laid out on the table, in pieces, dirty rags and cleaning solution sitting nearby. He walked through the apartment, careful not to track blood through the room. There was a bag in the bathroom, with a brand new blue t-shirt inside. Loose tags littered the floor. By the brand names, he’d guess jeans and shoes. She’d been able to change clothes before they’d grabbed her.

  He sent a quick text to Sierra, asking for Ghost support. They’d have this place clean by morning.

  Murphy walked into the room as Chris left the bathroom. His gaze immediately fell to the body. “Oh, boy. Your new life sure is interesting.”

  Chris couldn’t bring himself to reply. Instead, he snapped the words out. “Clean up crew will be here shortly. We should go.” Go where, though, that was the question. “I think it’s safe to say he’s got her.” Which left her completely unsafe, but that went without being said. His heart caved in on itself. He was so sure they’d be able to get here in time. How could they not have? How could Lewis’s men get here before they did? They couldn’t have known where she was. They barely knew before they raced over here.

  “We’ll keep going,” Murphy said. “We’ll get her back.”

  He headed toward the door but froze as the barrel of a shotgun appeared in front of him. “Hardy, these friends of yours?”

  Chris raised his weapon as the man holding the shotgun appeared in the room, followed by two more. All three could have been brothers. They were all bulk, filled with tattoos and scars. Hardened fighters. Then as their boss entered, he realized why.

  The dark-haired man surveyed them quietly, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was taking a nice morning stroll in the park instead of standing over a dead body. His face hardened as he took in the dead man on the floor but otherwise did not react.

  “Giroux.” The word spat out of Chris like an epithet. He hadn’t realized how much hate he’d poured into Jean Giroux’s image in his head until that moment. His scars burned inside his chest.

  “Oh, you remember me.” The man chuckled. A malevolent grin, one he remembered from his nightmares all too well, appeared on his face. “I suppose I left you with good reminders. Though, I’m surprised to see you… alive.”

  “What are you doing here?” Chris ground out.

  He glanced down at the body, shaking his head. “I was here to collect my daughter.”

  Murphy’s eyes widened as he glanced at Chris. Chris groaned inwardly. He hadn’t gotten to that part of the story yet. He had focused on telling Murphy about Jack because he really didn’t want Murphy to shoot his team.

  Giroux didn’t seem to notice. He focused on Chris, stepping toward him in a slow, easy movement. His face was tight, anger and violence kept on a tight leash it didn’t look like he had much control over.

  “Imagine my surprise when I come here to find my man dead, and you standing over his body.” In a lightning fast movement, Giroux grabbed Chris by the vest and slammed him against the wall. His hand wrapped around his throat, holding him against the wall. Chris knew a hundred ways to break his hold but didn’t fight him. “Where is my daughter?”

  “Lewis took her,” Chris said it flatly while staring directly into the eyes of the monster that almost killed him two years ago.

  “No,
we were careful. They couldn’t know where she was.” His face darkened, only inches from Chris.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Murphy said.

  Giroux turned, releasing Chris at the same time. He bent over and coughed as Giroux leveled his dark eyes at his best friend. “You. I remember you too, lover boy.” He rattled something off in French that made his men chuckle. “How is my little kitten? I do miss her little claws.”

  Murphy growled, a deep, inhuman sound, and started toward him, but Giroux’s men held him back, shoving him back against the wall. His entire body tensed, filled to the brim with rage.

  Chris had to get to control over this. Either Giroux was going to lose it and kill them, or Murphy was going to lose it and get himself killed. “Listen, Giroux, we both want the same thing. We want Abigail safe and alive.” Chris struggled back to his feet. He really wanted his gun. But something Giroux had said made him think. He glanced at the man. “At least, I hope that you do.”

  “I’ve spent the last two decades trying to get her back,” Giroux said. “I had her, and I find you instead, standing over Claude’s dead body. Imagine how… upset that makes me.”

  “We didn’t do this,” Chris put his hands up. “We were trying to rescue her but we got here too late.”

  “Believe them, Jean,” came a voice from the doorway. Jack had slung a rifle over his shoulder, and stood, filling the entire doorway. His face was unreadable, but his eyes promised brute savagery.

  Giroux’s face didn’t change, though Chris thought he might have seen them widen just a tad. Jack Allen had been Alex’s weapon and his old team’s secret one until a few months ago when Nathan had recruited him into the Reapers and ended his old life.

  “Well, Jack Allen. This is a day for surprises.”

  “We can sit here and yap about all the surprises,” Jack said, grinning dangerously, “Or… we can go find your daughter.”

  Giroux narrowed his eyes at Jack. “You left my brother’s side to work with these assholes? You would betray us like this?”

  “No,” Jack said and pointed at Chris. “I just work with that asshole. But… we all want the same thing right now. The girl, alive.”

  “And when we no longer share a goal?”

  “Then we go back to business as usual.”

  Giroux harrumphed. He gazed at Jack for several long seconds before he nodded. “You have twenty-four hours to find her and bring her to me. If not, I will look and I promise, many people will die in my search for her. I will not let anyone take her away again.”

  “Fair enough,” Jack said. “Let them go.”

  Giroux smiled. “No, I think I will keep them.”

  “I need them,” Jack said. “I can’t go against that many men with guns by myself.”

  “You can have one,” Giroux said. “And you will take one of mine.”

  “I don’t want your men. But I’ll take him.” Jack nodded toward Murphy. Chris pressed his lips together into a thin line. Jack had never liked him. But he’d thought he could at least trust him.

  Giroux looked thoughtful. His eyes slid over Chris like icy water before he looked back at Jack again. “Agreed.” Giroux jerked his head toward Jack and his men pushed Murphy away from them. He hoped Jack knew what he was doing because if he died at the hands of Jean Giroux a second time, he was going to haunt that mother fucker for eternity.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The first thing Abigail registered was her arms tingling and her shoulders stiff and in pain. Her neck popped as she lifted her head, and the pops continued a few more times down her spine.

  She rolled her shoulders, wincing as she tried to alleviate the painful stiffness without being able to move her arms. Her wrists were still locked in the handcuffs, but now at her back. Her arms wrapped around the back of the chair they’d put her in. She had to have been like that for a while because her fingers tingled from bad circulation and her wrists were hot where the cuffs had been cutting into her skin.

  She knew the room as soon as she opened her eyes. It had been where her father had pointed a gun at her head. The basement. The chair she was in rested on top of a bed of plastic covering the floor beneath.

  No mess, no fuss, she thought bitterly. He was going to kill her now.

  She had no idea how long it was before there were signs of life beyond her prison. Voices flittered down from above, signaling the fact that she was about to have company. Long minutes passed before the lock clicked and light from above filled the dim room. Daniel Lewis stepped down each step with confidence. Why wouldn’t he have that confidence? He held all the cards at that moment.

  He stopped in front of her, only a few feet away, then he knelt in front of her, so they were at eye level with each other. Like a father trying to reach a child. “Do you remember what I said in this room?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, hearing herself swallow the lump of fear in her throat.

  “You could have lived a decent life, you know. All you had to do was follow the rules. Stay put. Do as you’re told. But you couldn’t do that.”

  “And live as a prisoner?”

  He chuckled and rose from his spot in front of her. He leaned against the wall, completely at ease with himself. “Honey, you have no idea what prison is like. Everything you know, I taught you. I raised you. I kept you safe.”

  “You kidnapped me!” she blurted out. “You took me from my real family so you could further your own career. You destroyed my life! For what? Four years in the White House? Eight if you’re lucky.”

  “Do you think your real family would have been any better?” He laughed. “Your father is a criminal. He’s a killer, a monster, a terrorist.”

  “Sounds familiar,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  “Yes, I’ve killed. To protect my country,” he said, standing up. “You would have turned out a monster with him. I saved you from that existence.”

  “Don’t give me your patriot speech,” she snapped. “I’ve already heard it. It’s a lie. You kill to protect yourself.”

  She didn’t have time to brace herself before his hand swung out. The impact snapped her head to the side, the chair teetering like it was going to take her to the floor with it. She pushed her weight back, balancing out the chair as her head pulsed in pain.

  “That’s a warning,” he said, pointing his finger at her. “It’ll get a lot worse if you don’t shut your damn mouth!”

  She’d obviously pushed a button, which she mentally logged. Blood trickled down her cheek, where his ring had cut into the skin. She clenched her mouth shut, her teeth grinding together inside her mouth.

  “That’s better,” he said after a minute. “My staff tells me the best way out of this is to secure your cooperation. I’m not sure that that’s possible at this point. Which leaves one other option.”

  “You kill me.”

  “You vanish. Kidnapping is an easy story to manufacture. Drag it out for a couple weeks until your body washes up on the Gulf shore, bloated, waterlogged, and unrecognizable. The media will eat it up, especially considering your close call during the South America incident.”

  Incident? That’s what he was calling it? Maybe he didn’t realize she had the copies of the files from the safe. The ones that proved he’d set her kidnapping up. The ones that showed she was supposed to be found in that compound beaten and raped to death and he’d use her body to catapult into the White House. If not for Chris Hardy, she would have died there.

  Chris. She shouldn’t have left him. Her heart burned with pain even now, thinking about how she’d never have another chance to tell him that she loved him.

  “I think we’ll have to dirty you up a little, though.” He grabbed her chin and turned her head to look at the cut she knew he’d just gave her. “Not sure that’s going to be enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  “Your ex-military friend is going to take the fall for your kidnapping and murder,” he said. He didn’t even flinch
as he said it. “He’ll be found dead at the scene, your murder weapon, your skin, your blood on his hands.”

  “You don’t have him.”

  The senator smiled a sly little smile like he had some secret he hadn’t shared with the world yet. “He’s going to walk right to me.”

  “Fuck you,” she spat at him. “No one would believe that. He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, but even good men crack. He’s a former SEAL. He’s seen enough death and blood to racket him up like a pressure cooker about to blow. Not to mention, he’s been completely off-grid for months. Who knows what’s happened during that time, or how much he’s changed?” Lewis shrugged. “Seems pretty likely that he might grow unstable, and you might be the focal point of his… attention.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  The next punch was hard enough to knock the chair over. She couldn’t shift her weight enough as the chair tipped over and her face hit the plastic covering the floor hard. She groaned and kicked the broken chair away from her. He hauled her to her knees, then yanked her head back by her hair. His eyes burned into hers, filled to the brim with unleashed fury. “I can do anything.”

  He released her as she cursed at him. Tears dripped from her eyes freely, stinging as they mixed with her open cuts. Her head throbbed in time with her racing hear. “Did you ever feel anything for me?”

  “What?” He stopped, watching her curiously.

  “All these years… Did you ever see me as anything more than leverage for Jean Giroux?” She used her elbow to push herself to a sitting position as he watched her.

  He didn’t answer right away. His face was unreadable, his eyes impassive.

  She met those eyes straight on, as she balanced herself on her knees. “You are right, you know. You raised me. You taught me everything. I’ve spent my life looking up to you, wanting—no, craving your approval.” She winced as she shifted her feet to be more comfortable. “Did you ever love me?”

  His throat worked up and down as he studied her. Long seconds of silence swallowed her whole, sending her down into a spiral of despair. Finally, he spoke as he pulled a gun from his jacket. “Can anyone ever love a gun? Or a knife?” He shook his head. “You were a tool to achieve a goal. A weapon to win a war. Nothing more.”