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A fierce surge of satisfaction tore through Rhiannon when she saw that the leader’s lip was split open and soaking the front of his mask with blood. Pierce had gotten a punch in before they recaptured him.
The intruders herded them out of the safe house at gunpoint, the cool night air hitting Rhiannon’s skin like a slap. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stumbled down the porch steps, gaze darting frantically around the yard. Bodies lay scattered across the grass, some still and others moaning in pain. She caught a glimpse of Zak facedown in the grass, unmoving. Rylan was slumped against a tree, blood matting his hair.
Oh, God. Had he been shot?
Police sirens wailed in the distance, cutting through the fog that had settled over everything in a thick blanket.
Two sleek black SUVs idled at the end of the driveway, their engines a low rumble in the eerie quiet that had fallen over the property.
“Torch the place,” the leader commanded, and some of his men began throwing accelerant at the house. From the smell, it was good old gasoline.
Rhiannon craned her neck, desperately trying to keep Pierce in her line of sight. He walked stiffly, favoring his left side, where a dark stain spread across his shirt. Their eyes met briefly, and she saw a mix of pain, fury, and gut-wrenching fear before he was shoved into the back of one of the SUVs.
“Move,” a gruff voice commanded, pushing Rhiannon toward the second vehicle. She climbed into the back seat, her heart pounding, and two armed men flanked her on either side. Thedoor slammed shut, and the men pulled hoods over their heads, sealing them in darkness.
These fuckers were going to die.
Pierce fumed as he bounced around in the backseat of the SUV between two armed men. His hands were still trapped behind him, and they’d gone numb a while ago.
Through the bottom of the hood they’d stuffed on him, he saw flashes of streetlights and passing headlights. The vehicle swerved sharply, throwing him against one of his captors. Pain lanced through his side where a bullet had grazed him during the firefight.
Pierce forced himself to breathe slowly, channeling his rage into focus. He needed to stay alert, to memorize every turn and sound that might give him a clue to their destination. But his thoughts kept drifting to Rhiannon.
Was she okay?
Scared?
Alive?
He clenched his jaw, picturing her wide, terrified eyes as they’d been shoved into separate vehicles.
The SUV hit a pothole, jostling everyone inside. One of the men cursed under his breath.
“Watch it,” he growled to the driver. “We need him in one piece.”
“Relax,” came the reply from the front seat. “He just needs to be breathing when we get there.”
Pierce’s muscles tensed at the casual discussion of his fate. He flexed his wrists, testing the zip ties that bound them. Nogive. But maybe, if he could dislocate his thumb, he could slip free...
The SUV slowed and then came to a stop. Pierce held his breath, straining to hear any clues about their location. Gravel crunched under tires as another vehicle pulled up nearby. Car doors slammed.
“Get them out,” a muffled voice ordered.
Rough hands seized Pierce’s arms, hauling him from the vehicle. He stumbled as his feet hit the ground, fighting to keep his balance. The hood was yanked off his head, and he blinked against the sudden brightness.
They were in some kind of warehouse, the cavernous space dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The air smelled of rust and motor oil. He looked around, taking in every detail. Two exits. A row of windows high up on one wall. Stacks of crates and barrels that could provide cover.
His eyes locked on the faded symbol on the far wall. He’d seen that symbol before—during his time in the military, in places where no one wanted to be, where no one should have been.
It was a symbol associated with covert operations, black sites, places that didn’t officially exist. Places where dangerous things were hidden, and even more dangerous things were done. This wasn’t just an abandoned building—it was something far more sinister.
And there, being pulled from the other SUV, was Rhiannon. Her face was pale, her hair a mess from the hood, her eyes wide with fear.
But she was alive.
The rush of relief was so potent, his knees wobbled. But it was quickly followed by a renewed surge of rage as one of the men shoved her forward.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, and Pierce’s blood ran cold. He recognized that swagger, that arrogant tilt of the head. Colonel Travis Drake. His former commanding officer and the mastermind behind Project Iron Horizon.
