Page 19 of The Norcross Rescue

A radio crackled. “You found them yet?”

“Not yet. There was a smashed plant by the elevators, but no sign of the guys. They can’t have gone far.” The man stopped just outside the kitchen. “I’m up on the next level. It’s all construction.”

“I don’t like this,” the voice on the radio clipped. “Find their asses, and get back here.”

“They make the transfer yet?”

“Not yet.” The voice sounded pissed, and Vander guessed it was the man in charge.

“One hundred million dollars.” The guy outside the kitchen laughed. “We’re going to be fucking rich.”

“Focus.” The voice was sharp and ice-cold.

“Yeah, right. I know.” The guy clicked the radio off and made a low sound. “He can be a damn bossy asshole sometimes.”

Vander spotted a hammer sitting on the countertop. He reached out and knocked it off. It hit the tiled floor with a clatter.

“What the⁠—?”

The man moved inside, rifle aimed, moving cautiously. He was more shadow than anything, but there was enough ambient light coming through the window to see his dog mask.

Vander kicked him. The gun went flying, and the man cursed.

But he recovered quickly. He spun and slammed into Vander. The scuffle was hard and fast. They rammed into the wall, spun, and hit the counter. Something else crashed to the floor. Vander rammed an elbow into the guy’s gut, whirled, and landed a kick.

Dog landed on the floor with a vile curse. Vander closed the distance in two short strides, then landed several hard punches.

“Motherfucker!” Dog spat, blood dripping down his chin, trying to scuttle backward.

“I’m not the one keeping innocent people hostage and stealing.”

Dog leaped up and lunged toward the counter. He grabbed a utility knife and brandished it.

Vander cocked his head. “You know how to use that?”

“Stabbing and cutting isn’t rocket science.”

Vander pulled the kitchen knife from his pocket. He watched Dog’s eyes widen. “Let’s put that to the test.”

Dog attacked. Vander landed a chop to his arm, then swung in low to stab his knife into the man’s side. Not deeply, just enough for him to feel the prick.

With a curse, the man leaped back. “Who are you?”

“A man you shouldn’t have messed with.”

Dog charged again.

Vander dodged to the side, gripped the man’s wrist, and squeezed, then sliced his knife down the man’s T-shirt, slicing it open. He kept squeezing until Dog cried out and dropped the utility knife.

Vander gripped the back of the man’s shirt and hauled him forward.

“Fuck you.” He took a swing. “There are more of us. You can’t stop us.”

“That’s what you think.” Vander whirled and slammed the guy into the counter. He dragged him sideways until his head was in the sink. He yanked the dog mask off and saw a good-looking guy, maybe mid-twenties. Vander flicked on the faucet.

“Fuck.” His mouth filled with water, and he tried to fight free. Vander held him pinned there, water cascading over his face.

He wasn’t asshole enough to actually waterboard the guy. Vander had been through advanced resistance to interrogation training in order to learn how to withstand torture. Waterboarding sucked.