Page 79 of PSYCHOlogical

I felt like an idiot for trusting him.

He lifted me to my feet. His eyes were narrow and cold. “You’re going to give me anything you have on New Dawn, the DNI, and the US Marine’s involvement in killing civilians. You need to think about that while I drag your skinny little ass out of here. If you try to do anything other than comply with my demands, I’ll put a bullet in the back of your skull. Are we clear?”

I nodded.

He gripped my face in his massive hand and squeezed it firmly. “Are. We. Clear?”

“Yes,” I said under my breath.

He released his grip and took a step back.

I glanced at the pistol, which was now twenty feet from where I stood. With my hands secured behind my back, I had no choice but to comply with his demands. My only hope was that Vincent would arrive before Jack took me from the home.

The alarm chirped.

My heart faltered.

“Vincent!” I shouted. “Someone’s in—”

The flash of his hand swinging toward my face was so quick I didn’t have time to react. Blinding pain surged through my jaw.

A flash of light. Then, darkness.

I opened my eyes to blurred vision. The smell of cordite hung heavily in the air, nearly choking me from breathing. I blinked, rolled to my side, and gazed the length of the hallway.

Two bodies were positioned between me and the back door. The amount of blood pooled on the floor gave hint that I’d been unconscious for some time. Jack loomed over the body closest to the door. It appeared he was searching for something.

I glanced the other direction. My phone was on the floor, mere feet away. With my eyes fixed on Jack, I inched my way to where it was. I rolled onto my back and searched blindly until I found it. Then, I pushed it deep into the back side of my jeans.

Just as I let out a sigh of relief, Jack grabbed a fistful of my hair and lifted me to my feet. “Get up!”

I clenched my teeth.

You son-of-a-bitch.

“Make one sound,” he warned, “and you’ll be just as dead as these two.”

I glanced at the two bodies as we hurried past. The first was undoubtedly Taggert. The second, I believed to be Wilson, but wasn’t sure. When we reached the back door, Jack pulled something from his jacket pocket and slipped it over my head.

Enveloped by darkness, I was dragged through the door and into the cool night air. My only hope was that Vincent would find me before Jack found my phone.

We walked for what seemed like forever, and then paused. A car door opened. He yanked me from my feet and tossed me into what I expected was the trunk.

“If you make one fucking sound,” he warned. “I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

The trunk lid slammed closed.

I rolled to my side. After an awkwardly painful process of fishing the phone out of my jeans, I wedged it beneath the trunk’s insulated carpet. Then, for the first time since Vincent disappeared down the hallway, I exhaled.

I hope you’re as good as they say you are, Vincent Briggs.