Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 10) (22 page)

Desperation took over.

Acting without thinking, Summer reached into the jumpsuit pocket for the stone-filled sock at the same time as she lunged forward. Teeth bared, she shot a hand through the bars and grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt, locking her fist tight and jerking him hard against the bars.

His eyes widened in surprise for a split second but she was already bringing her right hand up, swinging the rocks toward the side of his head with all her might.

With a cry of rage, she hit him square in the temple, where the bone was thinnest, the force of the impact reverberating up her arm. The man jerked slightly then slumped over and fell against the bars, either stunned or knocked out, she didn’t know and didn’t care.

The instant he hit the ground she knelt. Grabbed the back of his tunic. Rolled him over until she could reach the gun sticking out from the waistband of his pants. She was panting for breath, her heart racing, stomach rolling and muscles quivering.

But then he stirred, groaning.

Scampering backward out of reach in case he tried to grab her, Summer pulled back the slide on the pistol, curled her finger around the trigger and fired twice in rapid succession between his shoulder blades.

The weapon kicked in her hands, the sound of the shots deafening, so different from when she’d shot on the range with Adam using ear protection. Blood spurted up as the bullets impacted, more of it quickly pooling around the body.

But there were other threats out there that she had yet to face.

Gasping and queasy, she raised her weapon and took aim at the shadows she could see moving through the smoke ahead of her. They’d be coming now. They would have heard the shots and would come to investigate. And the moment they saw their dead comrade, they’d kill her. She had to get out now, had probably mere seconds before someone shot her.

Hurry, hurry…

Her body was frustratingly sluggish, uncooperative in her need for haste. Keeping her weapon up and one eye on what was happening ahead of her, she bent again and reached back through the bars with a shaking hand to search the man for a key, anything she could use to unlock the cage. She cringed as she touched him, but she had to keep looking.

She found nothing but a dirty rag in one of his pockets.

Biting back a cry of despair, she pushed to her feet and backed up a step, aimed the pistol at the lock. She wasn’t sure how many shots she had left but she had to risk using at least one more to get out of here.

Taking aim at the lock, she tried to steady her shaking hands.
You can’t miss
, she warned sternly.
You have to hit it with the first shot.

Though her hands and arms were unsteady she focused on her target just as Adam had taught her all those years ago, and squeezed the trigger. Sparks flew and a loud bang sounded as the bullet struck the metal. She cringed, half-expecting the gas on the ground to ignite.

When it didn’t, she reared back and lashed out at the lock with a solid kick. The metal gave a little, but held.

Almost.

Spurred on by the raw will to survive, determined to free herself, she kicked again, using all the strength in her lower body, twisting to put her entire hip into it.

The lock bent more, but not enough.

Not enough.

She clenched her jaw, readied to make another kick but movement in her peripheral made her freeze. Her gaze shot to the left just in time to see Hadad materialize through the wall of smoke. A bolt of terror made her heart seize.

He stopped dead when he saw her, and in his dark eyes she saw both a flicker of surprise…

And fear.

Because she was sighting down the barrel of a weapon at him and knew that he was about to die.

Everything shifted into slow motion. Time became elastic, every heartbeat, each individual movement separate and clear.

Summer pivoted to face him, bared her teeth as she adjusted her aim. His right hand reached back for his own weapon, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“I hope you burn in hell, asshole,” she snarled at him as her finger curled around the trigger.

****

The instant Tarek saw her holding the pistol aimed at him he stopped and stood there immobile, too stunned to move. How had she even managed to get Feisel’s weapon in the first place?

Even as he wondered it, a cold blast of panic shot through him. From the way she held it and the determined look on her face, it was clear she knew how to handle a weapon.

Everything happened in an instant.

He reached down for his own pistol, acting on pure survival instinct and the sickening prospect of what would happen if he was killed by a woman.

“I hope you burn in hell, asshole.”

Her words had barely registered above the shouts and gunfire coming from behind him when a bullet struck him in the center of his vest, the impact like a hammer-blow to his breastbone. He grunted but the round didn’t penetrate the armor.

Bitch!
he fumed, biting back a howl of pain.

Before he could bring his pistol up, another round hit him, lower, but still on the vest. He growled, finally jerked the pistol up into firing position but a third slug slammed into his right shoulder.

Fiery pain swept through his arm and he lost his grip on the weapon.

It slipped from his hand. Even as he lunged for it, another tore into his side. He cried out and slapped his free hand over it, falling to his back.

Breathing through gritted teeth, he forced his eyes open and pushed himself upright, managed to get to his knees. His men were still pouring through the doors, engaging the enemy outside. The American woman still held the gun trained on him, was preparing to fire again.

Pure rage infused him. If he was going to die here, it would be in combat against a worthy male opponent.

He would
not
die by the hand of this infidel whore and miss the joys of paradise promised to him by Allah for dying a martyr’s death. His love awaited him there; he would not be separated from her for all eternity because of this evil female.

More shouts sounded behind him, growing frantic now as his men rushed to intercept the attacking force.

The enemy was at the gate.

Unease streaked through him but Tarek couldn’t tear his gaze off the female as he reached for his fallen weapon. Those cold green eyes bored into his through the bars of the cage and the world seemed to slow even further as her finger moved on the trigger.

He held his breath, braced for another impact…but nothing happened.

Because she was out of ammunition.

Triumph punched through him as he saw the moment she realized her predicament, her face going blank with shock.

With grim determination he reached for his fallen weapon. One of his men was rushing toward him now, rifle aimed at the woman. Tarek snarled for him to leave. This bitch was
his
to deal with and she would die by his hand.

His fingers were stiff as he closed them around the grip but he brought his left arm up, the gun shaking slightly in his grasp. The pain stole his breath, made him light-headed, but he fought through it.

She was frantically checking the chamber now, looking for another bullet that wasn’t there.

Summoning his strength Tarek climbed to his feet and rapidly closed the distance between them. She looked up at him, her entire body going still, her eyes locked on his.

“You’re a dead woman,” he snarled. It infuriated him that this enemy bitch was alive and breathing when Lely was not.

The weight of the pistol was comforting in his hand. He curled his finger around the trigger, itched to raise it and fire right into the middle of that pale face staring back at him.

But that sort of death would be too easy. Too fast, too merciful. No, she had to die the way he’d originally intended. He needed to see her suffer for what she’d done.

A sudden rush of adrenaline muted the pain. He’d kill her and the other hostage, then escape before the enemy could reach him. He transferred the pistol to his other hand, covered a wince as the act of gripping it aggravated the wound in his shoulder.

Ignoring the burning ache of his wounds, he slipped his left hand into his pants’ pocket and pulled out a lighter.

Now her eyes widened, fear leaching her face of all remaining color and showing the whites around her irises. It sent a wave of triumph through him.

She shook her head mutely in denial, as if she could ward him off, stop this from happening. But if she was hoping for mercy, she was a fool, for he had none. Not for the likes of her or any other American waging war against his people.

Tarek found himself smiling as he stalked forward, aware of the gunfire growing fiercer outside but unconcerned with it for the moment. Right now all he wanted was
this
. To watch this bitch burn and writhe before his eyes.

She backed away and pressed against the bars, and the rush of euphoria that swept through him nearly made him dizzy. He raised the lighter even higher, an almost sexual arousal flowing through him at the abject terror on her face.

That was better, much better than the determined expression she’d worn just a few moments ago. But it wasn’t enough.

He needed to hear her screams, see the flames devour her. Even if only for a few seconds, just long enough to know she was receiving the divine punishment she deserved, that she wouldn’t survive. Then he could turn his attention to the coming attack.

More shouts erupted behind him, calls for help, for his guidance. The sounds of his men scrambling to repel whoever was attempting to mount an attack. He would answer in a few moments.

He raised his thumb, flicked the metal wheel so that the sparks struck. A single flame burst free, glowing in the dark, smoky air. It was beautiful, glowing gold and orange with its heat. An insatiable heat that would soon devour her infidel body.

The building was suddenly plunged into total darkness.

Jerked from his trancelike state, Tarek lowered the lighter and half-turned around in confusion. They had a backup generator buried deep in the ground, the power shouldn’t have gone out unless—

The far door burst open and multiple explosions went off almost simultaneously.

Brilliant flashes of light blinded him. He staggered back, instinct urging him to move off to one side and bring his weapon up to face the looming threat.

The enemy was here and he would send as many of them to hell as he could before they took him.

Adam’s heart pounded as he stood fourth in line along the wall to the left of the door, and waited. The dead guards’ bodies lay where they’d fallen and no one else had come out to investigate yet. Colebrook and the sniper team had reported no further threats.

Those bloodcurdling screams from inside had stopped abruptly a few moments ago, but the chilling sound still rang in his ears as he waited for Tuck to give the order to breach the door.

He tried not to think about what the silence meant, but that was impossible when he knew his wife was just on the other side of the wall he waited beside.

The thought that Summer might just have been killed in there while he’d been mere yards away, unable to prevent it…

He blocked the thought as soon as it formed, shoved it into a tamperproof box in his mind and locked it down tight. Because if he dwelled on it for another moment, he’d lose his shit completely and be useless to the team. He might even become a danger to them, and the entire operation could be blown. None of the hostages would make it out then.

So no. He had to believe Summer was still alive in there, and that he was going to save her.

Just as soon as Tuck pulled the trigger and gave the damn order to breach the building. As soon as he did, one of the snipers would cut power from the generator and put everyone inside in the dark.
Hurry the fuck up.

Adam’s hands remained locked around the grips of his weapon, the butt snug against his right shoulder, muzzle lowered. For now. Every second he waited there, poised to go and kick ass, felt like an hour.

Come on, let’s go
, he admonished silently, struggling to hold onto the tattered remains of his patience.

“Execute.”

Finally!

At Tuck’s quiet command they blew the charges on the door. And just like that, everything went into slo-mo.

Tuck went in first, Evers right behind him. Adam surged in behind Cruzie, his heart rate jacked and adrenaline pumping through him. Heavy smoke surrounded him, then he caught the unmistakable smell of burned flesh.

A wave of terror broke over him, punching through the formidable wall of his discipline.

The thick smoke swirling through the air made it impossible for him to clearly see anything at the other end of the building. As Tuck and Evers engaged two targets, Adam took in everything in a single, sweeping glance.

Beyond where Tuck and Evers were clearing the room to his right, what was left of one of the hostages lay smoldering on the ground inside what appeared to be a cage. And for one hideous moment he feared the worst.

Summer!

Was it her? His heart careened in his chest as he stared at the body and only the stern snap of Vance’s voice pulled him out of his head.

“Blackwell, ten o’clock!”

Adam whirled away from the sight of that burned body and turned to his left to face the threat, his training immediately kicking in, and probably the only thing that kept him from losing his mind. An enemy fighter materialized out of the smoke.

Vance fired, taking out the tango Adam hadn’t even noticed until now because he’d been too busy staring at the burned body. Reaching down deep to regain his composure and get his head back in the game, Adam scanned the darkness, staring down the barrel of his rifle.

Everything happened so fast, yet time seemed to slow down as well. A tango darted out from behind a corner ahead of him. Adam fired two shots, dropping him in a split second.