The Wild Charge (Dartmoor Book 9)

Forty-Five

It was thoughtless, too, to fire, one fast shot, one crack through the silence, and watch the shadow slump to the floor.

More gunshots behind him: staccato, semi-auto-fire rounds. He heard a few grunts; the meaty slap of bodies landing, and he kept going, foot over foot, until he reached the door to the stairwell. There was a camera poised above it, red light blinking. He flattened himself to the wall beside the door and waited for Fox to arrive. They locked gazes, Fox nodded, yanked the door open, and Tenny rolled around the threshold and into the stairwell, ready to fire.

No one there.

He signaled with his arm. Forward. And started up, the scrape of boots following.

~*~

"First time?" Dina asked as she dropped down into the seat to Ian's left.

He spared her only the briefest of glances. "Am I that obvious?"

She chuckled and stroked his arm; he resisted the urge to snatch it back. "Everyone's always a little nervous at first. You'll get the hang of it."

He swallowed his rising gorge and said, "How many times have you been invited?" A little frosty for conversational, but she didn't seem to mind.

She gave an offhand wave. "Oh, a few dozen. It loses its novelty after a while. I haven't come in ages."

In more ways than one, probably, he thought, but managed to flash her a tight, toothless smile.

Out on the stage, the lights flickered once, twice.

"Ooh." Dina's hand tightened on his arm, and she pointed through the glass. "We're about to start."

Pulse pounding in his ears, he watched a dark curtain part; watched a thickly-muscled man with a shaved head and a gun on his hip march a girl forward, her hands bound, her balance precarious on sky-high heels. She wore a bra, and a skirt the size of a cocktail napkin, and her gaze, as she eyed the dark rows of seats, was wild and white-rimmed.

Dina clucked. "Shame about her hair."

It was red, same as the two spots of color high on her cheeks.

Ian's first instinct, as a smooth, detached voice floated through the speakers – "Tonight's first item is a twenty-two-year-old Minnesota student with..." – was to bid on her. To bid on every girl they dragged through the curtain; to take them all away with him, wrap blankets around them, and tell them their nightmare was over. Instead, he gritted his teeth, and waited.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a waiter leaned over the back of his seat and asked if he'd like something to drink.

"No, thank you. But I'd like to know where Mr. Waverly is. We have business to discuss."

"He's in his private box, sir, but I can take a message."

Ian waved him off. "No. I'll see him later."

When he was gone, Dina patted the back of his hand. "Don't worry, hon. Everyone's jumpy at first. It's exciting, right?"

Ian swallowed hard, and watched the redheaded girl get led off the stage and back through the curtain. "Right."

~*~

Footfalls muffled by the thick rubber of their boot soles, the strike team moved up the concrete stairs to the next landing. Through silent agreement, they opened this door as they had the one below: Fox pulling the handle, Tenny rolling off the wall and through the jamb first.

But this floor...

Tenny halted, because this floor was comprised of an entirely different setup, and for a moment, it paralyzed him.