Page 88 of The Team

Wong had scooted backwards on his chair behind the desk, his face pure shock and horror. He didn’t move, so Jay rounded on him, rifle pointed at his head, and barked out something in Chinese.

That, he clearly understood. He rose to his feet, hands trembling, face pale.

Rhett homed in on Frankston. “You are gonna fucking hang for this.”

Frankston had the audacity to sneer at him.

So Rhett cracked Frankston’s nose with the butt of his rifle. “You were told to get on your fucking knees.”

Blood gushing, he fell to his knees, holding his nose.

“Captain,” Sid said through their comms. “She’s not here. The woman here is not Jun-mei. Yin’s on his way to you.”

“It’s not her,” Rhett said, even though his team heard exactly what Sid had just said.

Then Yin ran almost past the door, but grabbed the jamb and burst into the room. He lasered in on Tan like a heat-seeking missile and grabbed him by his face—Azand Echo adjusting their stances—and with nothing short of rage and fury rolling off him, fired rapid Mandarin at him.

“Stand down,” Rhett barked.

Yin, still holding Tan’s face, his chest heaving and unbridled rage in his eyes, spared a glance at Rhett before letting his grip go.

Rhett shoved Frankston with his boot, sending him back onto his ass, still holding his bloodied nose. “Where is Jun-mei?”

“My nose,” he wailed like the pathetic piece of shit he was.

So Rhett cracked him again. The crunch was sickening and the way Frankston wailed, clutching his broken face, was almost satisfying. Almost.

“You hit me,” he cried, like a dumbass.

“It’s the least of what you’re about to endure,” Rhett said. Then he turned his rifle on Wong. “Where is she?”

He flailed pathetically before he fell back on his ass, and Jay followed with his rifle aimed directly at his forehead. “He speaks English,” Jay sneered through clenched teeth. “Yin Jun-mei. Where is she?”

Just then, Sid and the others reached the room, Chen holding the arm of a woman. She was young and petite, a purple goth streak in her long black hair, wearing black jeans, a black hoodie, and a filthy scowl as soon as she saw Wong.

She gave him a spray of Mandarin and it was Chen who translated. “She say his sister. She supposed to stay in her room.”

Chen sat her down in the corner and, Rhett could assume, told her to stay put. She drew her knees up whenshe seemed to realise the room was full of automatic weapons.

Wong put his hands out. “Don’t hurt her. She’s not part of this.”

“She is part of this,” Yin spat. “You made her part of this. Now where is Jun-mei? She was here. Where is she?!”

He shook his head, eyes darting to Tan, and Rhett knew that’s where the answer was. He rounded on him and put the muzzle of his gun to Tan’s forehead. “It’s all over. Your government knows everything. Where is she?”

Tan had the au-fucking-dacity to smile, even with two rifles aimed point-blank at his head, so Rhett took a deep breath before he cracked him in the fucking nose too. He barely even winced, but his sneer was murderous.

Rhett hadn’t wanted this to get so violent, but that fucking smile, the daring in his eyes was cold.

Not redeemable.

But he wasn’t gonna talk. Wong was just a gutless moneybag, but Frankston... Apply some pressure and he’d fold like a fucking deck chair.

“Yin,” Rhett said, going back over to Frankston to loom over him. “Did the Chinese government say they needed Frankston alive?”

“Yeah.”

Rhett lowered his gun to where Frankston’s knees met the floor. “Did they say anything about kneecaps?”