Page 90 of Delta

"Yeah, well, I couldn't very fuckin' well leave the innocent little thing stood there to die, could I? The fucking shiteaters were targeting her."

"Are you okay?" Harris asks.

"Fucking fine," I snap. "Must have been a ricochet or something, coz we all know these vests can’t stop a NATO round at that range.”

"Bryn was alive when they took her?" Harris asks.

"Yeah. Lost the tip of her middle finger and took a nine mil to the vest, but she was yelling for me. She was alive." I feel the adrenaline flood out of me all at once, the reality that Bryn is gone hitting me like a mule kick to the belly. I hit my knees. "I let them take her—I…I let them. I let them."

"Quit hogging all the fucking blame, Rush," I hear Harris snarl. "We've had you chasing that fucker thinking we had him on the run. This isn't on you. You could only have gotten yourself killed, son. All you can do now is sack the fuck up and find a way to get her back."

Chico hauls me to my feet. "Come. We have a plan."

Dazed, I let Chico haul me into a jog.

Pugli has Bryn—it's the only thought rattling in my stunned, exhausted, rage-addled brain.

Pugli has Bryn.

Pugli has Bryn.

Part of me, though, wishes I could be a fly on the wall to see what happens. I doubt he has any clue the kind of tiger he's caught by the tail.

15

15: ACROSS THE POND; A MOTHER MURDERED

Well this sucks.

These asshole have me trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, wrists bound behind my back with law enforcement-grade zip-ties, elbows tied together to force my shoulders back. My finger hurts like a bitch, throbbing and pulsing, smearing blood everywhere. Not that they care. I'm also gagged and have a smelly burlap sack over my head. Feet bound, knees bound. No chance of escape; clearly, they're not taking chances of a repeat of what happened on the train. Word must get around in the small world of villainous henchmen.

Stab a guy in the eyeball one time, and suddenly you're a problem.

The driver is driving like a bat out of hell, squealing around corners, braking hard at the last second and wrenching the wheel, then gunning the accelerator. The net result is that I, not seat belted and unable to see where we're going or brace against momentum, am tossed this way and that violently, slamming against the window again and again, until my head is pounding.

To say I'm getting pissy would be an understatement.

The next turn throws me across the car, so I land against the guy in the back seat with me. He pushes me away, but I react out of purely vengeful, childish, rash anger. I lash out with my head, the only part of me that I have any control over. I feel something soft crunch under my skull and it’s a very satisfying feeling, so I do it again.

And again.

And again.

As hard as I fucking can, feeling that soft wet something get softer and wetter and mushier.

The car brakes, tires squeal, and the car slews around to a tire-stuttering halt. Click.

Something hard touches my forehead. "You be still. No more."

"FUCK YOU!" I scream. Of course, I'm gagged so it comes out HUH OO, but still. I think he got the message.

The gun barrel presses harder against my forehead. "I am already paid." His voice is low and nasty, with an accent I can't place. "Be still." The gun moves to my knee. "Maybe I don't kill you. Hey? Which are you choosing?"

I don't move.

"Is what I am thinking." A sigh. "Fuck. He is dead?" A long, vicious flood of curses, or what I assume are curses in his language, based on the tone.

A door opens, and then the door back here. I hear rustling, and then the thud of a body falling to the ground. My door opens and I smell too much shitty cologne as my captor buckles me in. The door closes. The other door. The engine howls, tires squeal, and then we're bolting forward.