Page 3 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

THREE

In Transit

ALLY

I’m awake, but I don’t open my eyes.

Not yet.

Years of my father’s security training kicks in—assess before revealing consciousness. Gather intel. Create advantage.

That and the experience of two prior kidnappings. They always say the third one’s the charm. Whoever “ they ” are, they can eat shit. I can’t believe this is happening again.

Fortunately, I’ve developed a few skills after kidnappings one and two.

The chemical burn of the gas lingers in my lungs, each breath scraping raw tissue. My mouth tastes like pennies and ash. Sedative aftereffects drag at my limbs, but my mind is clearing, cataloging sensations.

The floor vibrates beneath my cheek, rhythmic and mechanical. It’s an engine—an aircraft, not a vehicle—the hum is too consistent, and the air pressure is subtly wrong. My wrists burn where zip ties cut into skin, already swollen and angry. Someone bound my ankles too.

There is no slack to exploit.

I crack my eyelids a millimeter, letting in slivers of dim light. Cargo hold. Military grade. Bench seating along the walls. No windows. The air reeks of fuel, metal, and blood.

Jenna lies nearest to me, her face a topography of bruises flowering purple and black. Her breathing is shallow but steady. One eye is swollen shut. Dried blood crusts her hairline. But her chest rises and falls.

Rebel is motionless beside her, right arm bent unnaturally. Compound fracture, my brain supplies clinically. Her skin has a gray undertone. She fought the hardest. The damage reflects it.

Malia’s slumped against the wall, hair matted with something dark. Still unconscious. Mia curls beside her, awake but pretending not to be—just like me. Smart girl. Her fingers twitch slightly. Counting seconds, maybe. Mapping time.

Then—a figure I don’t expect.

Stitch.

The shock drives a nail of ice through my calculated calm.

Her presence rewrites everything I thought I understood.

Stitch—Malfor’s former protégé, abandoned to federal prison when she failed him.

The woman who knows his systems inside out, who has been helping Guardian HRS dismantle his networks piece by piece.

Footsteps approach—measured, unhurried. The familiar cadence freezes my blood.

Harrison.

The man who’s been part of my life since childhood. Who taught me self-defense when I was twelve. Who rushed me to the hospital when I broke my arm at fourteen. Who my father trusted above all others.

Who sold us out.

“I know you’re awake, Miss Collins.”

His voice is the same measured and professional tone he’s used all my life, as if he didn’t just betray everything and everyone. Like, he isn’t currently transporting us to a monster.

I open my eyes fully, abandoning the pretense. There’s no point now.

“Harrison.” My voice is sandpaper, throat raw from the gas. “Enjoy that promotion to Judas? What does thirty pieces of silver buy these days?”

He doesn’t react to the barb. Just stands there in his tactical gear, right arm bandaged where Max tore into him. Good dog. Hope it gets infected.

“You’re taking the situation rather well,” he notes, clinical, detached. “The others weren’t so composed when they woke up.”

When they woke up? All the others are asleep. Or sedated. Shit, am I the last to regain consciousness?

“That’s because I’m imagining all the ways Hank and Gabe are going to tear you apart,” I reply, pushing myself to a sitting position. The motion sends daggers of pain through my skull, but I refuse to wince. “Piece by piece. Nerve by nerve. They’re very creative.”

Something flickers in his eyes—not fear, exactly. Awareness, maybe. Good. He should be afraid. They’re coming, and there’s nowhere on earth he can hide from what they’ll do when they find him.

“Your men at Guardian HRS think they’re untouchable,” he says, moving to check Rebel’s restraints. “We’ll see how they feel when we break them.”

I track his movements, cataloging details. His injured arm. How he favors his left side. The blood loss has left him slightly pale. There are three other operatives in the cargo hold—all armed, all watching.

Weak points. Vulnerabilities.

Data for later.

“Why?” The question burns out of me before I can stop it. “Why betray us? My father trusted you. I trusted you.”

He straightens, something almost like regret crossing his features before the mask slides back into place.

“Your father’s not the only one with resources, Miss Collins. Not the only one with reach.” He gestures to the cargo hold, to us—women bound and broken. “And this? This is just the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?” I push, needing information more than comfort. “Malfor’s revenge tour? Is that what you signed up for? Being an errand boy to a sociopath?”

His jaw tightens—a tell I’ve known since childhood. I’ve struck a nerve.

“Malfor sees the bigger picture,” Harrison replies, voice even. “This isn’t about revenge. It’s about balance. Correction.” He looks at each of us in turn. “All of you are tied to Guardian HRS. To Charlie team. The perfect leverage.”

“You’re using us as bait.” The realization crystallizes in my mind. “To draw them out.”

“Among other things.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Your value extends beyond mere bait, Miss Collins. Your research has— applications . And Malfor has plans for it.”

Ice spreads through my veins. My quantum containment research. The fusion reactor modifications I smuggled out of Kazakhstan. He wants more than revenge; he wants my brain.

“Where are we going?” I struggle to keep fear from my voice.

“Somewhere secure. Somewhere, your Guardian friends won’t find you until we want them to.”

“Sophia? Violet? The children?” The words scrape raw on the way out.

“They weren’t part of the extraction. Should’ve been.” For the first time, Harrison hesitates. “That’s—a failure I’ll have to answer for.”

Relief crashes through me, followed immediately by calculation. If they’re not here, they must have reached the panic room. They’re alive. Protected. And they can tell Guardian HRS everything they saw.

Another thought grips me—hope wrapped in dread.

“And Max?”

Harrison’s hand drifts unconsciously to his bandaged arm. “Sedated. Not dead.”

I almost smile, visceral satisfaction warming me for a brief moment. Good. Carter would kill this man himself if they killed his dog.

“You made a mistake.” I lean forward despite the pain it sends through my shoulders. “You think you know the Guardians. You think you know what they’re capable of, but you have no idea what happens when you take someone they love.”

“I know exactly what they’re capable of.” His voice hardens. “I’ve studied them for months. Every move. Every weakness.” He gestures around the cargo hold. “And now I have six of those weaknesses right here.”

“Why Stitch?” I challenge, nodding toward the unconscious woman.

Something passes across Harrison’s face—confirmation.

“Malfor doesn’t forget betrayal.”

“Neither do I.” The words emerge like bullets. “And neither will my father. You know what he’ll do to find me. What resources he’ll deploy.”

For a heartbeat, uncertainty shadows his features. Then it’s gone.

“Robert Collins is a businessman,” he dismisses. “When the time comes, he’ll make the practical choice.”

“You don’t know him at all,” I say softly, certainty burning like wildfire. “Not if you believe that.”

Harrison checks his watch, visibly done with this conversation. “We reach the rendezvous in thirty minutes. I suggest you prepare yourself, Miss Collins. It’s going to be a very long and arduous journey.”

I close my eyes, drawing deep on everything I’ve learned from Hank and Gabe. From their training sessions. From their protection.

From their love.

The rational part of my brain knows our chances are microscopic. Six bound women against armed operatives, and a madman waiting at the destination.

But I refuse to be helpless.

I think about quantum entanglement—my research, my life’s work. Particles that once connected remain connected, no matter the distance separating them. Change one, and the other changes instantly. A bond that transcends physical space.

Like me, Hank, and Gabe.

Connected. Entangled. Inseparable.

Distance doesn’t matter.

Malfor doesn’t matter.

Harrison doesn’t matter.

They will find me.

Find us.

That’s not blind hope or faith—it’s inevitable.

We are Charlie’s Angels, and we’ll do whatever it takes to survive until they come.