Trevor’s lips twitch. Why was it always the threat of losing a limb that spurred a man to capitulate? Any soldier worth his salt, any soldier who’d been trained right, would offer his hands and feet on a silver platter before giving the enemy a vital piece of intel.
“Lassiter,” D echoed in a pleasant voice. “Lassiter who?”
When their prisoner didn’t answer, D jammed his knife deeper into the man’s knee, eliciting a moan of misery.
“Ed Lassiter. Eddie.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. Why did that name sound so damn familiar?
Beside him, Kane’s lips curled in a sneer. “Shit, I know Lassiter. He’s a scumbag lowlife who specializes in putting together hit squads.”
“Right.” Trevor nodded in recollection. Lassiter’s name came up often on the merc grapevine. He was a middleman who paired mercenaries up with potential clients. Known to be shady as hell too.
“Who hired Lassiter?” Trevor demanded.
“I d-don’t know,” the soldier stammered.
D removed his knife from the man’s knee and brought it up to his throat. A thin red line appeared as the blade pressed into flesh.
“You don’t know, or is this another lapse in memory?” D said mockingly.
“I don’t know! I swear! Lassiter assembled the team, told us the objective—”
“Which was?” Kane interrupted. “What was the objective?”
“Kill every man on this compound.” The man moaned again, his breathing going shallow.
He was beginning to show signs of blood loss. Mottled skin, sweat dotting his forehead, glazed eyes. Before long those eyes closed and the man went unconscious.
“You wanna keep him alive and try again?” D asked Kane.
Kane, who served as second-in-command in Morgan’s absence, shook his head. “He gave us a name. That’s enough.”
“Do we leave him here?”
“Might as well. It’s not like he’s walking out of here.” Kane slung his rifle strap over his shoulder and unholstered his pistol. “Let’s find Holden and get the hell out. The compound’s been compromised.” He turned to D. “Can you deal with the explosives?”
D nodded, drawing Trevor’s attention to the black and red snake tattoo circling the base of his neck. “Find McCall. I’ll handle the rest.”
As D stalked off, Trevor and Kane exchanged a wary look. “Ethan said Holden and Beth were trapped in Morgan’s suite, but there’s a balcony there,” Kane said in a low voice. “Holden could scale that thing in his sleep.”
“Maybe Beth couldn’t?”
“Holden was a fucking Ranger. He would have found a way to get her down.”
Trevor secured his MP5 and palmed his SIG. “Maybe they made it out. Maybe they’re already on their way to the rendezvous.” He paused in afterthought. “No, if Holden had found a way out, he also would’ve found a way to check in with us.”
“Even if they did manage to escape, I’m not taking off without knowing for sure,” Kane said.
They went outside through the front door, which had been reduced to a naked frame and a pile of wood. The chopper across the courtyard continued to burn, but the fire had lost some of its intensity. Plumes of black smoke spiraled up from the wreckage and were carried away by the cool breeze. The smell of fuel, exhaust, and smoke clogged the air.
Judging by the faint sliver of light on the horizon, dawn was approaching, but the sky was mostly black as they rounded the main house. They stopped only to pop into the detached garage, where Kane grabbed a coiled length of rope from one of the worktables, and then they continued on their way.
It was eerily quiet out, save for the soft hiss of the wind and the occasional crash as another wall or ceiling collapsed inside the blown-to-shit estate Trevor had called home for five measly months.
Morgan’s suite of rooms was on the second floor, offering a large rectangular-shaped balcony ringed by a curved steel railing. The balcony was fifteen feet off the ground, give or take. The men gauged the height,
“Lassiter,” D echoed in a pleasant voice. “Lassiter who?”
When their prisoner didn’t answer, D jammed his knife deeper into the man’s knee, eliciting a moan of misery.
“Ed Lassiter. Eddie.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. Why did that name sound so damn familiar?
Beside him, Kane’s lips curled in a sneer. “Shit, I know Lassiter. He’s a scumbag lowlife who specializes in putting together hit squads.”
“Right.” Trevor nodded in recollection. Lassiter’s name came up often on the merc grapevine. He was a middleman who paired mercenaries up with potential clients. Known to be shady as hell too.
“Who hired Lassiter?” Trevor demanded.
“I d-don’t know,” the soldier stammered.
D removed his knife from the man’s knee and brought it up to his throat. A thin red line appeared as the blade pressed into flesh.
“You don’t know, or is this another lapse in memory?” D said mockingly.
“I don’t know! I swear! Lassiter assembled the team, told us the objective—”
“Which was?” Kane interrupted. “What was the objective?”
“Kill every man on this compound.” The man moaned again, his breathing going shallow.
He was beginning to show signs of blood loss. Mottled skin, sweat dotting his forehead, glazed eyes. Before long those eyes closed and the man went unconscious.
“You wanna keep him alive and try again?” D asked Kane.
Kane, who served as second-in-command in Morgan’s absence, shook his head. “He gave us a name. That’s enough.”
“Do we leave him here?”
“Might as well. It’s not like he’s walking out of here.” Kane slung his rifle strap over his shoulder and unholstered his pistol. “Let’s find Holden and get the hell out. The compound’s been compromised.” He turned to D. “Can you deal with the explosives?”
D nodded, drawing Trevor’s attention to the black and red snake tattoo circling the base of his neck. “Find McCall. I’ll handle the rest.”
As D stalked off, Trevor and Kane exchanged a wary look. “Ethan said Holden and Beth were trapped in Morgan’s suite, but there’s a balcony there,” Kane said in a low voice. “Holden could scale that thing in his sleep.”
“Maybe Beth couldn’t?”
“Holden was a fucking Ranger. He would have found a way to get her down.”
Trevor secured his MP5 and palmed his SIG. “Maybe they made it out. Maybe they’re already on their way to the rendezvous.” He paused in afterthought. “No, if Holden had found a way out, he also would’ve found a way to check in with us.”
“Even if they did manage to escape, I’m not taking off without knowing for sure,” Kane said.
They went outside through the front door, which had been reduced to a naked frame and a pile of wood. The chopper across the courtyard continued to burn, but the fire had lost some of its intensity. Plumes of black smoke spiraled up from the wreckage and were carried away by the cool breeze. The smell of fuel, exhaust, and smoke clogged the air.
Judging by the faint sliver of light on the horizon, dawn was approaching, but the sky was mostly black as they rounded the main house. They stopped only to pop into the detached garage, where Kane grabbed a coiled length of rope from one of the worktables, and then they continued on their way.
It was eerily quiet out, save for the soft hiss of the wind and the occasional crash as another wall or ceiling collapsed inside the blown-to-shit estate Trevor had called home for five measly months.
Morgan’s suite of rooms was on the second floor, offering a large rectangular-shaped balcony ringed by a curved steel railing. The balcony was fifteen feet off the ground, give or take. The men gauged the height,
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