clear gray eyes met hers and his rotten smile wavered before her eyes. Hot fire shot up to her wrist and along her fingers. He snapped the tourniquet loose and stepped back. That fire ricocheted down her arm, across her chest, then she felt it slowly spread throughout her body like molten lava.
The drug reached her brain and the room swayed . Ronnie weaved on her feet and Ray Brown stepped forward to grab her and ease her down to the ground. After her butt touched the floor, he jerked her ankles apart to spread her legs. Ronnie’s body went limp, her heart felt like a jackhammer in her chest, as in a daze she watched Ray unbuckling his belt.
Trace leaned around the doorway of the building they called the holding pen to make a quick assessment of the situation. All night long he’d hidden outside and watched the armed man Ray assigned to guard the building, waiting for an opportunity to go inside and try to get Ronnie out of there. He figured if he picked the lock on the shackles, she could make her own getaway, and they would just think she had escaped. But the guard hadn’t moved, or fallen asleep. A few minutes ago the man finally left, so Trace snuck toward the pen, but halfway there, he saw Jay Dawson go inside.
He ran the rest of the way, because he knew what that evil bastard was capable of. Trace had seen what he did to the women they trafficked through there. It looked like he was too late though. Jay had already drugged her, and it looked like Ray was about to rape her. Now, he was going to have to get her off the ranch himself, and probably blow the operation to hell in the process. Trace just hoped Jay hadn’t drugged her too much to ride on his bike out of there.
His heart pounded in his chest, and he fought to get his breath. Running a quarter mile from the field at a full sprint would do that to a man. And so would the knowledge that if he stood here and did nothing he was going to have to watch Ronnie Winters be raped by Ray Brown. Not going to happen.
On the way, Trace confiscated a gun from one of the FBI agents working as a ranch hand. Not voluntarily. Trace had to beat the crap out of him to get it, but he wasn’t going into this situation unarmed. He just hoped nobody found him behind that round bale in the field before he could pull this off.
“Unchain her hands so I can turn her over,” Ray said gruffly.
Trace heard the chains clink and thanked providence he wouldn’t have to pick the lock or hunt for a key once he took the two men out. He waited a second more, held the gun ready, then swung around the corner.
“Move away from her,” Trace ordered aiming at center mass on Ray’s chest as he kept one eyeball trained on Jay Dawson.
Ray and Jay turned toward him and their eyebrows lifted. Ray’s flat black eyes darted to the gun in Trace’s hand. “You hold that gun like a cop, boy,” Ray commented coolly.
Flashes of the night his partner died embedded themselves like darts in his brain. Trace felt beads of cold sweat dot his forehead. Adrenaline shot through his veins to make his heart pound harder. “I’ll use it like one too if you don’t move away from her,” Trace growled. Trace knew the weapon he appropriated from the agent was a small revolver and didn’t have twenty-five feet of range, so he moved within firing range keeping his eyes on both men. Nodding his head, he said gruffly, “Move away from her and turn your back to me.”
Ray and Jay backed up a few steps, but didn’t turn their backs. Jay’s hand went behind his back, and Trace fired hitting him in the shoulder. Jay staggered back and fell into Carlos Ramos. Trace had been so focused on the two of them, he didn’t see Carlos sneaking up behind Jay. Carlos pushed Jay aside, his eyes widened, then he staggered back clutching his chest. “Dios,” he said staring at Trace accusingly as he crumpled to his knees.
The bullet must’ve gone
The drug reached her brain and the room swayed . Ronnie weaved on her feet and Ray Brown stepped forward to grab her and ease her down to the ground. After her butt touched the floor, he jerked her ankles apart to spread her legs. Ronnie’s body went limp, her heart felt like a jackhammer in her chest, as in a daze she watched Ray unbuckling his belt.
Trace leaned around the doorway of the building they called the holding pen to make a quick assessment of the situation. All night long he’d hidden outside and watched the armed man Ray assigned to guard the building, waiting for an opportunity to go inside and try to get Ronnie out of there. He figured if he picked the lock on the shackles, she could make her own getaway, and they would just think she had escaped. But the guard hadn’t moved, or fallen asleep. A few minutes ago the man finally left, so Trace snuck toward the pen, but halfway there, he saw Jay Dawson go inside.
He ran the rest of the way, because he knew what that evil bastard was capable of. Trace had seen what he did to the women they trafficked through there. It looked like he was too late though. Jay had already drugged her, and it looked like Ray was about to rape her. Now, he was going to have to get her off the ranch himself, and probably blow the operation to hell in the process. Trace just hoped Jay hadn’t drugged her too much to ride on his bike out of there.
His heart pounded in his chest, and he fought to get his breath. Running a quarter mile from the field at a full sprint would do that to a man. And so would the knowledge that if he stood here and did nothing he was going to have to watch Ronnie Winters be raped by Ray Brown. Not going to happen.
On the way, Trace confiscated a gun from one of the FBI agents working as a ranch hand. Not voluntarily. Trace had to beat the crap out of him to get it, but he wasn’t going into this situation unarmed. He just hoped nobody found him behind that round bale in the field before he could pull this off.
“Unchain her hands so I can turn her over,” Ray said gruffly.
Trace heard the chains clink and thanked providence he wouldn’t have to pick the lock or hunt for a key once he took the two men out. He waited a second more, held the gun ready, then swung around the corner.
“Move away from her,” Trace ordered aiming at center mass on Ray’s chest as he kept one eyeball trained on Jay Dawson.
Ray and Jay turned toward him and their eyebrows lifted. Ray’s flat black eyes darted to the gun in Trace’s hand. “You hold that gun like a cop, boy,” Ray commented coolly.
Flashes of the night his partner died embedded themselves like darts in his brain. Trace felt beads of cold sweat dot his forehead. Adrenaline shot through his veins to make his heart pound harder. “I’ll use it like one too if you don’t move away from her,” Trace growled. Trace knew the weapon he appropriated from the agent was a small revolver and didn’t have twenty-five feet of range, so he moved within firing range keeping his eyes on both men. Nodding his head, he said gruffly, “Move away from her and turn your back to me.”
Ray and Jay backed up a few steps, but didn’t turn their backs. Jay’s hand went behind his back, and Trace fired hitting him in the shoulder. Jay staggered back and fell into Carlos Ramos. Trace had been so focused on the two of them, he didn’t see Carlos sneaking up behind Jay. Carlos pushed Jay aside, his eyes widened, then he staggered back clutching his chest. “Dios,” he said staring at Trace accusingly as he crumpled to his knees.
The bullet must’ve gone
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