Page 3 of Striker
“Molly,” Rex purred, taunting. “This is your last chance. Tell me where they meet and who their contact is.”
She curled her lip. “For the thousandth time, I don’t know.”
“You said you didn’t know the business they were running.” He held out his hand as if making an offering. “Seems you lied about that in our last conversation.”
She expelled a hot breath. Sure, she’d suspected her boss, Willy Dunne, had been doing something illegal. Mis-weights had come in repeatedly from their produce shipments, yet he’d refused to investigate. That didn’t mean she knew anything else. “I told you I suspected things were off.”
He pursed his lips. “Final warning, Miss Stewart. You don’t understand what I can do to you.” His words curdled the air.
“You’ve done enough already, you piece of shit,” she hissed.
Wham!
His knuckles smacked against her cheekbone. Her head snapped backward. The room spun and she slumped but caught herself before her face hit the tile.
“I haven’t sold you yet.” He enunciated each syllable. Warm, slimy fingers slid up her bare thigh. “I’d make a lot of coin off this sweet cunt.”
She kicked his hand away, squirming to cover herself with the ratty T-shirt she wore. Every time she glimpsed at the flimsy material, she was reminded of how Rex had ordered his man to strip her upon arriving, degrading her.
“Looks like you’ve made your decision.” He stood. “Give her some water. We’ll need her alive. The buyer will be here soon.” Rex stood and stormed out of the room.
She inched her gaze up to the guard holding a water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and slowly poured the liquid in a steady stream onto the floor. Anger singed her flesh as she turned away from the splash.
“Drink up, dog.” He laughed then scrunched the empty bottle in his hand before hurling it across the room. “What, you got something to say? Woof-woof?”
“Fuck you.”
He seized her hair, tearing her head back. She flinched in anticipation of his fist and clawed at his wrist.
“I should fuck your bitchy little mouth,” he growled.
She closed her eyes, willing him to back away. To do anything but follow through with his threat.
He slammed her head against the wall. There was a sickening crack, and a flashfire of pain ripped over her skull.
The door banged shut and the lock clicked into place. Tears blurred her vision. She gently touched the aching spot above her ear. Thick, sticky liquid dotted her fingers. Nausea erupted in her belly.
She needed to lie down. To get closer to her weapon. Holding on to the wall for support, she tried to stand, but the room spun and the nausea intensified. Carrying the shackle in her bound hand so it didn’t clank against the tile, she moved to her hands and knees and crawled the remaining feet to her mattress. She fell onto the thin material and brought her attention to the metal chaining her to this hellish room.
Rex always left open the glass door, letting the sounds of the jungle carry into her room, reminding her that even if she escaped, she’d never survive. And if she screamed, no one would hear it. No one was around.
She yanked on the shackle, frustration making her vision hazy.
If I lose five more pounds, the damn thing will slide right off.
Exhausted, she dropped her hands to the bed. The stench of the nasty old fabric made her move back to the floor. She dragged the thin pillow with her and fished beneath the mattress for the piece of the plate.
If they came to take her tonight, to sell her as Rex had promised, she’d find enough strength to murder at least one of them.
Chapter
Two
“Movement,” Viper said. “South side.”
Atlas shifted his focus in that direction, silently stepping over a gangly shrub and into the yard. His senses crackled now that they were outside of the shadows.
A figure moved toward a Hummer parked out front, fifty meters away.
