Page 93 of Striker
Rogue folded his arms across his chest. “They didn’t shoot her.”
Atlas screwed up his face. “Huh?”
“They didn’t shoot her.” He gestured at the screen. “Don’t you think it would’ve been quicker and easier to just put a bullet in her head and get outta Dodge?”
“Obviously, but that would’ve caused a scene.”
“They already caused a scene. They even attacked a bystander. Taking her was a big risk, and I think that should give you comfort that there’s a damn good chance she’s still alive.”
Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose. He wanted comfort. Any type of relief would extend his life expectancy right now, but he couldn’t be delusional either. They’d come too close to killing her in her apartment to assume otherwise. “I hope you’re right.”
Rogue flashed a devilish grin and nudged him with his elbow. “I’m always right.”
Atlas looked at Havoc. “Think you can get a trace on the van?”
Havoc’s mouth twisted. “I can’t make any promises. Track down Jenna and I’ll keep working on this end.”
“All right.” He pushed away from the table, and he and Rogue made their way out of the hotel.
Every step he took pounded with intent. The cords in his muscles were strung tightly, his body wired and ready for retribution.
He’d find Molly. Had to. If he didn’t let himself have even a shred of hope, he’d have no reason to put one foot in front of the other.
Once he got his hands on the fuckers who took her, there’d be a path of blood in his wake.
Stall. That was all she could do.
Molly stayed huddled in her little cave, refusing to look at the man jeering at her. He was right. She had no way out. They’d get her eventually, but she’d be damned if she’d go to them willingly. The quicker she fell into their hands, the quicker they’d drug her.
Willy was going to sell her—that meant she’d be taken off this island.
She couldn’t let that happen. If Atlas managed to find out that they’d taken her here, leaving would be the worst thing she could do. The more times she moved, the harder it’d be for him to track her down.
A burst of light combined with a sizzling sound burst outside of the cave. A bright-red flare stick was thrown into the cavern, letting off a plume of smoke. Molly coughed and covered her nose and mouth with her arm.
The thick, pungent cloud filled the cave in seconds. Heat radiated off the flare. Smoke particles rushed into her nose and mouth. She plugged her nose and held her breath, but her eyes burned despite being squeezed shut.
Her chest demanded air. If she didn’t take in a breath, she’d pass out. Burying her face in her sleeve, she inhaled. A metallic scent hit the back of her throat like tiny daggers. She coughed and wheezed.
A cry tore from her lips. Either a plea or curse, she wasn’t sure. She blinked rapidly, searching for a pocket of clean air, but the entire cave was filled with a black cloud.
She twisted onto her stomach again. Her legs were close to the opening, but she had to?—
A hand gripped her ankle.
Molly cried out as she was yanked backward. She clawed at the jagged rock, tearing her hands, kicking and squirming.
He yanked again and her shirt rose up on her belly. Her flesh tore. Another hard pull and her legs were through the opening. Rough hands grabbed her arms and hauled her away from the cave.
She fell on the sand, and for a moment, she was filled with relief. Hungrily, she inhaled the ocean air. Rain pelted her body.
Angry fingers sank into her wet hair. Her attacker twisted her strands, circling her around to face him. She cried out and clutched at her scalp.
“Let’s get the hell outta the rain, Chris,” said the man who’d retrieved the flare, his body shaking.
“Dumb bitch,” Chris hissed in her face.
He tossed her away from him and she landed hard. Unforgiving stones smacked against her knees. A foot pushed her in the ass.
