Page 109 of Striker
Twenty-Seven
Molly’s knees knocked together as she stood in front of Willy. His chest was sweaty against her back, making her skin crawl. The wind blowing in through the window wrapped around her exposed skin and puckered her flesh.
She stared at Atlas—or someone who looked like him—decked out in military gear and glaring at them over the scope of a rifle. He stood too far away from the light on the bedside table near her for her to be sure it was him.
Her brain grappled to understand what was happening and see farther into the shadows despite the awkward angle of her neck. Willy’s fingers bit into her shoulder, and a sharp blade dug against her throat. She didn’t dare flinch. One wrong movement would end her.
“Let her go.” The man’s voice cut through the fuzzy haze in her mind. It carried wrath and authority so intense she would have dropped to her knees in surrender if Willy weren’t holding her in place.
Let her go.
She blinked, staring at the man, wanting to believe with all her heart that he was Atlas. That somehow, he’d found her.
But . . . but it couldn’t be true.
Could it?
“Your men are dead. There’s nowhere to go. Step away from her and I won’t put a bullet in your fucking head.”
She prayed that he’d keep talking so she could examine his voice—a voice that made her heart sing and her chin tremble. Because right now she couldn’t trust what her heart knew.
He stepped farther into the room and air leaked through her lips.
He was soaking wet. Water dripped from his bulletproof vest. Mud caked his boots and grime littered his hair.
But it was Atlas.
There was no mistaking the chiseled shape of his jaw. He kept his gaze just above her head, locked on Willy. She stared at his eyes, needing to lose herself in the only place she felt at home.
“Get back!” Willy said, staggering a step in retreat. He bumped into the wall next to the sliding door.
With her feet bound Molly stumbled and nearly fell against the knife. Willy snapped her backward so she stood straight. Thankfully he still wanted her for protection, otherwise she’d have just sliced her own throat.
Atlas planted his feet near the foot of the bed. He was so close. Less than ten paces away. Her heart stilled, frozen in time.
There was movement at Atlas’s back. One of the guys. She couldn’t be sure who because he was still in the shadows, but given his size, she was guessing it was Viper.
“Last chance,” Atlas said. “There’s no way out for you, man.”
“Then she’ll come with me.” Willy drew her head back farther and pressed the blade against the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She cried out. A warm trickle of blood rolled down her neck.
Crack!
The sharp blast pierced her ears. Something wet splattered behind her, and Willy’s firm grip slid from her shoulder. The knife dropped at her feet, landing with a clatter.
Rapid gasps rushed from her lips. Willy lay sprawled on the ground with a bullet hole in his head. A scream caught in her throat.
Then warm, comforting arms surrounded her. Atlas’s earthy citrus smell engulfed her. So familiar and safe. She collapsed against him.
He swept one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, carrying her away from Willy’s dead body.
“Molly,” he murmured. “Oh god. Molly.”
“Check her out. I’ll watch the door.” Viper moved to the doorway and stood facing the hall.
Atlas lowered her to a white tufted chair in the corner of the room. He knelt on the ground and pulled a switchblade from a sheath at his ankle. He went to work on the rope at her wrists. Once he’d cut through it, he pulled the bindings away from her skin then reached for her feet.
“H-How did you find me?”
