Houston reached out for the edge of the window and tested it to see if it opened. It did not. Not that he expected it would be that easy. He dug into his front pocket and fished out his tools and a small flashlight. Working quickly he attacked the surprisingly flimsy lock keeping him out. In under thirty seconds he had the window slid open and swept aside the heavy drapes enough to see into the room.
Shit.
Bathroom. Not the bedroom they were hoping for. But he was inside the house and it was too dangerous to signal now. He’d have to navigate the situation on his own until his motorcycle brethen caught up with him.
He took a breath and climbed through the window. All things considered, his pulse remained calm and his hands were steady on the gun he carried. After taking a few seconds to absorb the sights and sounds around him he moved to the open doorway and lifted his muzzle, complete with silencer.
Not one to waste any more time than he had to, Houston made sure the hallway was clear and quickly moved to the next doorway. He tested the handle and found this one locked. His heart beat a little faster. With this room in the middle of the house it had to be the one that contained Izzy. It would be most secure.
There were still no signs of movement and he knew from hundreds of similar operations he needed to wait for the rest of the team, but he couldn’t. Instinct told him it was go time.
Placing his flashlight in his mouth, he used his tools to pop the lock with as little noise as possible. That’s when he heard it. A whimper so filled with anguish it might have been in his head.
Izzy.
His plan for finesse fled. White-hot rage coursed through his veins. He dropped the tools and raised his gun before kicking the door free.
“What the fuck?”
Houston didn’t think his rage could get any worse. He was wrong. The site of the man scrambling off the bed trying to raise his pants from around his thighs and Isabella spread out on the bed with her skirt around her hips definitely made it worse. As bad as he wanted to put a bullet in this guy’s brain, he wanted to make him pay first.
He lowered his gun and jabbed him with a left hook, sending him sprawling to the floor. For a second he lay dazed before he once again began pulling at his pants with one hand while reaching for his gun in his shoulder holster with the other. Houston didn’t give him a chance to do either before he planted his boot in his chest with enough force he heard bones crack. The guy sputtered and grabbed at Houston’s foot to no avail.
Houston transferred his gun to his left hand and pressed it to his temple. “Move another inch and I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”
The guy’s face contorted with rage, but he lifted his hands away from his gun and his limp dick. Houston was so angry he couldn’t see straight. He reached for the knife in his boot and pulled it out. “You think raping women is fucking sexy? I’ll show you sexy.” He twisted with his knife and stabbed it into the guy’s dick.
The resulting scream and bellow of pain were beautiful music to his ears. He had no idea how satisfying it was to take out his revenge on the enemy at this range. All the pent up anger from the weeks of worry and fear rushed over him. There was only one way to fix this situation. He stabbed the guy again, this time in his thigh.
The asshole screamed again.
“Shut the fuck up.” As much as he’d like to think he was teaching some low life son of a bitch a lesson, he wasn’t. Because he didn’t have enough time left to learn any goddamned lessons while screaming like a banshee. He could learn his lesson in hell. He covered his mouth with his gloved hand and stabbed him again in the gut before shoving the knife forward and into his lung. Immediately blood bubbled from the man’s mouth and the look in his eyes told Houston he knew it was over.
“Houston. Oh my God. Stop.”
Izzy’s shrieks from the bed caught his attention and he turned his head. The look of pure horror stamped across her face burned into his brain. He looked between the dying fucker on the floor and the beautiful, but ravaged woman on the bed. There were red marks around her neck where her assailant held her down and bruises were already forming on her arm where he obviously grabbed her.
“He deserves worse.”
“Houston.” She shrieked, pointing at the man behind him.
Houston moved on auto pilot. He swung his arm around and shot two bullets into the man’s brain before he could touch his gun.
He returned the bloody knife to his boot and grabbed Izzy from the bed.
“Put your arms around my neck and hang on. I’m getting you out of here.”
Her body shook with sobs. “You’re covered in blood.”
“It’s over,” he reassured her. “You’re safe now.”