It means “trouble is coming, but wait for my signal before you shoot,” and I’d remember it any day. My brother just confirmed a lot to me, including the fact that I have nothing to worry about where my baby is concerned, because he will protect her with his life, if need be.
I rip out my earpiece, replacing it with another, as I spot movement on the east corner, near one of the back entrances, and I squint through the scope, seeing that bitch Rydell stumbling out, bloody and hurt but most definitely too alive to settle my heart.
“Jared.”
“I see him, Jace. I’m going down. Keep your sights on Paulie and Roman. If anyone so much as looks like they’re making a move to hurt her, you shoot first and ask later.”
That gets me a hell yeah and I feel a hundred times better as I slowly creep down from my hiding spot and make my way closer to Clyde. I move swiftly and silently, and though it’s daytime, I know that no one can see me because my movements are that slick.
I grin when Jace mutters a few choice words into my ear.
“No wonder Bronx calls you Phantom, bro. Where the hell are you?”
I grin move closer, taking out my knife with a hiss.
“Look to your one o’clock.”
A low whistle reaches my ears minutes later as I crouch and watch Rydell fall against the wall and stumble as if…oh shit.
I look closer to see that the blood coating his face is not from a busted nose or a bleeding mouth, but from his eyes—ones that are no longer in their sockets. Now I understand why he’s still stumbling around in circles.
The realization would be satisfying if not for the fact that I know Roman did this….
“You see what I’m seeing, bro?” I hiss, wincing when Rydell falls over an old tire and goes crashing to the floor, making enough noise to wake the dead.
“I see it. You think he’s finally snapped and gone rogue, Jared?” Jace asks somberly, making me cringe at what Roman may have done here.
I’m a SEAL and sought after for the tough missions because I’m silent, deadly, and so quick that you will never see me coming. But I am no monster, and that is not up for discussion.
I would never torture another human being this way, no matter what he’s done. I hate Rydell, I do, but I would have put a bullet in his head and walked away satisfied.
Has Roman finally lost the plot after years of struggling with his demons?
I don’t even want to know at this point, and that’s the cold, hard truth of it. All I want is for Paulie to get the hell out of here so I can get her home and hand all of this mess over to Miah.
Then again, he and Roman are soul brothers, best friends, and partners. There’s no way I could let Miah struggle and wrestle with this, because I know it would hurt him.
I’ll have to call Wyatt and have that cold sonofabitch come out of retirement. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, and if Roman is off the reservation, I know that Wyatt will do what needs doing without overthinking things like the rest of us do.
Wyatt may be a businessman now and have his own family, but I won’t ever forget that my big brother is still a fucking pro when it comes to black ops. Hell, Uncle Sam still calls him and tries to get him to go on missions that are tricky.
“Jared.”
I hear the warning in Jace’s voice and turn to see the door open and a guard step out, laughing when Rydell whimpers and starts crying.
“The boss is still playing with you, boy. Come on back inside.”
“No! No, please just kill me,” Rydell begs and I could almost feel sorry for the poor asshole but for the acrid memory of that video I saw not too long ago.
“Don’t do it, Jared. Stay alive, remember? You promised Paulie.”
I keep low and catch the door just before it clicks shut.
“Stay on my girl, and whatever happens, you make sure she gets out of there alive and unharmed.”
“Jared.”
I pull the earpiece out to the sound of him hissing my name and enter the warehouse on a roll, checking my surroundings in a second before following the sounds of voices and a muffled cry that I recognize as Rydell’s.
What I see minutes later when I get to the little room they take Rydell to turns my stomach and I swallow the bile trying to wind up my throat.
Andrew Huley is tied to a chair and so beat up, his face isn’t a face anymore but a pulpy, bloody mess. The guy looks dead, when a low moan bursts free of his lips and I hear him praying softly.
“Andy.”
The gasp comes from Rydell where he’s lying on the floor, broken and spent and in no position to go anywhere without his sight or the will to live.
Andrew moans again and I see tears course down his bloody cheeks at the broken plea in Rydell’s voice.