Stepbrother Unsealed(32)
It's too damned quiet in this place. I need to take a risk.
I cup my hands over my mouth and yell. “Delia? Where the fuck are you? Come out right now!”
Shit. There's a narrow hallway with some restrooms, and I wonder if she's ducked in there, either lost or looking for a real bathroom. The girl drank like a fucking fish before I hit the blackjack table, and we only made a quick pit stop before leaving the casino.
My gut tells me that's too damned easy. I walk up to the women's room and press my ear to the door, listening for Delia, listening for anything.
A second later, there's a loud smacking sound, like somebody throwing flesh against a wall. “Shut the fuck up and stop struggling, bitch, or we'll cut you wide open. You can suck us off or bleed out on the floor here with the rats and the roaches. Your choice.”
My teeth pinch together so hard they're about to break. My hand shoots down and I squat, ripping the knife out of its holster around my ankle. I carry it everywhere, naked without it, and our Vegas getaway is no exception.
I'm in full mission mode now, feeling the kind of angry, survival-focused adrenaline spiking through my veins that always hits during a big operation.
The last time it seized me was in Kirkuk, when those Iranian bastards started shooting. We were outgunned and surrounded then, and it was only their fear of creating a bigger international shitstorm that caused them to backoff.
I don't know how many vicious motherfuckers I'll find behind the door. I don't know if they have guns, or if they'll tear into Delia the second I walk in.
I just hear their brute laughter, listen to her muffled sob, and I know exactly what I need to do.
I have to fucking save her!
I let three more seconds go by – all I'll spare to assess the situation.
“Gag her with her fucking panties,” the same gruff voice inside growls. “Take a pic once you've smeared your load across her eyes. The boys in LA'll eat this shit right up. She's got nice skin. Young. She'll fetch a pretty penny for sure.”
My heart thuds as Delia whimpers again. Fuck, fuck.
“I dunno, Bumble, I kinda wanna go easy on this meat. She looks like she's never seen a grown man's dick before. It's fucking hot, but we can't break her 'til we get her back to the van, yeah? We've got more shit in there to really loosen this bitch up.”
“You goddamned pussy,” the older man growls, his boots stomping hard on the tile. “Let me have at her. Step outta the way, I'll show you how it's done.”
The next sound I hear is a belt coming undone. No more.
My boot hits the dirty old door so fucking hard it almost comes off its hinges. Two big, dirty men are inside, mafia or sex traffickers, maybe. Right now, I don't really care about anything except slamming my blade through both their skulls.
My eyes flick to Delia. The assholes are tall, lean, nasty looking men. The fucker must've had his hand on her throat a second ago, and he's got her dark lace panties in the other, staring at me like I'm a fucking ghost.
They move fast, but they've got nothing on a SEAL. The next five seconds are a blur. I don't think about anything except dispatching them, kicking them away from my girl, washing away the tears I saw streaming down her cheeks with their filthy fucking blood.#p#分页标题#e#
That's right. My girl.
I don't even have time to process it. There's too many bones snapping underneath my boots.
They barely have a second to realize I've shattered their ribs with the roundhouse kicks that put them on the floor. I'd love to torture them longer, but snuffing their evil asses out is the best option.
Each asshole gets off half a yelp before I drive the blade right through their skulls, silencing them forever. Everything melts into a three second blur of pain and blood and terror, the same confusion I always see on missions, right as I blow some terrorists' brains out.
It's over just as abrupt too.
The bastards are dead and barely twitching, out cold in the grimy, dark bathroom. Delia makes a sound like she's choking, and I look up, seeing the insane shock in her eyes.
“Fuck, baby, I wish you didn't have to see that.” I drop the knife. It hits the floor with a loud clatter, and I head toward her, wishing I could kill the thugs all over again for screwing up her clothes, darkening her brain forever with this sick, fucked up memory.
Stopping in my tracks before I reach her, I realize my hands are coated in blood. Shit.
I stumble to the sink between us, praying the plumbing isn't shot. There's a brutal hiss behind the wall, and rusty water comes spurting out a moment later. It's a weak trickle, but it'll do, all I need to clean up.
I have to punch the broken mirror hanging off the wall to see my own reflection. My fingers dab the few spare flecks of blood I've got along my neck, and I stare at the dead boys on the floor, long trails of crimson snaking out of their bodies.