It’s like someone went into random furniture stores and bought the most expensive things they could find and expected them to work together.
Money really doesn’t buy taste.
Of course, I think of Hans.
Sweet, quiet neighbor Hans. Who lives alone in a small house, has a normal vehicle, and wears plain clothes. But apparently has more money than I could even imagine.
Tears build in my eyes again, but this time, I can’t blame Evil Andre.
I’m scared.
And I miss Hans.
I sniff and sniff again.
Be sad, but be productive.
Wiping the back of my hand across my cheek, I’m reminded I was hit in the face recently and wince.
Okay, tears can stay.
I turn back to the door I was pushed through and try the handle.
It doesn’t budge.
I didn’t think it would, but I had to try.
Trying to focus, I cut straight across the room and look out the windows. The landscape beyond is beautiful and harsh, with sand-covered hills and prickly desert plants.
I try to open the window, but there’s no latch. They don’t open.
When I press my face to the glass and look down, I can see nothing but sharp rocks two stories below me. And since I won’t be able to get away on broken legs, I don’t bother trying to break the glass.
With one last place to look, I walk through the sitting area to the other door in the room.
It’s partially open, with darkness on the other side, and if it’s not a bathroom, then I hope it’s a secret tunnel out of here.
I press the door open. Not a tunnel.
Stepping into the bathroom, I shut and lock the door behind me, then turn on the faucet and cup my hands under the water.
I swish the mouthful around and spit it out. Then I fill my hands again and gulp down the cold water.
CHAPTER 111
Hans
We’re ten minutes from the target, and I’m in one of the back seats, sitting between Nero and Karmine.
It’s quiet, with everyone doing a final check of their gear.
And we have gear.
Cain pulled through. He’ll still charge me for everything, but nonetheless, he pulled through.
I tighten the leg holster over my bandaged leg.
A glint of light draws my attention to Nero.
He slips his fingers through the carved metal and… I narrow my eyes.
Does this guy seriously have a set of diamond-encrusted brass knuckles?
I look away.
I don’t have time to question Nero’s weapon choices.
All my focus has to be somewhere else.
On someone else.
I touch my hand to the gun at my hip, then to my throwing knives, then to the extra clips and blades secured to my bulletproof vest.
Eight minutes.
We all have our assignments.
Karmine’s team will sweep the house, looking for anyone held against their will. The team with King will secure the perimeter before moving in. And everyone else is with me and Nero. But they all know that I get Gabriel Marcoux.
I get to kill him.
Seven minutes.
I set my hand on my final weapon.
I can’t sit in a vehicle with it on my back, so it has to wait until we arrive.
Six minutes.
CHAPTER 112
Cassie
With my socks in my pocket, I step out of the bathroom barefoot and back into the empty office. I won’t let slippery feet slow me down again.
After digging through every cabinet, I found a small thing of unopened mouthwash and used it three times. Then, because I’m a nervous pee-er, I used the toilet as quickly as possible. It freaked me out thinking someone with a key could walk right in. But I didn’t really want to add peeing myself to the list of terrible things that happened today.
I also pulled my ponytail free and pressed my damp hands against my scalp to try and calm some of the lingering pain before loosely putting my hair back up.
I’m standing on the threshold of the room, wondering what I can use to smash the mirror in the bathroom, when I hear the click of the main door unlocking.
Before I have time to decide whether I should hide in the bathroom or rush the door, it swings open.
Evil Andre steps in first, followed by an older guy.
The new guy gives off a super creepy vibe, and based on his three-piece suit, which is over the top for anything less than a wedding, I’d bet he’s the owner of this awful house.
Andre shuts the door after them and then stands against it as a human blockade.
The suit, who looks like someone’s sleazy uncle, stops a few feet away from me.
Too far for me to kick him.
“I’m Gabriel Marcoux.”
But he is close enough for me to spit on.
So I do.