RidingtheWaves (23 page)

What is it? What’s he going to inject into me?

She broke into a cold sweat. The instant the needle sank
into her vein, shooting its contents into her bloodstream, her head turned
fuzzy. A burning sensation wormed through her body all the way to her toes. Her
legs and arms grew heavy and limp then she felt nothing at all. Nothing but
dizziness, like she’d been drinking, only much worse. Soon a floating sensation
accompanied it—as if she drifted on a cloud in slow motion. Then suddenly, she
dropped. Her stomach vaulted and a rush of nausea choked her.

Deeper and deeper she plummeted into a dark, bottomless pit.
The dizziness in her head became intolerable. She prayed for sleep, or death,
or some type of escape, but she couldn’t descend far enough into that realm.
Please,
God, make it stop.
The only objects holding her onto consciousness were
voices. Deep, distant, masculine voices, fading in and out of range.

* * * * *

By the time they’d turned onto 130
^th
Street,
sweat bathed Brent’s forehead. He didn’t have a damn thing to use as a weapon,
but his adrenaline pumped too fiercely to give a shit. He couldn’t get past the
thought of what Annalee might be going through. And he needed to get her out of
there right fucking now.

He hadn’t taken time to examine the motel so he didn’t know
if there’d been a struggle, or if they’d blindsided her like they’d done to
him. Fuck! If they whacked her that hard, they probably killed her. He recalled
the water still running when they’d busted him upside the head, and if they’d
entered the bathroom before she’d finished showering… Christ, they would’ve
been tempted to rape her on the spot. Had they? His guts flipped. “Turn off the
headlights,” he said, rubbing his palms along his thighs. “I think it’s the
first driveway.”

When Brody slowed down and flicked off the lights, the area
faded to darkness. “I can’t see shit. I’m going to put us in a ditch.”

“Then stop right here.” About fifty feet ahead and nearly
one hundred feet on the right side, a light faintly glowed.

After the vehicle stopped, Brent threw open his door,
climbed out and dashed toward the end of the driveway. Frozen slush crunched
beneath his boots as he trudged toward a white ranch-style house. The wind cut
through his leather and spun mists of snow through the air, dusting his sleeves
and hair. As his eyes focused through the night, he noticed a
For Rent
sign
in the yard surrounded by a mound of snow.

Brody’s footsteps fell into a crunchy beat behind his as he
closed in at Brent’s back. “That’s the car I saw leaving the motel,” he said.
“I wish I would’ve known it was them. The fuckers wouldn’t have gotten this
far. Do they just move into vacant houses whenever they want?”

“They’re probably renting it. They need some type of shelter
while planning their dirty work.”

“Slugs.”

A muffled, bloodcurdling scream blared from inside the
house, tearing through the darkness. “What the fuck!” Brody exclaimed.

It didn’t sound like Annalee, but Brent never heard her
scream in fear or pain so he couldn’t say whether or not it was her. What in
the hell were they doing to provoke such a terrified response? Christ, he
didn’t want to know. He charged to the closest window and glared into a vacant
kitchen while Brody ran to an entrance door. Styrofoam food boxes and sandwich
wrappers were stacked and wadded on a butcher block counter.

“The door is locked,” Brody whispered. “But it can easily be
kicked in.”

“That won’t work.” Brent trotted to the porch and jiggled
the doorknob, testing its strength. “We have to get in quietly. We’re unarmed
and I don’t know how many assholes we’re dealing with.”

Another scream blared from inside. This time he
instinctively knew it was Annalee. He kicked in the door, using her voice to
obscure the bang. Fuck how many assholes they had to deal with, he couldn’t
postpone entry. He barged into the kitchen. The scent of cedar and fresh paint
smacked him in the face. On the left, lights filtered through an open doorway
that led to a basement or cellar. He expected to hear footsteps charge in from
all directions, but silence droned throughout the house.

“Please help me,” a female whimpered.

“I think it came from over here,” Brody whispered, pointing
toward a dark hallway.

Brent flew past his brother, running his hands along the
walls, feeling for a light switch. He couldn’t locate a damn one, but he
spotted strips of light peeking beneath three closed doors. As he approached
the first, he held his breath, quietly turned the knob and cautiously pushed it
open. A blonde woman dressed in nothing but her bra and underpants lay on a bed
tied to tall posts. Dried blood was matted in the hair along her temple. A
bloody X was carved into her stomach. What the fuck?

Rashand’s mark.

What the hell was going on?

She looked ready to scream. Brent held his index finger over
his lips. “Shhh. It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Her eyes widened.

“We’re here to help. Do you know where they are?”

She shook her head.

“We’ll get you out of here, I promise. The police are on the
way.” He glanced over his shoulder at Brody, who stood so close behind him they
nearly butted heads. “Do you have your pocketknife?”

“Yeah.”

Brent looked at the woman. “We’re going to check the rest of
the house, then we’ll come back to cut you loose.”

“Please hurry,” she pleaded timidly.

“We will. Brody, I’ll call Sterns to make him aware there
are more women here than Annalee,” he said, yanking the phone from his pocket.

Brody nodded and shot down the hall while Brent dialed
Sterns’ number. The call instantly went to voicemail. What the hell? The man
knew the situation, he should’ve been sitting on his phone. “It’s Delaney.
We’re inside the house. Annalee isn’t the—”

“She’s not down here but I’ve found two more ladies,” Brody
said. “They’ve been cut and are bleeding too.”

Brent acknowledged him with a nod. “Sterns, we’ve found at
least three additional women. They’re all injured. We need a couple of squads
dispatched.” His guts knotted as he closed the phone and shoved it back into
his pocket. There was a good chance they’d hurt Annalee too, and that stirred a
whole new pot of bullshit to swallow.

Where in the hell had they taken her? As much as he wanted
to call out her name, he checked his tongue.

“Let’s go, Brent,” Brody said while jogging by. “We’ve run
out of rooms up here. We need to check the basement.”

Brent stayed close on Brody’s heels as they fled into the
kitchen. Brody stopped beside the stove but Brent headed toward the doorway
leading to the basement. Brody grabbed his coat sleeve and yanked him backward
before he reached the stairs.

“Shhh. Don’t make any rash decisions, Brent. If they’re down
there with Annalee, they’ll use her to ward us off.”

Brent nodded. Yeah, his brother was right. At least he’d
kept his wits in order. The only thing on Brent’s mind was getting to Annalee,
and he didn’t care how they’d do it. “Then let’s go. I’ll stay on the left
side, you cover the right.”

As quietly as possible they approached the stairs and
stepped onto the first wooden step. Brent kept his eyes glued on the basement
floor, but he felt Brody’s intense gaze on his face, waiting for the first
command, as was the same protocol utilized when taking over ships.

Foreign voices echoed up the stairwell, growing louder as
they descended the stairs one at a time. Brent kept his back flush to the wall
and held his breath, waiting for a board to creak. And just as they dropped one
more step, leaving only three to go, Brody’s foot rolled and his knee buckled.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head against the wall while fisting
his hands against pain.

Oh Christ. That hurt—he’d heard Brody’s ankle snap.

Brent poked his brother in the chest. When his eyes opened,
Brent pointed at the stairs, instructing him to sit down, but Brody shook his
head, folded his lips together and dropped another step.

Only two remained but Brent couldn’t see anyone within the
restricted visual line. They could either walk straight ahead or to the
right—those were the only choices. Inhaling sharply and stiffening his
shoulders, he squatted and leaned sideways to enhance his view. The backsides
of Rashand and his lackey emerged. About twenty feet ahead of them he spotted
Annalee in her panties restrained to a bed. Her bra had been severed in half
and her breasts were partially exposed. Blood covered her left hip and lower
abdomen.
Her blood
.

Good God.

His guts spun and tightened. And in that instant, he’d never
wanted anyone as bad as he wanted Rashand.

Instinctively he felt like jumping off the stairs and
beating the motherfucker to death, but he regained control of his emotions and
looked Brody in the eye. Brent nodded once indicating it was time and slowly
raised his hand to signal the first move.

Rashand and the lackey conversed and laughed amongst
themselves, but when Rashand took a step closer to the bed, unhooking his
pants, Brent dropped his hand and charged into the room. Brody limped in behind
him, heading toward Rashand’s sidekick.

The lackey spun around. Brody pounded him in the face with
his fist, knocking him to the concrete floor. Rashand dashed toward Annalee but
Brent grabbed his collar and yanked him backward. With the bastard’s hands
flailing and feet shuffling to gain balance, Brent tightened his grip on
Rashand’s shirt, dragged him across the room and flung him against the brick
wall.

“You fucker. You motherfucker,” Brent seethed. “I should’ve
killed you months ago.”

Rashand laughed. The feral thunder crawled under Brent’s
skin and he wanted the man’s blood. Now. On his hands. No one hurt his woman
without suffering the consequences. And from Annalee’s condition, the asshole
hurt her bad.

“No, no, no more,” Brent heard at his back. A thwack and a
groan accompanied the wail, indicating Brody still had control of the lackey.

Brent grabbed the front of Rashand’s shirt and lifted him
off his feet then back- slammed him into the bricks. He saw red, and every
ounce of fear he’d held in check on Annalee’s behalf rushed forward in a rage.
He released Rashand and uppercut his chin. Rashand’s face flung to the left.
Brent delivered a blow directly to his cheek. Tissue and bones folded under his
fist. A tooth flew out of Rashand’s mouth and sailed toward the steps.

Brent punched him again, his knuckles splitting on contact
with the bastard’s teeth. Two more flew out of Rashand’s mouth, but Brent kept
beating his face, not giving him time to fight back. Even after he rendered
Rashand unconscious and he slumped forward, Brent let him drop to the floor,
where he squatted and pummeled his face and gut over and over, until Brody came
up behind him and grabbed his arm midair.

“He’s had enough, Brent.”

“Your definition of enough differs from mine.”

“Seriously, he’s not worth it. Tend to Annalee. She needs
you. I’ll drag these lugs to the steps.”

Brent glanced at the blood gushing from Rashand’s head, nose
and mouth. “You’d better thank your lucky stars, you son of a bitch. If it were
up to me, I’d put you to sleep permanently.” After wiping the blood off his
fists onto Rashand’s sleeve, Brent shot to his feet and raced to Annalee.

Muffled footsteps assaulted Annalee’s ears, followed by a
dragging sound. The noises grew loud and immense, one surging into the next,
becoming a constant, overbearing flow. Then silence reigned in the darkness. A
long, drawn-out silence she succumbed to.

“Annalee?”

Hmmm?

“I’m going to cover you with my coat. Don’t be alarmed.”

It smelled like leather, spicy musk and man—so much more
refreshing than mildew. And it was warm and cozy when placed over her breasts.

Her eyelids were lifted one at a time, but she couldn’t see
to identify who’d pried them open.

“Her pupils are dilated. I don’t know whether she’s been
drugged, has a concussion or both.” Something moist pressed and lingered
tenderly against her temple
.
“I’m so sorry, baby.”

Brent?

“Wake up, Annalee. Open your eyes. Look at me.”

Brent!

Brent’s here?

“Come on, sweetheart, you can do it.”

Brody?

“Brody, cut her loose. Slice the ropes at the posts and keep
that blade away from her wrists. Her skin is pretty torn up.”

I’m not dead?
A faint sawing sound vibrated through
her ears. Seconds later, her right arm was gently placed at her side. It felt
so wonderful she groaned.

“Don’t hurt her,” Brent warned. “She’s in enough pain.”

“I’m trying not to, but any movement is going to hurt a
little. Her shoulders have to be pretty stiff by now,” Brody replied, slipping
the knife through the opposite rope.

Relief overwhelmed her to tears. They trickled from the
corners and slid along her temples into her hair.

“You’re hurting her,” Brent shouted. The cutting noise
immediately stopped. “Give me that God damn knife.”

“Sweetheart, will you please wake up before the big guy
pulverizes me? You know how I feel about that.”

Oh Brody, can’t you see I’m trying?
She gave her lids
a heck of a fight, but when they refused to open, she tried raising her hand to
help. It briefly lifted then dropped back on the bed.

The sawing noise restarted then the tension of the restraint
faded away. Carefully Brent gathered her hand in his large palm and guided her
arm comfortably to her waist. “I’m sorry. So sorry, baby.”

Don’t be sorry. You didn’t hurt me.

A moment later, both ankle bindings snapped and her legs
were slowly brought together. A blanket or something large draped over her
body. Ah, being free and warm felt like a miracle.