“You just got this?” Reid asked, his gaze still glued to the video on the third time through.

“Yes. They e-mailed it to me a few minutes ago.”

“They?”

“Tomas found Gage and me in the B earlier. I assume he and Phil are working together.”

And oh, what a bitter pill after her good friend Tomas had assured her he’d help.

Conniving liar. She’d get them. Both of them. After this, she’d rip herself open for the government. She’d give them every ounce of blood.

“Any idea where this was shot?” Jonah asked.

“No.” She opened her laptop. “I’ll find out, though.”

Reid handed Jonah the phone and hustled to his own laptop. “While you're doing that, I’m gonna check something.”

“What?”

“I slapped that GPS unit on Flynn’s car. I can locate the car.”

Jonah stepped behind Micki, watching over her shoulder as she typed. “Do you see what I’m doing here?”

He hesitated a minute, then bumped her shoulder. “Oh, yeah.”

“If I know them,” she said, “they’re waiting for me to respond.”

“And when Tomas opens your e-mail they’ll get a nice surprise by way of malware.”

Yep, yep, yep. She had, after all, learned from the master. “The malware attacks the signaling system. Once it’s downloaded, I’ll be able to track their location.”

She CC’d Phil, hit send, and sat back. “Come on, boys. Open that sucker up.”

Micki minimized the screen, then opened another one. “I developed an application to work with the malware. As soon as they open the attachment, a map will pop up and show us where they are.”

“Damn, I forgot how good you were at this.”

Not something to be proud of, at the moment, but if her nefarious creations saved Gage, she’d live with it.

Three seconds later, said map popped up with a blinking red dot in the center.

“I’m in,” Reid called from behind his own computer.

“Me too. I’ve got an address on Barkley.”

“Bingo. That’s what I’ve got.”

Jonah waggled a finger at her screen. “Zoom in a little. I think that’s the vacant strip mall on the edge of town.”

Reid headed for the door. “Let’s load up and roll.”

Minutes later, Micki sat in the passenger seat of Reid’s truck bolting down the slick, pitch-black mountain road. The rain had let up, but in the distance another round of thunder rolled, moving out to the east.

The only illumination as far as Micki could see were the truck’s headlights shredding the blackness and the glow of her laptop while she made use of her hotspot and that bit of malware she’d planted on Tomas’s phone.

Jonah popped his head between the bucket seats and raked his hands over his scruffy face. How many times had he done that since watching the video of Gage?

“We should call Mags,” he said. “You know how she gets when we butt into police business.”

Reid shrugged. “So call her.”

Micki glanced up. How would they explain this nightmare? “Does she have the personnel to handle a hostage situation?”

“She’ll call in SWAT.”

Jonah grunted. “They’re all county.”

Micki gave up on her keyboard. “What does that mean?”

“It means Steele Ridge isn’t big enough for our own SWAT team. Around here, that unit is comprised of guys from all over the county. Mobilizing takes time.”

Micki went back to her laptop, scanned a few more files and…there. Yes!

“But,” Reid mused, “that timing might work. We’ll get a head start on them and have Suds busted out by the time they show up. Then they can handle Flynn and his pain in the ass sidekick. Yeah, Jonah. Call Mags.”

If the load of weapons Reid had thrown in the truck bed was any indication, he was about to launch a small war in their little town.

Out of the corner of her eye, Micki saw Reid glance at her, but she kept pounding on her keyboard. Another few keystrokes and she’d be in.

“What are you doing there?”

“I CC’d Phil on my response to Tomas. I have control of both of their phones. I’m poking around. Like most people, Phil has weaknesses. His biggest, most soul-sucking one is money. Particularly his. He’s constantly moving cash between accounts. It’s our good fortune he’s a fan of online banking.”

Jonah, still trying to reach Mags, snorted. “His passwords are on his phone.”

“You are correct, my brilliant twin. Talk about the emperor wearing no clothes.”

“Damn. I got voicemail.” He left their cousin a message and disconnected.

Reid took a turn a wee bit too fast, and the truck swerved. She held the laptop with one hand and grabbed the door handle with the other, but big brother, completely at ease behind the wheel, maneuvered the S-turn like a pro. Between him and Evie, their driving was insane.

“Mikayla,” he said, “tell me you’re not cleaning out his bank account.”

“I’m not cleaning out his bank account.”

“Thank God.”

“I'm cleaning out his investment account.”

At that, Jonah hooted and Reid sighed. Interesting reactions from her brothers. “Relax, Reid. All I did was move it. His broker will realize there’s a problem and find it. I just need to scare him.”

“Remind me not to piss you off.”

Satisfied with her work and her personal safety, she released her death grip on the door handle and shut the laptop. Time to check in with Phil.

She shifted in her seat so she could see both her brothers. The argument with Gage had taught her an important lesson and she wasn’t about to blow it again. “Both of you, listen up. I’m about to call Phil.” Before either of them could argue, she held up her hands. “Let me finish. I know him. He needs my attention right now. It has nothing to do with me. It’s about the win. That’s what he loves and I want him to think he’s won.”

Jonah shoved his head between the seats again. “How?”

“By telling him I’m going back to Vegas.”

“No.”

“The two of you, just…shut up. I’m not really going back. I’m just telling him that. When you hear me say it, don’t freak. Okay? I promise you, I’m not going back. Whatever happens, I’m not.”

And, God, she hoped they got to Gage before Phil did something really stupid. Well, more insanely stupid than what he’d already done. She’d fix this. For what he’d done to Gage, she’d make sure he went to prison for a good long time.

This time, she had control.

She snagged her phone from the cup holder, punched up his number, and hit the speaker button so the boys could listen in.

It only took two rings.

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” Phil said by way of greeting.

“Let him go.”

“Sorry. Can’t do that.”

Micki let out a long, desperate sigh. “You win, Phil. Is that what you want? I’ll go back to Vegas. Just please, please, let Gage go.”

Begging couldn’t hurt.

Phil made his usual, demeaning tsk-tsk-tsk sound. “We are way beyond that. You betrayed me. Now you’ll pay.”

“Please, tell me what you want. I’ll do it. Anything.”

“You’ll recant. Whatever you told the State’s Attorney—”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me!”

Jonah’s head appeared through the seats again and his gritted teeth let her know her twin was at the end of his patience. Before he spoke, she sliced her hand across her throat.

What her brothers didn’t know was that Phil didn’t lose control often. He wouldn’t allow it. People, he said, made mistakes when out of control.

Right now? Phil was out of control.

“Please,” Micki said. “Gage has nothing to do with this. Let him go and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Except admitting she’d spoken to the SA. Knowing Phil, he might not have confirmation of that and could be bluffing her.

He hesitated. “In one hour, meet me by the fountain in town.”

“Why?”

“One hour!”

The line went dead and, just in case, she tapped the end button. She set the phone into the cup holder feeling…calm. A week ago, that argument with Phil would have terrified her. Now? Being home, surrounded by people who loved her—her real family—somehow she’d found the spine to stand up to him.

Operation reclaim-my-life in full swing.

“I just bought us time,” she said. “He thinks I’ll see him in an hour.”

Reid nodded. “Good work. When we walk in on him, he’ll be surprised.”

They cruised into town, where all the shops had closed for the night. In contrast to the dreary gray-black sky, a rainbow of festive holiday lights formed a canopy over the buildings, reflecting off shop windows and bringing an odd comfort. Christmas with her family this year.

Only the B was open at this time of night and a smattering of cars sat parked in front of the building. In Vegas, things would just be amping up about now. Grif and Britt stood in front of the old Murchison building where Grif kept an office. Even at this hour, he wore his slick Hollywood clothes. Not exactly proper attire for this mission, but since they’d caught him on his way home from a board meeting, he didn’t have time to change.

Reid hit the window button. “Hop in.”

The two of them piled into the back, squeezing Jonah into the middle.

Once inside, having driven with Reid enough to know the potential threat, Britt reached for the seat belt. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Phil’s got Suds.”

All sound ceased and Micki swung back to see the rare sight of Britt stunned into silence. “No way,” he said. “When? We were just in the Triple B a couple of hours ago.”

Micki pulled the video up on her phone and handed it back. “I was e-mailed this.”

“God Almighty,” Grif said.

The breathy edge in his voice said it all.

“I bet,” Micki said, “they used a starter interrupter to disable the truck’s engine.”

She turned and met Britt’s gaze. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming. When Tomas came into the B, he probably called Phil and told him we were in there. Phil went looking for the truck and found it behind the B.”

“You were in the work truck. How’d they know?”

“I told you. Randi has a spy. That person probably tipped them off that we were in the B. They know Gage, they know he comes in the back door a lot. Phil probably saw the truck, knew we were inside and ran the plates. It wasn’t a stretch that we’d be in a vehicle owned by the Steeles. Simple logic.”

The emperor wearing no clothes.

How many times had she overheard Tomas on the phone, talking about starter interrupters. He had a contact that kept him in a steady supply of them.

They drove out of town, cutting through a heavily wooded street with ancient, towering trees and thick brush that she suddenly realized she’d missed, living in Vegas. Nature in all its glory.

Purity.

Clean living. One without secrets and denial and fear.

Here, she found freedom. Freedom with a man who was now hanging from a ceiling. She couldn’t have that. No, sir. Gage Barber had given her hope, something she’d been without for ten years and now that she’d had a little taste, a sampling of what normal life could be, she craved it. All of it.

With him.

“Here’s the plan,” she said.

Reid let out a laugh. Yes, she’d shocked him. The woman surrounded by alpha males was taking control. Reid might be the warrior, but she knew their enemy. Understood him on a level her brothers couldn’t. Plus, she had the stomach for getting into sewers with Phil.

“When we get there,” she continued. “I’m going in.”

“Ha!” Jonah said. “You think you’re gonna walk right in the front door?”

“That’s exactly what I think.” She held up the laptop. “I just removed five million dollars from his investment account. Whatever he’s doing to Gage, he’ll stop if it means getting his money back.”

“Jesus, Mikayla,” Britt said, heavy on the judgment.

If she’d offended him, or perhaps enlightened him regarding a side of his sister he didn’t like, too bad. When it came to rules of engagement, Phil Flynn didn’t have any.

Neither would they.

“That’s nuts,” Grif added. “You’re not going in there alone. I’ll go with you. I’ll talk him down.”

“If someone goes with me, he’ll get nervous. Guys, believe me. When I walk in there and tell him I have his money, he won’t hurt me. I know this man.”

Reid made a humming noise. “As much as I hate it, she’s right. If we send her in the front, we can bust in the back. With the right timing, it’ll be over in seconds. Even if his sidekick is watching the back, there are four of us. What’s he gonna do?”

“I’m not having it,” Britt said. “One of us stays with her. End of it.”

Oh, these men were infuriating. One thing she hadn’t missed while in Vegas was the pushy side of her brothers.

Jonah let out a sigh. “Don’t bother arguing with him. It won’t work and it’ll wind up a bloodbath. I’ll go in with Micki. Flynn’s been using me to manipulate her for ten years. If he sees a united front, it’ll set him back some. And I haven’t had a chance to tell you this, but my lawyer called earlier. Tessa agreed to speak with the State’s Attorney and the Asheville District Attorney—we’re covering all bases here. She’ll clear me. Phil’s got nothing on us. We’re free.”

Micki whirled around and with only the light from the dashboard met Jonah’s gaze. A sudden fury of mixed emotions rolled inside her. All these years of being alone, of responding to Phil’s every whim and at the same time harboring self-judgment that, if she’d thought too long about it, would have leveled her. Or sent her to a psychotic break.

And it could have been fixed with a phone call? So much for Gage’s theory about her being heroic.

A phone call.

“Jonah,” she said, her voice barreling through a chokehold. “That’s great.”

He nodded. “It is. Before your wheels start spinning, stop. Every decision you made, I’d have made the same one. You were scared and we were broke. It’s easy to fix problems when you’re rich. And we sure as hell haven’t been rich that long.”

We. Not I.

She reached back, extending her hand and Jonah grabbed hold, squeezing hard. “We’ve got this. We’re here for you.”

“Jesus Hotel Christ,” Reid said. “Can we deal with this foo-foo emotional crap later? I mean, I’m not built for this shit.”

Harsh words, for sure, but when Micki looked at him, her idiot brother’s lips quirked.

“He’s a dumbass,” Grif said.

Micki smacked Reid’s arm. “We love him anyway.” She faced front and nodded. “Jonah can go in with me, but I’m doing the talking. No matter what he says, I’m talking. And that’s the end of it.”

A vicious stab sliced through Gage’s shoulders as Tomas hoisted him up to the crossbeam for the third time. Jesus. His arms might come right out of the sockets.

This was their game. Hang him, let him down long enough to get the feeling back in his hands and arms—and keep him from passing out—and then reel him back up again. Whatever their plan for Micki was, they obviously wanted Gage at least somewhat coherent. And hanging a man by his wrists for more than twenty minutes wouldn’t give them that.

In the world of a good mind fuck, these guys weren’t amateurs.

Lucky for him, neither was he. Exactly why he’d let them haul him to that crossbeam, while he raised enough of a protest to make it legit, yet not get shot for his efforts.

Even with the short breaks, his body was breaking down, his arms and fingers becoming too fatigued to be of much use.

And the pain. He could deal with it, but the longer he waited to make a move, the more he’d have to endure and eventually he’d wind up with nerve damage or some other godforsaken injury.

Go time. Had to be.

Tomas finished his task and left, closing the door behind him. Gage let his head dip back. Above him, the end of the rope had been tied off around his wrist, leaving him roughly twenty inches of space between his hands and the beam. If he could get some slack…

Fifteen minutes. That’s how much time he had. Gage knew this because he’d been counting the seconds between each check, and the last three had been between fifteen and twenty minutes.

Not a lot of time, but enough. Already, his fingers were tingling and a bead of sweat trickled down his face. Get to work.

The only light spilling into the room came from the crack under the door, but he’d worked in worse conditions. This beat a sweltering cave or rat-infested underground tunnel any day.

Three feet away, the workbench held that vise. If he could get there, he might have a shot. He arched his back, snapped his legs forward and started a swinging motion. Not nearly high enough. Momentum was his friend, and he needed enough force to create slack on his wrists when he reached the highest point of his swing.

Goddammit.

Try again. The strain on his arms, that feeling that another inch of movement would rip them right from the sockets, couldn’t be denied. Staying like this though? Not an option.

He gripped the rope, visualized what he needed to do and—here we go—propelled his legs forward, picking up much-needed height to move the slackened rope, little by little, down the beam. Seven, maybe eight more swings and he’d be close enough to stand on the corner of the workbench.

Swing. Swing. Swing. Fatigue burned like a hot poker in his shoulders, and more sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes. Ignore it. The post-drugging fog continued to dissipate and his mind ticked through his next steps. Next steps? Hell, if he didn’t get to that bench quick it wouldn’t matter. Tomas would walk in and bust his ass.

Swing. Swing. Swing. He kept at it, gradually moving closer and closer. Sweat poured off him now, and he rubbed the side of his face against his upper sleeve.

Slowly, he gained a rhythm, the small success powering him through the agony in his shoulders. Scoot, swing, scoot, swing, scoot.

The workbench was right there. Focus. His arms shook, the muscles angry and overused from hanging so long, but the bench. Right there. If it wouldn’t blow the whole thing, he’d let out a fortifying yell, get himself pumped up for one last attempt to get this shit done.

Swing, swing, swing.

Observe, analyze, act. He pictured his feet, solid on that table, then mentally worked backward, analyzing each tiny detail of what had to happen to achieve his goal. More force. That's what he needed.

One, two, three. He swung back, snapped his legs hard, and his body sailed. A burst of adrenaline drowned the pain in his shoulders and he jerked his arms, sliding the rope directly overhead, his body swinging just above the workbench. The sudden tension release in his upper body sent a burst of air exploding from his lungs. Tomorrow, his arms would be toast.

Today? Halfway there.

He set his feet flat on the workbench and took a break. A small minute to get his head straight. He glanced down at his feet and the vise beside them. Rust lined the edges and part of the handle had broken off and now sat on the table. If Flynn had intended to put that vise to use, it wouldn’t do much good. Gage tilted his head up at the crossbeam.

Too high.

Little more. More, more, more. He gripped the rope, slid it a few inches until directly overhead. He held his breath, tightened his core and—now—pulled, drawing his legs up and toeing the vise, checking its stability. When it didn’t crumble, he set one foot on it, his ankle wobbling slightly as he boosted himself up, closer to the overhead beam.

He stayed there for a second, his ankles still bound and his mouth level with the rope at his wrists. He let out a quiet laugh. When he saw Reid again, he’d thank him for all the miserable workouts he’d put him through. Without them, he’d have been cooked.

His body trembled. His core sending a warning that the break was over. Time to get this done. Sweat beads dripped into his eyes, and he swiped his head against his shirtsleeve. Pain is weakness leaving the body.

His energy roared back. How much time did he have? He’d lost count. Too much going on. He bit down on the rope, chewing and tearing at it like an enraged animal. Seven, maybe eight minutes, barring any interruptions, he’d gnaw through the rope, untie his ankles, and kick some ass.

Micki ran her teeth over her bottom lip while Reid cruised along the back of the strip mall. Headlights off, they used the swath of dripping wet trees between the road and building as cover. Not that it mattered. The spotlights on the building were either off or burned out and darkness shrouded the southern portion of the parking area.

The streetlamp from the main road threw light on two vehicles parked behind an end unit on the north side of the building.

“That’s Flynn’s rental,” Reid said. “I put the GPS on that one.”

Micki poked her finger against the windshield. “Park down there. Around the side so they can’t see the truck. Phil is paranoid. He’s probably checking both entrances every ten minutes.”

Reid drove to the south entrance and parked parallel to the building, leaving the truck hidden from anyone standing in front or behind the mall.

“I’ll leave the truck here. Britt, Grif, and I will hit the back entrance. You and Jonah take the front. Keep them occupied until we bust Suds out. Then get the fuck out of there. Mags can deal with the rest.”

Jonah made a buzzing noise. “Mags is mobilizing SWAT. She said to stand down.”

Micki met Reid’s eye. If she knew her older brother at all, he wouldn’t like that idea any more than she did.

“No,” she said. “Tomas said Phil is unhinged and I agree. At this point, I have no idea what he’ll do and I’m not risking it. I’d sooner trade places with Gage than have him hurt. Or worse.”

“Relax.” Grif opened his door. “It’s not the first time we’ve defied Mags. She’ll forgive us. It’ll be painful and might include the silent treatment for a while, but she loves us.”

Reid hopped out of the truck, lowered the tailgate, and started grabbing weapons from the polymer cases that kept them dry in wet weather. “Let’s do this, boys. I brought some C-4 in case we need to blow the door.”

“C-4?” Britt said. “Shit, Reid.”

“Hey, if we can’t get the door open, how are we supposed to get in? It’s not like I haven’t done it a few thousand times.”

Her brothers. Total PITAs.

In this instance, Micki sided with Britt. Adding explosions to this insane mix could get someone hurt. “Please be careful. With the glass storefronts, Gage is probably hidden in a back room. Don’t blow him up.”

Reid turned to Grif and shoved a rifle, a handgun, and a holster at him. “All of a sudden everyone’s an expert. Everyone grab a vest. We don't know what we're walking into.”

“No,” Micki said. “You guys wear them. If Phil sees me in a vest, he'll know we're planning something.”

“Mikayla, don't fuck with me.”

Jonah waggled his fingers. “Give me the nine millimeter. She's got a point. We'll be fine.”

Reid handed over the weapon. “I don't like it.”

“None of us do, bro.”

“Give me a rifle,” Britt said.

The Steele brothers. A four-man cavalry. This was what she’d missed in Vegas. The family loyalty, the binding ties, the willingness to risk everything. For each other.

“Guys,” she said, “thank you.”

The responses were as varied as the men.

Reid: “Whatever.”

Grif: “Don’t get mushy on us now.”

Brit: “We’ll take care of this, Mikayla.”

Jonah: “No. Thank you.”

Her brothers in all their glory.

“Once we get Suds loose,” Grif said, “we need to bug out fast. We don’t know what kind of shape he’ll be in, so I’ll hop in the truck bed for the ride back.”

Britt slid the strap of the rifle over his head. “If we have to blow the door, Phil will hear it.”

“I’ve got him,” Jonah said. “One of you take the other guy.”

“Not a problem,” Britt added. “Reid and Grif can get Suds out while I’m on Tomas.”

Too many intangibles meant too many things going wrong. The only thing in Micki's control was her emotions and she owed it to Gage to stay calm and alert and focused. Plus, she couldn’t think about this any longer.

“Let’s do this. The idea of him in there, because of me, is making me insane.”

Ready to free him, she started walking, her feet smacking against the wet pavement. At least the rain had passed. She'd take that as a good sign.

Hands in pockets, she drew a breath of cool air and let the oxygen sharpen her senses.

Jonah caught up, slinging his arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “We’ve got this. Trust me.”

They made the turn at the front of the building and were met with intermittent overhead lights. It should have been comforting, but somehow total darkness would have been better. In total darkness she wouldn’t have seen the disrepair, the abandonment of a once decent building.

But that was Phil’s logic, wasn’t it? Take something a little damaged and use it. Manipulate it until it works.

Just like her.

Now it was time to change all that. Finally.

They took the last few steps to unit 227, the one Phil’s car had been parked behind, and Micki grabbed the door handle. Locked.

Whoopsie. Hadn’t anticipated that.

“Shit,” Jonah said.

“That’s all right.”

Her foot crunched over shattered glass and she glanced up at the overhead light where half of a bulb remained. More than likely, Phil had used something to break the bulb. Given the other nonworking lamps, anyone driving along wouldn’t think twice about it.

All the angles covered. Good old Phil.

She cupped her hands against the storefront’s window and peered inside just as an interior door opened and spilled soft light into a narrow hallway. Phil stepped out and, as if sensing something, halted. Tomas plowed into the back of him, but Phil ignored him, did a half-turn and stopped.

Here we are…

Tomas straightened up and followed Phil’s gaze, his mouth moving at the sight of Micki at the door.

Then the two of them smiled. Smiled.

These twisted fuckers had Gage tied up, hopefully here and not some other unknown spot, and they were smiling?

“I’m totally frying them,” she said before banging on the door and putting a little mean into it. “Open up.”

Phil strode to the door while Tomas kept watch from inside.

“We’re alone,” she said.

He flipped the lock on the door and pushed it open. “I’m only half surprised to see you. With your skills, I anticipated you’d do something. And look, you brought the rapist with you.”

Micki met Jonah’s eye, silently pleading with him not to take the bait. Her brother, knowing Tessa had agreed to clear him, only smirked.

“Tell me,” Tomas said, “you sent that malware in the e-mail, didn’t you?”

She wouldn’t admit to that. Let them keep guessing. “Where’s Gage?”

Phil waved one of his manicured hands. “I wanted to meet in town for this, but since you’re here, why not? Let’s finish it. He’s fine. He’ll stay that way as long as we come to an agreement.”

Once she and Jonah were inside, Phil made a production of locking the door again.

“What agreement?”

“I’ve taken care of you all these years, haven’t I? I’m the one you trust. Why you’re suddenly doubting that, I can’t fathom. But it is what it is.”

Taken care of her? That was one way to put it.

“Micki, don’t—”

Before Jonah could finish, she slapped her hand up, silencing him.

Phil clapped his hands together. “That’s my girl. You know me. I wouldn’t hurt you. I need you. Now that you're here, I'm going to reconsider. Call it a soft spot for you. With that in mind, I'm prepared to forgive all this nonsense.”

Forgive it? The man was beyond unhinged. Truly psychotic.

“Come back to Vegas,” he continued, “keep your mouth shut, and I’ll let your boyfriend go. I’ll even bury the evidence against your brother. I think that’s more than fair, don’t you?”

“Dude,” Jonah said, “your evidence is bullshit.”

What happened to her doing the talking?

Phil slid his gaze to Jonah, eyeing him up and down. “Do you really want to test me?”

Before Jonah did his I-am-a-Steele routine, Micki touched his arm, keeping her gaze on Phil. “No one is testing anything. Let Gage go and I’ll come back to Vegas.”

A lie, but Phil didn’t know that. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was Gage and his freedom.

Jonah swung his head, gawking at her.

“I’m sorry, Jonah. If it gets Gage out of this, I’ll do it. I’ll go back to Vegas.”

Micki’s voice. Coming from the front room.

What the fuck?

From what Gage could tell, there was a bathroom and another room outside the one where he was being held. So far he’d heard a toilet flush. On the left. From the right, muffled voices. Phil and Tomas talking. Kudos to the builder, because Gage couldn’t make out what they were saying, and they’d obviously not heard him shuffling along that beam. Now, suddenly, Micki—and one of her brothers, Jonah maybe—added to the voices.

Dammit. Work faster. Gage had managed to chew the rope thin enough to rub it against the rough edge of the beam and snap the last bit of twine. Still on top of the workbench, he started on his ankle restraints, thanking whatever merciful angel had thrown him the bone of an easy knot.

Ten seconds and he’d be free.

Boom!

The door on the backside of the building exploded off its hinges, the sound loud enough to rattle the workbench. Way too much C-4. Friggin' Reid, always wanting the big bang. The door toppled over, landing with a crash in front of the open doorway as Reid burst into the room, weapon raised, his facial features like cut granite and carrying the intensity, the absolute no-fail determination he’d worn during missions. Britt and Grif shuffled in behind, the three of them wearing body armor and moving in perfect sync.

The other door flew open, the smack of the wood echoing off the walls as Tomas rushed in and lifted his weapon, pointing it straight ahead. At Reid. And then everything seemed to slow down and shouts were muffled as Gage’s brain fired conflicting orders, all of them battling for his attention.

Every nerve ending fired, igniting that primal urge for war, and his vision tunneled. Right to Tomas and that man-stopper of a gun about to decimate Reid. Oblivious to Gage, Tomas didn’t bother checking his right side, so Gage did the simplest thing.

He snatched up the hunk of vise that sat on the table and whipped it at Tomas. It wouldn’t do much damage, but the distraction would buy Reid time.

The handle connected with Tomas’s shoulder and he swiveled in Gage’s direction, the gun moving with him.

“Drop it,” Reid shouted. “Drop it, drop it, drop it!”

Reid moved fast, barreling into Tomas, knocking him to the ground and stomping on his hand, crushing all those tiny bones under his giant foot. Tomas howled while Britt closed in, using his boot to sweep the weapon across the floor.

With Britt on their prisoner, Reid looked up at Gage on the workbench. “What the hell? What are you standing around for?”

Riding the adrenaline high, Gage hopped down, sticking the landing and hauling ass into the hallway.

To Micki.

The explosion rocked the building. Even prepared for it—somewhat, anyway—Micki was shocked by the intensity as a mix of yelling voices collided with her ringing ears.

Phil reached under his jacket, revealing a holster and pulling a gun. “Move and I’ll kill you both.”

Gage appeared in the doorway, momentum bouncing his body off the far wall.

“Micki!”

Phil whipped sideways, the gun now on Gage, and Jonah leaped, flying straight at him. But Phil had his finger locked on that trigger and…squeezed.

“No!” she roared.

Being the operator he was, Gage ducked left and the shot whizzed by him as Jonah plowed into Phil. Gun. Micki moved closer, her mind hyper-focused. Waiting.

Whap, whap, whap. Jonah slammed Phil’s wrist against the wall and the gun fell free.

Get it.

In a move she’d seen Phil and Tomas practice, he got an elbow up, clocking Jonah on the forehead, sending his head snapping back. Micki lunged for the gun, her body bouncing against the hard tile and sending pain shooting up her ribs. She scooped the weapon up as she moved, and the warmth of the grip made her palm sweat, but she held on. Her mind tripped back to her father teaching her to shoot.

Guns, she didn’t fear. People? They terrified her.

Still on the floor, she brought the gun up and a flash of metal in Phil’s hand drew her gaze. Knife. His secondary weapon of choice.

“Drop it!”

Jonah pivoted and a hard thrust landed in the side of his abdomen.

“Jonah!”

Phil wrenched the knife free, drawing back again, ready to strike a second time.

At least until Micki squeezed the trigger.