Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) by Evie Mitchell (short story to read .txt) 📗

I looked down at my hand, feeling the slight tremor. I clenched it into a fist, impotent rage threatening.

Get it together, Luc. She needs you.

“Emmie may not have time to wait while you seek permission,” I said to the room at large, my eyes still on my fist. I lifted my head, killing all emotion, my eyes completely dead.

“We need to move fast. They’ve got her, they’re not going to hesitate using her.”

Annabelle eyed me, her piercing blue meeting mine as she considered my words.

“We have one opportunity here, Lucien,” she finally said, the room quiet as our wills battled. “We can take down this whole crew and nullify the threat against Ms Franklin. Or we can rush it, save her, and pray we get the rest while we’re there.” She lifted a hand, palm up, “What would you prefer?”

I looked back down at my hand, eyes closing as I finally choked out the words. “We’ll do it your way. Just pray she’s alive.”

The room seemed to breathe as one, people springing back into action. I felt Brean and Pax beside me, both watching me struggle to contain my fear, my rage, my frustration.

“We’ll find her,” Brean whispered. “We’ve got this.”

I ignored the pit in my stomach, looking over at Sawyer. He stared back at me, his shaggy hair standing on end, his eyes tired and mouth tight.

He gave me a sharp nod before returning back to his laptop.

I forced myself to sit, pulling the plans and maps to me. “Choke points are here and here.” I pointed at the spots on the house plans.

For a moment neither Brean or Pax moved. I could feel their silent communication above me. They both sat, examining the documents with me.

“And here.” Brean pointed to one of the buildings. “The real estate ad says it has a studio. I’d put her there. Easier to secure, quick access for an exit, less conspicuous.”

A quick glance at the tactical lead showed they were concentrating on the house as the central point.

“I’ll get us in with the group targeting this,” Pax murmured, slipping away from the table.

“And if she’s not?” I asked.

“We’ve come this far. You gotta believe,” Brean told me, clapping a hand to my shoulder. “She’s smart. She’s resilient. Our Emmie is a fighter. She’s gonna do whatever it takes to survive.”

Survive, baby. I cast the thought out. I’ll find you.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Emmie

The Past

I fidgeted on the chair, watching as Edward flicked through the binder I’d compiled. My plan for the final coming.

It was simple, route money from small financial institutions. Build a cache of cash, then use that to develop a safe house for the commune. Once complete, target the major banks both physically and electronically. If the banks went down, if the stock exchanges were all taken out in one massive synchronised hit, it would cause global chaos.

Not every bank needed to be targeted. Just the headquarters of major lines and the stock exchanges. We had enough members scattered across the globe to do it.

I’d developed the final coming.

Edward finished reading, placing the binder on the desk. He knit his fingers together, considering me.

“Sister Abishag, do you understand why I tasked you with this duty?”

I shook my head. “No, Prophet.”

“You are creative. You see a puzzle and break it down until it is easily surmountable.” He nodded at the binder. “I will pray over this and decide.”

“Yes, Prophet.”

“If God decides to bless this plan, then work needs to be done.”

“Yes, Prophet.”

“We require guns, explosives. Your estimates are conservative?”

I nodded.

“Hmm.” He leaned back in his chair, one hand tapping against the arm rest.

I waited, palms pressed to the front of my jeans.

He began muttering, mulling my idea over. “It will take time and resources to achieve our end. We must ready the chosen. Embed them in the financial institutions. Build connections and stockpile weapons.”

He closed his eyes, mouth moving silently for many minutes. Finally, he opened them, turning back to me.

“Yes.” He tapped the binder. “God is pleased.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Emmie

The Present

Dark. It was my first thought as I opened my eyes. The room had deep wood panelling. Boards covered the one window from the outside, allowing no light to enter. The air was stale, hot, and smelled like mothballs.

I rolled, immediately regretting the movement as my stomach rebelled, nausea assaulting me.

The smell of blood, sweat, and vomit hung heavy as I fully woke. The nausea now under control, I gingerly rolled to my side, pushing to a sit. The small room had a bolted down chair, a mattress− no blankets or sheets −and a bucket in the corner. I assumed that was my toilet.

Despite the indignity, I forced myself to use the crude chamber pot. God only knew how long I’d be kept here.

There was no water to wash my hands or soothe my throat, no toilet paper or towels to clean myself. Despite the protests of my injured body, I explored the small bedroom, looking for weaknesses. There were none. It appeared they’d taken the tire iron to heart, stripping the room of any useful items. There was not a loose nail or screw to be found.

I’d have to rely on my wits and training.

God, help me.

After my slow circle of the room, I collapsed back on the mattress, groaning as the thin foam barely cushioned my weight. It was one of those old shitty kid mattresses which contained zero springs and nearly no actual support. It sagged into the floorboards, barely separating me from the hard wood.

Under me, I could hear people moving about. A clatter of utensils, the scrap of furniture, and the dim drone of voices as life happened around me. I didn’t remember seeing a two-storey building, but then I’d been in such a rush that I hadn’t paid enough attention. Unless they were in some kind of basement and I was above them?

My head spun with possibilities, each more creative and wildly implausible than the last. I drifted in and out of consciousness as