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

I didn’t like this.

The leaves crushed beside me as Paxton settled back into place.

He tapped my leg once. An hour to go. I lifted my shoulder slightly in acknowledgement, gaze never wavering.

A door from the outhouse burst open, a young man stumbling out. Pax and I tensed, alert as we watched. He closed the door, hands immediately going to his knees as he doubled over, sucking deep breaths. After a long moment he straightened, quickly moving toward the main farmhouse. He disappeared inside for less than ten minutes before returning with a backpack. He glanced back and forth before making for the road.

Our ear pieces crackled. “DELTA, there’s one headed your way. Follow and bring him in when able.”

My gaze remained trained on the outhouse. Paxton tapped my thigh three times. Thirty minutes to go. The door from the outhouse opened again, people streaming out. They were chattering, laughing as they headed for the farmhouse or another outbuilding.

Fuck.

We’d assumed the outhouse was a sleeping quarter. When they’d left the main house, the assumption had been they’d headed for bed. It was now late. Emmie had been missing for over ten hours.

My argument for early entry had been shot down. They’d said night would provide us with better cover and a higher degree of surprise. With this many people still awake…

This wasn’t good.

“All teams, hold for further orders,” Annabelle said over the radio.

The only external sign of my frustration was the tightening of my shoulders. I breathed out, forcing myself to relax. Stressed snipers made mistakes.

My shoulders relaxed, my breathing evening as I continued to watch the outhouse. I’d been in worst situations before. Life and death situations. Situations where, if I didn’t get the target right, my whole team would be dead. But I’d never been in a situation where the woman I loved was in danger.

Fuck.

I’m here, Keys. Stay strong.

Time slowly trudged on. The farmhouse settled. The outhouse remained lit but quiet.

Thirty minutes.

Forty.

Forty-five.

I breathed in and out, concentrating on the air in my lungs, ignoring the questions of what if. Of what was happening. Where she was.

If she still lived.

Our earpieces crackled to life, “T-minus ten minutes.” I repositioned slowly, getting ready for the surge. Beside me, Paxton tensed.

We’re a go.

A roar split the silence, followed by screams. Lights began to flick on in the farmhouse.

“Go! Go, Go, Go!” Annabelle yelled over the radio.

Pax and I surged up, heading directly for the outhouse. The scream abruptly cut off as we reached the door, our team not far behind. We fell beside the door, waiting for the tactical guys to arrive with the battering ram. They did the count, hitting it once, twice, and then it swung in, permitting us entrance.

I entered, skidding to a halt in the near-empty room.

Lights.

Blood.

Emmie.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Emmie

The door clicked shut, sealing me in with David. His big body was off to my left as he waited for the others to leave. I kept my head down, pretending to ignore him as I assessed the situation. Fear infused my body with adrenaline.

This is my time.

Years ago, I’d swore he would never hurt me again. Never degrade me the way he’d tried so long ago. I’d worked hard, trained for this moment.

I watched him from under the strands of my hair. He went to a closet off the side of the room, pulling out a large broom. With a quick twist he removed the head from the handle, tossing it away. He turned back to me, judging the weight of the pole in his hands.

“Now, you’re mine.” The handle came down, heading straight for my side. I rolled, ducking out of the way, scrambling to my feet just out of harm’s way. The sharp crack of the wood on the cement ripped through the room. He pulled up, his face mottled with rage.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, Abishag.” He stalked me, and I danced back, adrenaline overpowering the weakness in my legs, suppressing the aches and pains.

Hands up, look for a weakness, get the advantage, eyes on his face, look for his tell.

The wise words of each of my trainers came to me. My body fell into the natural stance and movements, reflexes honed from years of repetition.

There.

David’s eyes flickered to my right side before he shifted the handle, swinging to that spot. There it was. His tell.

Emboldened, I waited, trying to tire him as I circled, and he followed, swinging and missing. The occasional swipe caught me, but I stayed, forcing myself upright, forcing strength and courage into limbs that wanted to fail.

“Submit to your husband!” he screamed, spittle flying.

“Never!” I yelled back, dancing back towards the centre of the room.

Enraged, he let out a roar, swinging wildly, charging towards me. I ducked low, sliding under the broom handle, coming up close to him. Using his momentum, I grasped his wrist, pulling him over my shoulder and body slamming him into the floor.

His grip on the handle loosened, and I wrestled it free, turning it back on my aggressor. I beat at his head, smashing the handle into it as he screamed for mercy. I ignored his pleas, beating mercilessly at his body, heedless of the blood that arced into ever-widening patterns, covering the walls and floor.

This is my moment. Today is my revenge.

I vaguely registered pounding on the door at the same moment I realised David was silent. I dropped the broom handle, my legs finally giving out. I fell to my knees, slumping as I struggled to stay conscious.

The door burst open, and I watched as Luc cleared the entry. His beautiful eyes swept the room, coming to rest on me, then David. Blood soaked the legs of my pants.

“Emmie.” He took two quick steps, falling beside me, pulling me into his arms, his hands running up and down my body as he pressed urgent kisses to my cheeks, my lips, my hair.

“I think I killed him,” I whispered, clutching desperately at Luc’s vest.

“It’s okay,” Luc assured me, his hands still