Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(92)

The guy by the window rushed forward, and Zara jumped between him and the two fighting on the ground. She planted her feet and then shot a knee up, nailing him in the groin. He grabbed her by the neck and shook.

Pain ripped through her trachea. Her eyes watered, and she struggled, punching and kicking.

Body armor. The f*cker was wearing some sort of armor—definitely a bulletproof vest. She twisted her hips and kicked his knee twice. Thick boots protected his ankles, so she kept her aim high.

His hold tightened, and her lungs protested. Her vision swam.

Grams appeared at her side, flying at the man.

He casually turned, grabbed her arm, and threw her into the counter. She hit with a dull thud, fell to the ground, and didn’t get back up.

“Grams,” Zara squeaked, her knees wobbling. Desperate, she dug her nails into the guy’s arm, trying to loosen her neck from his grip.

His eyes were a dark brown with glee filling them. He liked hurting her. She struggled harder while furniture crashed behind her. Was Greg okay?

Finally the guy gave one final squeeze and swung with his free hand. His fist smashed into her cheekbone, and she flew across the room, slamming into the granite counter by Grams and then hitting the hard floor. Pain exploded through her head and her hands, followed by agony in her knee.

Grams groaned and rolled over, opening her eyes.

Zara pushed to her feet, her head still swimming, and turned around.

The first guy held Greg in a headlock while the other guy pushed a needle into the kid’s arm. In less than a second, Greg’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he went limp.

“Greg,” Zara croaked, her voice not working. She took a step forward.

The first man turned and ran for the window, pushed off the sill, and flew into the open side door of the helicopter. It was so unreal as to be hazy.

The guy with Greg hustled forward, all smooth muscle, and reached the window.

“No!” Zara ran for him and reached his back, jumping on. She couldn’t let Greg go out that window. They’d never see him again.

The guy roared and pivoted, throwing her back against the couch. He handed Greg to a man actually leaning out of the helicopter. What if they dropped him? They were a story up.

Zara pushed to her feet, her entire face screaming in pain. Greg was safely in the helicopter. Oh God. They’d taken Greg. The guy at the window stepped through almost easily, jumping a couple of feet to the helicopter. The craft rocked when he landed.

Shouts came from outside the apartment followed by running steps. Ryker would get there too late.

Zara grabbed her phone out of her purse on the floor and shoved it down her nightgown, which was tight at the waist and held it in place. Then she bunched her knees. There was only one thing to do. Shutting off her brain, she launched into motion, running full bore for the window. “Phone, Grams,” she hissed. She jumped, her feet touched the sill, and she pushed off. At the last second, she turned, so when she hit inside the helicopter, her shoulders and back took the brunt of the pain.

Her head slammed back into metal, and darkness slashed across her vision. Her last thought as unconsciousness took over was a quick prayer that they didn’t throw her out of the helicopter.

*



“Zara,” Ryker roared, clearing the sofa table and couch in one long jump. He reached the window, and strong arms clasped him from behind. He struggled furiously, trying to get out, as the helicopter banked away and up.

“It’s too far,” Heath said into his ear, his hold stronger than steel but his voice calm. “The helicopter door is closed now. Even if you could make it, which there’s no way, you’d just hit the side and drop. You can’t save her if you’re dead.” He waited until Ryker stopped fighting before loosening his hold.

Ryker watched the helicopter glide up and away, his chest burning. He had never seen anything like that. “They got Greg, too,” he ground out.

“I know.” Heath released him.

Ryker slowly turned around to see Denver helping Grams up. She was pale but steady. “Zara jumped out the window,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Ryker would never forget the sight of her leaping into the storm. He’d run upstairs the second they’d heard a helicopter. Make that two of them.

“Fucking brave,” Denver said quietly, his eyes beyond tortured. He scouted the west windows and kicked glass out of the way.

Ryker clenched his hands into fists. “How did they find us?”

“Don’t know.” Heath moved to help Grams to a chair not covered with glass. “My guess is they followed our trap but just watched us before striking.” He scrubbed his face. “Until now, of course. The dings from the safe house must have been a diversion so they could grab Greg.”

Heat rushed through Ryker. “We’ll get him back. Them back.” He said the words as a vow, trying to banish the raw terror eating at his heart. His gaze caught on Grams’s desperate eyes, and it was like being kicked in the chest. “I promise,” he vowed. No way would he let that sweet elderly lady down—no matter what he had to do or become.

Denver stood now by the door, his body alert and no doubt tuned into any more surprises from downstairs. “I’ll get on the computer right now and try to track the helicopters by satellite. We find the lost, Ryker. It’s what we do, and we’ll find them.” His tone was low and determined with a new hardness—a deadly edge.