Deadly Silence (Blood Brothers #1)(97)

One solid punch to the gut, and the guy grunted, before swinging again for Ryker’s head.

Ryker ducked and came up with an uppercut, his damaged shoulder protesting.

The guy’s head jerked, and he growled as he moved forward.

“Shit. What’s your jaw made of?” Ryker hissed, punching for the gut and nose.

The guy took the hit and kicked out, nailing Ryker in the ribs. Pain lanced through Ryker’s torso, and he shoved it down, going for a one-two punch that threw his attacker back into the door frame. It cracked.

The guy shoved off the wood and tackled Ryker, propelling them both over the dingy sofa. They hit the coffee table and smashed onto the dirty carpet, both angling for position.

Ryker clapped his hands on the guy’s ears and flipped backward to his feet, then retreated toward the kitchen. The guy rolled and did a similar backflip and instantly angled to the right, his hands in fists. He kept moving, his gaze intense in the dark room, his movements slow but sure.

Hell. The guy could really move.

While Ryker wanted to be fair, and he really wanted to know if he could take this guy, he needed to know where, or rather who, Isobel Madison was. So he reached in his waistband for his gun.

Cold metal instantly rested against the base of his neck.

Fuck.

He stilled and breathed out. Not one slice of sound had given the man in the basement away as he’d climbed the stairs. If Ryker didn’t know better, he’d guess the guy was a ghost.

But the gun pressed to his nape belied that theory.

He lowered his hands, waiting for an opening.

The guy behind him didn’t give it and, instead, relieved Ryker of his gun. Then he moved back and to the side, his gun still pointed at Ryker, until he was just a yard or so away from his buddy. He wore a similar ski mask as the other guy and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Solid muscle, and both moved with grace.

Isobel Madison could certainly afford the best—if that’s who they were. Or perhaps she’d attracted some dangerous enemies. Just as likely. These guys were trained killers. Maybe Greg hadn’t just been hysterical and paranoid.

Ryker wiped blood off his chin. His entire face pounded from the hit. “Where is Isobel Madison?” he asked quietly, trying to make out any of their features in the darkened room.

The guy with the gun glanced at his partner and jerked his head.

The other guy reached behind himself and flipped the light switch. One dingy light in the center of the room lit up.

Ryker blinked and kept them both in his sight. He couldn’t make it to the bedroom or the kitchen without being shot. While he could duck below the couch, there wasn’t a good move after that point.

Both men stilled. Tension swelled through the room, causing the hair to rise along Ryker’s arms.

They didn’t move. Just stared at him.

He stared back. “We’re at a standstill here. Tell me where Isobel is, and we’ll each go our separate ways.”

“Who are you?” the guy with the gun whispered.

Ryker frowned. There was something familiar about the voice, but he couldn’t place it. “None of your f*cking business. Who are you? More important, where is your boss?”

The armed man looked at his gun, looked back up at Ryker, and then slowly lowered the barrel a couple of inches, as if he didn’t want to point it at Ryker’s chest.

Ryker stiffened and drew to his full height.

“What’s your name?” the gunman asked.

Ryker flashed his teeth. “Fred. Fred Johnson. Yours?”

The guy lifted the gun and pointed it, his hand steady. “Try again.”

Something, call it instinct, told Ryker that there was no way the guy would shoot him. Why, he had no clue. But his body relaxed. “No. Your name?”

“Shit,” the other guy muttered. “Can you believe this?” His voice held a small, very small, thread of uncertainty.

The armed guy shook his head.

Ryker tensed to jump across the couch and tackle the guy with the gun.

“You won’t make it,” the other guy said casually.

Ryker cut his gaze to him. “He won’t shoot me.”

“Won’t I?” the armed guy asked softly.

“No.” Ryker edged back a couple of inches. “I don’t know why, but you decided not to shoot me the second the lights came on. Care to explain why?”

Several beats of silence filled the tension-soaked room. “In due time. For now, why don’t you tell us why you’re searching for Isobel Madison?” the armed guy asked.

“Do you work for her?” Ryker asked.

“Hell no,” the other guy said. “No way.”

Truth. Definitely the ring of truth. Ryker frowned. “Yet you set up a trap, and when I went looking for her, you followed the string here.”

“This is your trap,” the armed guy said. “We just were nice enough to enter it upon your kind invitation.”

Ryker lifted his head. “You’re looking for her, too?”

“Fuck no,” the other guy said.

Jesus. “Stop talking in riddles. Either you shoot me or you take off the masks. If you do neither, I’m turning and heading out the door.” At this point, he didn’t seem to have any other options.

The unarmed guy looked to the armed guy, who shrugged.