Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(15)

“I can handle two.” Hell, the way he felt right now, he could handle four. “If I need help, you’ll know it.”

They said nothing else as Brand made his way from alley to alley, shadow to shadow. As he ducked into one building, rats scurried behind him. He knew he shouldn’t rush, but thinking of Sahara, what she might be going through, ate him up. He had to put that from his mind or he’d charge hell-bent into the building and damn the consequences.

He wasn’t worried for himself. He’d die for her if that’s what it took.

But he wouldn’t risk her.

By the time he slipped through the same open garage door that the other men had exited, he’d regained his methodical control. Oppressive blackness filled the space, with little light penetrating from the street and a dank cold that sank into his bones.

Somewhere in this miserable hellhole, they have Sahara.

Using the night vision on the binoculars, he silently, stealthily, explored for ten minutes without finding any signs of her.

Knowing the others could return at any moment, frustration mounted...until he heard a man’s muted laugh.

Senses on high alert, he followed the sound, glad now for the rubber soles. The sounds echoed, making the noise hard to trace, but when the laugh came again, followed by low conversation, it led him to a heavy door, thankfully open, then to stairs and another door, this one partially closed.

Brand peered through the narrow crack and saw two big men talking in front of yet another door—that one bolted.

“Those fucking heels she wears. Goddamn, they’re hot.” One man cupped a hand over his crotch. “You saw what they did for her ass while she paced?”

“Am I blind?” His friend chuckled. “Not that an ass like hers needs any help. If she wasn’t so fucking mouthy, she’d be perfect.”

“I like the idea of gagging her. She wouldn’t be so hoity-toity then.”

The other guy checked his watch. “Give her a few more minutes. She won’t be able to stay quiet for much longer and then we can do as we please.”

A snort, then, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“You heard what he said.”

“Yeah, and I know the threat was for her, not an excuse for you to paw her.”

Fury rose up. Brand wished like hell one of them would have used a name, but they were too busy fantasizing over ways to torment Sahara.

He knew in his gut that she was behind that locked door.

“Maybe if this rolls out as it should, he’ll let us have some fun with her before—”

Going for the element of surprise, Brand left the gun in his pocket and instead stepped into the small space, taking the men off guard.

They both gawked at him.

“Be glad you didn’t gag her, or you’d already be dead.” He landed a hard right against the first bastard’s nose, making him stagger back against the wall, then immediately kicked his friend in the face. He went down stiff, out cold.

Now with his nose streaming, the other creep tried to draw his gun. Brand had heavy fists and he enjoyed using them, in the cage, sure, during a competition.

But especially now, against a man who took pleasure in threatening Sahara.

He battered the man mercilessly, and it still didn’t expend the rage inside him. When the man slumped, unconscious, he finally let up, but turned to deliver more punishment to the first guy, who was just starting to rouse.

He held him by his shirt collar. “If I find a single bruise on her, I’ll come back and tear you apart.” Before the fool could say anything, Brand smashed his fist to his face and the goon’s head lolled on his neck.

Moving quickly, he retrieved the nylon cuffs and restrained both men with their arms behind their backs. Then he used the bigger cuffs to hobble their legs together. Lastly he checked them both for weapons, his movements efficient and without regard for any further discomfort he caused them.

When he finished, he stopped and listened, but heard nothing.

Heart punching in dread, he slid the bolt on the door and swung it open. More steps led down—how fucking deep were they hiding her?

The lack of sound sent fear burning through him. If Sahara was down there, she wasn’t moving, maybe not even breathing. He went down the steps, his gaze searching the barren room—and finally located Sahara to the side of the stairs, crouched down as if preparing to attack.

The stark concentration on her beautiful face cleared beneath incredible joy. “Brand! You came.”

Seeing that smile did crazy things to his pulse.

Her hair hung loose around her, longer than he’d realized it would be. She’d taken off her shoes and had them next to her. Her coat was off and under her to protect her from the cold floor.

She’d hiked her narrow skirt up to midthigh.

Seeing the mess around her, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Quietly disassembling this small electric heater to see what parts I could use to defend myself.”

She still held a jagged piece of metal, folded to form the shape of a knife. To protect her hand, she’d wrapped something shiny and lavender around her makeshift handle. The weapon looked wickedly deadly—if she knew how to use it.

He assumed she did.

Maybe he’d done those men a favor, disabling them with their guts still intact.

He didn’t see any tools, so he asked, “How?”