Page 94 of Ruthless

He clicked back to Serena’s line. “I don’t have a lot of time to explain things. Eve has been taken.”

“It’s Ash, Gideon. What do you need from us?”

“Get as many people as you can to Amelie. There’s a major coup going down right now.”

“What about Eve?”

“I’m going after her.”

“You know where she is?”

No longer feeling the slightest bit of guilt for doing something so invasive, he answered, “I injected her with a tracker when I brought her here.”

“Does she know about it?”

“No. She was unconscious at the time.”

The silence that followed his statement was as condemning as if Ash had blasted him with a curse.

“Yeah, I know. You can call me a shithead some other time. For right now, I’m glad I’m a shithead, because otherwise we would have no way of finding her.”

“Okay, all right. I’ll get Kate to send as many soldiers as she can to Amelie. We’ll help you find Eve.”

“I’ll send you the coordinates from her tracker.”

“Do you need transportation?”

“I—” Before he could answer, he heard a familiar noise. Another helicopter. He knew without a doubt what it was here for. Someone had been sent to tie up a loose end. Him.

“Negative. I have one.” Quickly checking Eve’s coordinates on his cellphone, he noted she was still moving at a rapid pace. He sent the link to Ash and said, “I’ll be in touch soon.”

Ending the call, he set the phone to vibrate, and then strode rapidly to the closet of the main bedroom. He pushed on a wall in the back, revealing a small room with a cache of weapons. Filling his pockets with flash-bangs and grenades, he attached a knife holder to his left thigh and slid his Ka-Bar knife inside. He fastened a gun holster to his right thigh and then one to his chest, quickly checked the magazines of his Glock and SIG Sauer, and holstered them.

The helicopter was almost deafening now, letting him know he was out of time. Knowing every second counted, he stalked out of the bedroom and headed to the back porch. Concealed in the shadows, he watched the helicopter land, and then four black-garbed soldiers dropped to the ground. Armed to the teeth, their faces obscured by ski masks, they marched toward the house. Two of them went toward the front, and two headed his way.

Any other time, he might’ve waited till they struck. However, Eve’s life depended on him moving with lethal efficiency. Wasting no time, he drew his Glock and put down the first man who stepped onto the porch. Before the second one could shoot back, Gideon fired quickly. The soldier was dead before he hit the ground.

Turning, he strode toward the front entrance and cursed softly when he noted the front door stood open. They were already inside the house. Crouching low, he crab-crawled toward the sofa, jerking back as a bullet came within an inch of his head. He fired toward the shooter, missed, fired again. He heard a grunt, and then a body fell to the floor. Before he could move, a gun was shoved against the back of his head.

“Drop your weapon,” a thickly accented male voice said.

“Okay. Okay. Just hold on, man. Let me…” Moving gingerly, he lowered his gun as if he were going to place it on the floor. Halfway there, he dropped the Glock from his right hand and with his left hand pulled the knife from the sheath at his leg.

Whirling, he slashed, cutting deeply into the man’s arm that was holding the weapon. The guy fired a shot before releasing the gun. Gideon flinched at the burning sensation in his side but didn’t stop. Slashing upward, he caught the man’s neck and face in a brutal cut. Screaming in pain, the man grabbed at his neck with his uninjured hand.

Grabbing the man by his jacket, Gideon slammed his body onto the floor and shouted, “Where are they taking the princess?”

Instead of answering, the man gave a grotesque grin, his face mutilated and bloodied, his mouth gushing blood. His answer was garbled but coherent enough to chill Gideon’s blood. “The king is dead. Long live the king.”

Getting intel from a zealot would be a useless endeavor. Gideon slashed his knife across the man’s throat. Turning away, he raced toward the helicopter. The pilot was still in the cockpit, waiting.

The instant he spotted Gideon running toward him, his body stiffened. Pulling his weapon, he fired wildly as the helicopter began to lift off in a wobbly, awkward way. Sprinting, Gideon grabbed on to the landing bars and hefted himself into the machine. Putting a gun to the pilot’s head, he snarled, “Where did they take the princess?”

“I tell you nothing.”

The Albanian accent surprised him. Apparently, Alexandre had friends in more than a few countries.

“Last chance. Where is she?”