No wonder Kit never drank much. In fact, Frankie might never be able to drink gin and tonic again.
So, was it the Asian food that’d made her sick, or did she have a stomach flu?
Out in the office she shared with Bull, she grabbed a breath mint off her desk to eradicate the lingering taste of sickness. With luck, the group hadn’t noticed her disappearance, although face it, woman, she’d been gone longer than a song or two.
Oh well. Humiliation was good for the soul, right?
Odd noises trickled into the office, and she frowned. Was there someone shouting in the bar? And swearing? A bunch of drunks must have come in late.
Cazzo, the night had been so fun too.
The office door was flung open, and a bearded man stood in the doorway. “Found one,” he yelled.
“What—” As she stared at him, he pulled a pistol—and her breathing simply stopped.
When another bearded man pushed past him and headed for her, Frankie retreated a step. Hands closing into fists, she dropped into a defensive stance. “I’ll kick you into next week.”
The clicking of a trigger being pulled back was loud in the room. “Try it, bitch,” came from the man holding the pistol. The muzzle of the weapon pointed directly at her.
She froze, unable to take her eyes off the gun.
The other man grabbed her arm, yanked her around, and bound her wrists behind her with a long strand of rope.
What is going on? She pulled in a breath. “Can you tell me—”
He slapped her. “Shut up.”
Pain seared her cheek. Her eyes watered and turned the room into a blur.
The man pushed her out into the bar, and she bit back a cry of protest at the empty tables. Where were her friends?
Outside, a white cargo van pulled up to the front of the roadhouse and parked. The driver opened the back door.
The man beside her ordered, “Tie her legs.”
When the driver grabbed a bunch of loose ropes and knelt, she tried to kick him. “Vaffanculo!”
An arm came around her throat, cutting off her air. The PZ behind her snapped, “Don’t. Move.”
Once her ankles were tied, the two men threw her in the van. Landing on her side, she skidded painfully across the ridged metal flooring.
Blinking away more tears, she struggled to sit up. The cargo portion had no windows. No seats. Just an empty space.
No, it wasn’t completely empty. In the dim light, she could see a lump farther forward.
A man. Also bound. Unconscious.
Cavalo, it was Hawk.
“Well, well.” A man in the van’s open door gripped her feet and jerked her toward him.
Tall and emaciated. Black beard. Cold, cruel eyes. “I remember you, girlie. The lying bitch of a waitress. You’re Kirsten’s friend, Frankie.”
Ice crawled up her spine and into her bloodstream. Her lips felt numb as she whispered, “Nabera.”
“Our Prophet is dead, cunt.” His weird fanatic’s eyes filled with hatred as he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back painfully. “You and Kirsten are to blame.”
“Want me to cut her throat?” someone asked from behind Nabera. “And my so-called asshole boss?”
“Don’t tempt me, lieutenant.” Still holding her hair, Nabera ran his hand over her breasts. “Nice and ripe.”
Her stomach almost revolted again.
“She’ll sell for a lot,” the man called the lieutenant said.
Nabera’s mouth twisted. “We’ll need the money, especially if we can’t recover the others.”
Did that mean her friends had gotten away?
But…sell her?
When he squeezed her breast, she kicked out at him.
He stepped sideways, the bastardo.
Cazzo, she’d really hoped to damage him, no matter what it would have meant for her survival. He was going to sell her?
“Cunt.” He jerked her hair so hard a painful sound escaped her. “Before I sell you, I’m going to enjoy hearing you scream.”
The van door shut, leaving her in darkness and terror.
Inside Mako’s garage, Kit stomped on the brake pedal, bringing the van to a skidding halt just before it hit the far wall.
As the garage door banged shut, she shut off the engine.
One of the PZ vehicles roared up outside, halting with a grating crunch of gravel. Doors slammed. Men shouted.
And then gunfire sprayed the house.
Kit jumped, wanting to cringe at the horrible noise.
As lights flickered on in the garage, Dante walked up to the side of the van. “Stay put, people.”
Outside, more vehicles roared up. So many more. Dread filled her.
She’d led the fanatics right to the Hermitage.
To her son.
The shaking inside her grew. She tried to move—and couldn’t. One hand was clamped so tightly onto the steering wheel her fingers ached.
The back of the van opened. “Ladies, I’ll get y’all released in a jiffy. I have scissors here.” Dante’s gruff Oklahoma twang was distinctive. The vehicle bounced as he climbed in. “If you’re hurt, tell me. If you’re sober enough, we need some help to shoot those bastards.”
“You tickle-brained fustilarian, let me up.” Lillian sounded spitting mad. “I’ll shoot the boils off those mammering, beetle-headed maggot-pies. If they—”
A gasp and squeak interrupted the diatribe. Kit heard someone getting kissed.
Dante had his woman back.
Snipping noises sounded. The van rocked as the women climbed out. At least one was crying.
“Dante, can’t help just yet,” Tina said as the freed women grouped together at the side of the van. “Way too much to drink. I’m still seeing double.”
“And me,” EmmaJean admitted. “Give us time though. We’ll help.”
“Come along. We’ll get y’all sorted.” As if he heard gunfire every day, Dante led most of the women out of the garage.
Move, Kit told herself. I need to move.
Her body wasn’t listening.
“Hey.” Audrey opened the driver’s door. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t stop shaking.” Kit pulled in a breath and pried her fingers from the steering wheel. After she managed to slide out, Audrey hugged her hard.
“You saved us, my valorous girl.” Lillian took Audrey’s place for a quick hug.
Audrey winced as the hammering noise of bullets increased. “Dante says Regan and Aric are safe down in the tunnels.”
“Which means it’s our job to ensure the ill-bred hedge-pigs don’t get in.” Lillian pointed at the door. “Weapons, my girls. We will destroy those fusty carbuncles.”
Audrey nodded. “We will.”
Kit’s mouth tightened. I hate guns. But it didn’t matter. No matter what, she’d do what she must to protect her son and everyone else here. She straightened her spine and told her knees to stop shaking. “Let’s go find us some of those guns.”
“JJ.” Caz’s voice came across the police car’s internal speakers. “Do not come back to the Hermitage.”
“What? Why?” JJ had just pulled into town, planning to switch cars and head home. “Am I needed out at the roadhouse?”