No More Hiding

Elias gripped the rifle, his heart rate still the same despite the adrenalin pumping in his veins. The warehouse remained still once more, save the gentle drip, drip of the blood pooling around the dead guard's feet.

He did not have time to waste.

Beyond the door, the corridor extended into dark, guttering lights. Crates and discarded service wagons littered the floor, probably from the initial occupation. The terrorists had come through here, herding staff and guests, leaving behind only guards.

And now?

They were hunting Hudson.

Elias had overheard it on the radio before—one of their men had been taken out. Their leader, Lazarus, had issued an order:

"Track him down. But don't kill him."

Elias narrowed his eyes. Why?

Why keep him alive?

Hudson Calloway was not a soldier. He was a businessman's son, a rich kid who was caught up in a marriage deal. If the hijackers were trying to kill threats, they would have killed him dead.

But they wanted him alive.

And Elias was not going to let these bastards win.

The First Move He kept moving fast, low, out into the corridor. His boots didn't creak on the slick floor, his hands tightly gripping the rifle.

Immediately ahead, a stairwell sign shone under a dimly lit light.

Excellent.

His only hope was to go up, clear floors en route, and catch up to Hudson before the hijackers did. If he could possibly commandeer a secure perch, he could begin to turn the fight around.

Footsteps.

Elias had his back against the wall.

Two men emerged from a side door, both of them carrying guns, both focused on their radios.

"Second team check-in. Anything new on our target?"

"Nothing. But we did find a body in the kitchens."

Elias' jaws tightened. Hudson is already accomplishing things.

One of the terrorists sighed, adjusting his grip on his gun. "Boss said we were supposed to leave him alive. Do you think he's—"

Elias didn't let him finish.

He sprang from the darkness, shoving the stock of his rifle into the first man's jaw and firing.

A spout of blood and bone erupted as the terrorist's head snapped back, his body dropping instantly.

The second hijacker moved aside, grasping his radio—

Elias was faster.

He seized the man by the collar, dragged him forward, and plunged a combat knife into his stomach.

The terrorist gagged, his mouth open in a silent scream as Elias turned the blade, drawing it up before jerking it out.

The man fell, his insides splattering across the floor.

Elias cleaned the bloody sword on his sleeve and groaned.

No longer holding back. No longer playing it safe.

These bastards wanted to fight?

He'd bring them hell.