Code Name - Hacker (Jameson Force Security 4)

“Shut the fuck up or I will kill her,” the Russian screams, clearly rattled by the situation.

“Okay,” Griff says quickly. “Okay… just calm down.”

“Turn right up there.” The man motions, briefly moving the gun from my face to point to an alley. “Drive all the way to the back, put it in park, and cut the engine.”

The alley is about half a block long, and it ends with an elevated loading dock. Not something big enough to accommodate an actual semi with a trailer, but more the size of a delivery van or cargo truck.

Griff pulls in perpendicular to the platform, which has a small staircase leading up to it from the pavement. He puts it in park and turns the engine off.

Karl leans forward so he can look at Griff. “Now, we’re going to get out of the van and walk up those stairs to the doors. I’m going to have my gun on her the entire time. Try something funny or try to run, and I’m not going to hesitate in shooting her. Understand?”

Griff’s eyes slide to me as he answers. “I won’t run. I’m not leaving her.”

His message is clear. We’re in this together, and he’s never going to abandon me.

“Let’s go,” the man says in his thick accent.

He opens the door, and I’m pulled out of the van. I scrabble a little until I gain my footing, and his free hand bands around my upper arm like a vise grip. The gun goes to my back, pressing into my spine, and we wait for Griff to join us.

Griff comes around the back of the van, hands held out loosely to his side as he walks slowly. Showing Karl he’s not a threat, although I can see in his eyes he is.

He’s very much a threat, and he’s just waiting for the right opportunity to make his move. My gaze goes to the double metal doors leading into the brick building. I have no clue where we are or what type of business this is, but I’m fairly sure what waits inside is dire.

“Move,” the Russian orders Griff, jerking his head toward the stairs. Griff moves past us, but he briefly locks eyes with me. Within his expression, I see the words he didn’t get a chance to say before the explosion occurred.

The big man pulls me along behind Griff, and we follow him up the stairs. At the top, he orders, “Doors are unlocked. Go in.”

Griff merely looks over his shoulder, as if refusing the request. The gun moves from my spine to the back of my head again. It’s enough to dissuade Griff from antagonizing the guy any further. He reaches his hand out, places it on the knob on the right-sided door, and twists.

It opens easily, and we’re greeted with blackness from inside.

“Go in,” the man orders. Griff takes a tentative step inside. I’m pulled along, close on Griff’s heels.

Once we’re all the way inside, the Russian raises the hand holding the gun. Before I can even cry out in warning, he’s bringing it down hard on the back of Griff’s head.

The connection of metal to skull is sickening. Bile rises in my throat. I release a pained cry of distress as Griff sinks to his knees. While the blow was vicious, it doesn’t render him unconscious. The man lets me go, steps closer to Griff, and hits him again. Tears fill my eyes as Griff goes silent, slumping onto the concrete floor.

My brain screams to run or even attack the man as he glares down at Griff, but I’m frozen in place, terrified one wrong move will result in me getting killed sooner rather than later. I also know in my heart I can’t leave Griff helpless like this.

The man turns, gives me a short glance, and then moves toward the door. He flips a switch, and an overhead light comes on. We’re in what looks to be an abandoned commercial kitchen, so I’m guessing we’re in an old restaurant that’s gone out of business.

He kicks the door closed, then motions toward two folding wooden chairs next to a stainless-steel table. On top, there’s a coil of thin, white rope.

“Sit down,” he orders.

My gaze goes to Griff, who is motionless on the floor. With the overhead light on, I’m able to see blood on the back of his head. Perhaps I should make my stand here. I’ve always been told to fight, kick, scream, and claw. Never let yourself get taken or tied up.

“Sit down,” the man says, and my eyes snap to him. He points the gun not at me, but at Griff. “Or else I’ll shoot him.”

He’s using the same tactics to make me obey as he did with Griff. Any hint of a threat, and I don’t doubt he’d shoot. He’s already taken part in the possible murder of those people in the cafe—possibly Ken Battersham—as well as kidnapping. He’s not afraid to use that gun, I’m sure.