Their Property (Four Mercenaries 3) - Page 37
“Several black vans just passed. I’ll follow. They’ll be with you in three minutes.”
Clover patted his holster just to make sure the gun was there in case he did need to use it. He felt so damn rusty despite Tank having forced him to train now and then in the last few months. Like he was sitting in someone else’s body. A body that was ready. But his soul wasn’t. His soul was still trapped on that leather bench where an anonymous goon had caned him and where Drake had been forced to hurt him. Clover’s whole being was so desperate to never go back there, that even being close to danger, to Apollo’s associate, choked his bravery.
His breath caught when the guard put the console into his pocket and touched his ear, his legs already moving. The rifle that had previously been only an accessory hung over his shoulder, was now in his hands, and he sprinted into the house through the open French doors.
“They’re about to go in,” Tank told Clover through the headset.
Unable to see anything with the overgrown monster of a house blocking the sight, Clover felt increasingly nervous, but when first shouting, then gunshots tore through the morning peace of this quiet neighborhood, his tongue got so dry it stuck to his palate.
He was far away from the action, out of sight, hidden from a danger that wouldn’t touch him, and while he held his gun that bit more tightly when he first saw movement through the leaves, it was only kitchen staff who ran out into the garden, scattering in search of places to hide.
Blood drummed a furious rhythm in his ears until all he could think of was that moment in the future when he’d get to hug Boar and feel the massive arms around him.
But he wouldn’t let fantasy cloud his eyes, so time and time again, he scanned everything within sight for movement. The property was large enough for someone to sneak out of a window, given enough time and luck.
He froze when a masked cop entered the back garden, barking orders, which lured the terrified members of staff from the gazebo, but the shootout was still ongoing, and Clover flinched when glass burst in one of the windows in the top floor.
Transfixed on movement flickering inside the house, he searched for Boar’s familiar silhouette, praying for the raid to not provoke him into doing something reckless. As the victim, he had no reason to fear the police, but who really knew in what mental state he was after months in captivity, constant torture and danger? The best of men could have snapped.
The rumble of an engine coming to life startled Clover, and he briefly looked away from the garden, glancing toward the little rest stop. His blood first ran cold, only to burst into his limbs like a wave of boiling adrenaline.
The back of the truck was open, and so was the electric box, spilling armed men with boxes, and... prisoners. There was no other way to call it. People in chains were being led out from some kind of underground tunnel straight into the vehicle, which must have been left there in case of this exact situation.
His brain was mush, and it took him several heartbeats to press on his headset and alert the others of what was going on beyond the police search area, but he only managed to say a couple of sentences before Boar’s towering figure emerged from the secret passage. The mop of auburn hair Clover loved to comb his fingers through was gone, but he’d have recognized his lover anywhere.
Clover’s heart stopped.
Boar kept shifting, looking around despite one of the guards shoving him toward the truck. They exchanged insults, but seeing the guard hit Boar with the butt of his gun made Clover move.
“One, they’re moving too fast. They’re almost at the truck,” Clover said breathlessly, climbing down branch after branch. He would have gone faster, but if he fell, the noise could have alerted the guards and endangered the whole operation. After months apart, months of worry and grief, Boar was so close Clover could almost taste him, and he’d rather die than let him slip out of their grasp again. For all he knew, this might be their one shot to get him back.
“Are you able to shoot the tyres from the tree?” Tank asked. His voice was stable, but Clover knew him too well to not notice the tension interwoven with the words. If Tank was actually suggesting this, for Clover to reveal himself to the enemy, he had to consider the situation dire.
This was it. They were either getting Boar tonight or not at all, yet invisible hands of fear clawed their nails into him and pulled him back to the torture chamber where he’d lost his courage. Whispers of being thrown to dogs paralyzed Clover’s moves.
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