Hunt rushed into the room and instantly moved to his left, away from the door. In a flash, his eyes took in the whole scene. To his right, Egan was tied to a chair, naked, his body wet with gasoline. In front of him stood the Black Tosca. She was holding a small handgun, but it wasn’t aimed at him yet. Towering next to her, and in the process of throwing a lighter in Egan’s direction, was a man wearing a ski mask. Nicolás? To Hunt’s left, Sophia Garcia was tied to a bed, wearing only gasoline-soaked underwear.
Then, as his eyes returned to his right, he saw something that gripped his heart with icy fingers. Egan was on fire. Before Hunt could react, the Black Tosca fired twice, and, at a distance of thirty feet, she’d be hard-pressed to miss with both shots. She didn’t. The first small-caliber bullet caught Hunt high in the left shoulder, and the other one embedded itself in the wall five inches above Hunt’s head. But the Black Tosca wasn’t Hunt’s priority. His priority was the man with the ski mask. He had pulled another lighter from his pocket and was about to lob it at Sophia. Hunt pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. His rounds tore into the masked man’s upper body, propelling him back against the wall just as the Black Tosca emptied the last four rounds of her revolver into Hunt.
A high-pitched shrieking rushed out of Egan’s gaping mouth. In a flash, the flames devoured their way through the gasoline. Then it was his flesh. He howled as the fire engulfed him.
The next round the Black Tosca fired missed Hunt, but the two after that smacked into his chest, thudding against his body armor and driving him back. The last round grazed his right side and doubled him over in a firestorm of agony. His Glock slipped from his fingers, and Hunt fell to one knee. Egan screamed, which made Hunt look up just in time to see the Black Tosca lunge, her eyes filled with murderous rage. Hunt was ready for her and grabbed her by the throat. Using her own momentum, he lifted her above his head. He released her midflight and sent her crashing into a work desk on which a laptop was set up. The work desk split in two on impact.
Hunt turned his attention back to his friend. Egan let out a horrendous, desperate scream. Hunt’s heart plummeted. His friend had become a human torch. Hunt tried to pick up his pistol, but his right arm didn’t respond the way he wanted it to. The stabbing pain in his shoulder was getting worse. He used his left hand to pick up the Glock and, as tears rolled down his cheeks, shot his friend in the head, ending his misery. Remorse immediately filled his heart. Dread crammed his mind, but he had to push through.
Sophia.
She was still alive, but her eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. He walked back to the Black Tosca, who was slowly getting up, and punched her in the face. Blood spattered in every direction. She was barely conscious when Hunt grabbed her hair and pinned her against the wall. Her eyes widened with fear. He pressed the silencer against her belly and fired twice.
Pffft. Pffft.
A soft cry escaped her lips, and her hands moved to her stomach. There was an expression of pure disbelief on her face, which pleased Hunt. He let go of her hair, and she slowly slid down the wall. Next, he used his knife to saw through Sophia’s restraints. He was about to take her in his arms when he heard a rasping sound coming from the masked man. Hunt had seen him go down in a mist of blood and had wrongly assumed he had killed the man. The man’s pistol was out of reach, but Hunt kicked it away anyway. He pulled the man’s mask off his face.
“Hello, Nicolás,” Hunt said.
The man just blinked; he didn’t answer. His face was covered with sweat, and his pupils were unfixed. Hunt lifted the man’s shirt. There were two neat holes three inches to the right of the man’s heart. Blood flowed with the rising and falling of Nicolás’s labored breath. He had minutes to live.
Hunt went back to Sophia and picked her up gently. His shoulder protested, and it took Hunt every ounce of control he had not to scream. Sophia opened her eyes.
“Sophia, I’m Leila’s dad. My name’s Pierce,” Hunt said, introducing himself. “I’m here to help.”
Sophia offered him a weak smile.
“You’re safe now,” Hunt continued. “I’ve got you. You’ll be home soon. I promise.”
As he stepped out of the room, he glanced once more at Cole Egan.
Sorry, brother. I failed you. You, on the other hand, held on to your promise to help me save my daughter. Thank you for your sacrifice, old friend. It wasn’t in vain.
“Are you sure you can walk, Sophia?” Hunt asked in between grunts of pain. His hand slid over to his shoulder. It was soaked in blood. He needed medical attention. Soon.
“Yes, I’m fine,” the teenager replied, shivering. “I can walk.”