Nico (The Mavericks Book 8)

see what’s inside your laundry cart.”
“What the hell do you care, man?”
“I care,” he said, “so just shut it and let me see.”
“It’s fucking laundry. But sure, if you’re into laundry, go for it. Here. Come on over and take a look.”
If the guy bent over, she knew what would happen. Her kidnapper would hit this poor person if she didn’t do something. She struggled to move underneath the laundry, but it seemed to be at the same time that they were lifting up laundry above her. She screamed behind her gag, a sound that she swore was yelling at top decibels but came out as a muted moan.
And then she heard the new guy say, “Hey, what the hell is this?”
Her kidnapper said, “You fucking asshole, get out of my business.”
She heard a blow hit. She tried to sit up and push off all the laundry that had been put on top of her. She felt some of it giving way. She reached for the edge of the hamper and tried to stand, sending the rest of the laundry all over the floor. She fell over the side of the hamper to the floor, completely caught up in the laundry.
As the two men fought, she scrambled to stand, when suddenly somebody picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, and she was carried down the hallway. She tried to scream and wiggle free but then she was in an elevator. She moaned and fought, her body struggling hard as she tried to head-bang him away.
Then she was set on her feet, and the binding around her mouth was ripped free, and a voice asked, “Are you Charlotte?”
She nodded, staring in the dimly lit elevator to see who it was. She felt a little reassured that the doors to the elevator remained open.
“You’re safe now,” he said.
She stared up, her gaze widening. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“My name is Nico. My partner’s attacking your kidnapper right now.”
She shook her head and frantically said, “He’s only one of four. You have to help him.”
“Help my buddy? No, somebody needs to help your kidnapper,” he said. Just then another man came into the elevator, pushing the laundry cart.
As she stared down, her kidnapper was facing up, but he was unconscious. “Is he dead?” she whispered.
The new arrival just grinned and shook his head, pushing a button on the elevator to close the doors and to get it moving now.
As she stood here, shivering and trembling at the sudden change of her circumstances, she said, “If you don’t clean up all that laundry out there, somebody’ll notice.”
“Yeah. They’ll notice and blame him.”
Before she could process it, her arms were separated from her bindings. She groaned as Nico dropped her arms gently to her side. She shuddered with pain, but her rescuer rubbed the top of each of her arms all the way down to her hands. She looked to see the knife he’d used to separate the duct tape. She whispered, “Thank you. I thought my arms had died.”
“No problem. It’s always rough at first, when trying to get the blood flowing again,” he said, a note of apology in his voice. “Take the rest of the bindings off while I cut your feet apart.” He quickly separated the tape at her ankles and ripped it off. She’d been wearing slip-on sandals and Capri jeans, so the duct tape had left a raw red band on her skin. But she barely felt it with all the blood rushing to her extremities. Just being upright made her a bit dizzy. She huddled against the corner as she slowly tried to get the rest of duct tape off her wrists.
When he straightened and looked at her, he said, “I’m sorry. It’ll hurt, but it’s much better this way.” And he grabbed one hand, then he grabbed her wrist, and he just ripped. She cried out in pain, but he did it again. She stared up at him, her eyes wounded and her mouth open, knowing that the odd keening sound was coming from her, but she was unable to stop it.
Immediately he pulled her into his arms and just held her close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
She collapsed against him, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Why did they choose me?” she whispered. “Why me?”
“We’re trying to figure that out,” he said. “Maybe when he wakes up, he’ll have a few answers for us.”
“Aren’t you taking him to the police?”
“Nah,” the second guy said. “Don’t really feel like helping the police out on this one.”
She stared up at him, a little nervous and confused. “Are you not the police?”
The man shook his head. “No,” he said, “but you’re safe with us.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Am I though? I’m not exactly sure about that.”
“Well, you’re no longer tied up, and we’ve taken out your kidnapper, so maybe you could rethink that.”
She blinked slightly, trying to figure out just what had happened. “If you’re not the police,” she said, her voice gaining in strength, “who are you?”
“We’re military, Special Ops,” the first guy said. “US Navy. And we came here to collect you.”
She stared at him. “Okay,” she said slowly. “But you’re a long way from home.”
“That’s quite true,” he said, handing her a burner phone. “Should we get separated, use only this phone to communicate with only me. My number’s the only one in the Contacts list.”
She numbly stuck the phone in her jeans pocket, frowning.
Just then the elevator came to a stop, and one guy backed out, pulling his laundry cart with her kidnapper still in it. The other one grabbed her arm, following his partner, and said, “Come on. Let’s go.”
She was still half wrapped up against him but stumbled along. Her legs were moving but not as well as they should have been. Her hands were killing her. She cradled both of her sore wrists up against her chest as he wrapped an arm around her and led her to a hotel