Dear Lovely Readers,
After trials and tribulations, I'm back. So very sorry to have been gone so long, but I had things to deal with, one after the other. And I tried writing, honest I did. But nothing I've written, this or anything else, has progressed much in the past few months.
And, for those of you who told me my last chapter was crap and I should give up writing, thank you! I appreciate those words. Reading them, usually sent to my email ANONYMOUSLY, of course, just made me want to keep going. Sure, my last chapter and probably this one have things wrong, but it's my brain. Don't read it if you don't like it, it's that simple.
To the lovely, WONDERFUL readers who begged me to continue, YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! I love you all very much and I hope I never have trouble like this again, so I don't disappoint you. This one only has another chapter or two till the end, and I'm considering new fairy tales to remake. Any suggestions? <3
Love and kisses,
Almostluver!
***
Joey was terrified.
When they first arrived at the huge, impressive, slightly terrifying old mansion that was Bonnet's home, it had been eerily quiet. He'd been half expecting dozens of men to come pouring through the black gates as they pulled up just short of them and piled out. They kept away from what Kevin explained was the reach of the security cameras, and trekked around for nearly half an hour to a small door built into the heavy, wrought iron fence. Funnily enough, there were no cameras around the gate. To Joey, that just screamed trouble. It was too simple.
The team had murmured among themselves for a moment, and every one of them did a quick, almost nervous, check of their weapons, from the various guns to the array of knives they kept tucked into belts strung around their beefy bodies.
Donovan had even deigned to give Joey another gun and a long, wicked looking hunting knife. 'No chances,' he growled, caressing his own gun. It was a mystery to Joey why Donovan had it in the first place; he couldn't see, he might end up shooting one of his own men. Their enemies knew who he was, and they knew that he was blind, so he couldn't bluff. His men didn't seem too concerned, though; they quickly and silently followed their fearless, determined leader through the grounds.
Something buzzed in Joey's ear, making him jump and spin around with his gun raised, but it was just Michael giving them directions to a tunnel around the side of the house. Kevin smacked Joey upside the head gently and tugged him along, silently reprimanding him for his panic.
The journey into the house was surprisingly, and disturbingly easy. Nobody tried to stop them -- nobody was there to stop them. They were all tense, and cautious. The old tunnel was wet and dark, and Joey slid several times in the mud, and ran into the walls often, but eventually Kevin pushed him along with a huge hand at the back of his neck.
"Sir," Michael's voice filled the silence. "There's a door coming up. After that, two hallways. It would be best to split up the team. Finding Mrs. Alford will be faster that way."
"Thank you, Michael." Donovan rapped out in a quiet, brusque tone. His hand met the damp door and he gently turned the knob. One of the men crept up beside him, gun ready. Donovan pushed it open quietly, easing it gently through the creaks and groans the others could hardly hear, and the other man leapt through the door, prepared to shoot.
A moment later, he signaled for them to move, and they spilled into the empty hallway. It appeared they were in an older, unused, long neglected corridor. Dust billowed under their shuffling feet, and the walls were undecorated and covered with torn, faded paper. There were no lights, and a couple of the men switched on low flashlights. None of the rooms they peeked in contained furniture, or even carpet; the very first few had hard dirt floors and no windows.
"Right, Kevin, you take a team to the right, and I'll go left with the rest." Donovan waited for Kevin to select his men, and started off ahead of his group.
"Come on," Kevin growled at Joey when he hesitated at the back of their group.
Everybody was on high alert. It was much too quiet. Bonnet's men could be anywhere in this huge, strange mansion. Michael had his hands full tracking and directing both teams separately, and they had to wait once or twice for him to finish with the other group and move on to them. The halls were long and twisting, and it all looked the same. They had entered on the bottom floor, most likely the basement, and they slowly made their way up. Nobody approached them, even when they made it to the floors that seemed inhabited.
"Where is everybody?" Joey chanced a whisper, wincing as it echoed hollowly, and Kevin shushed him promptly.
"He's right, you know," One of the others muttered when they stopped in a small alcove on the third floor. "Something's up. Bonnet wouldn't kidnap the boss' wife without a shitload of backup."
"I know," Kevin glanced down the hall in both ways, fingering the massive knife on his well laden belt. He pressed a button on his comm device. "Boss, anything happening?"
"No," Donovan's deep growl filled everyone's ears, and they all subconsciously stood a little straighter. "I don't like it. We're getting to more used areas, now, men. Keep alert, and be careful. There's a chance he's expecting us, and just waiting for us to show. Michael?"
"Sir?" The young man peeped up.
"Work us closer together."
"Will do, sir."
They all, with the exception of their navigator, fell silent again and moved on. There were more rooms now, and they took them in teams of two, darting into each for a few seconds and then rejoining the group. It was a quick, effective way to rule out the rooms.
"Movement, up ahead," Donovan murmured. "I can hear it."
"Us too," Kevin and the others readied their guns. Joey followed suit, nervously. "Mister Joseph, sir, stay directly behind me."
It happened too quickly for any orders to be given. Two men at the front of the group fell immediately as bullets flew toward them from unseen assailants. They fired back, retreating down the hall to one of the rooms they had passed. The gunfire stopped and they barred the door with an armoire
"They got Scotty and Dean, sir." Kevin brushed blood off a small wound where a bullet had just barely grazed his arm.
"Dammit! We're all good, here, but they've got us pinned in a room." Donovan growled over the sound of bullets. Strangely, his voice rose above the noise, though his tone was no louder than it ever was.
Joey pulled his earpiece from his ear, escaping the noise for a few moments. His hands were trembling, and he clenched them together. "What are we going to do?"
One of the men cracked the door open an inch against the cupboard and peeked out. "It's quiet out here." As if on cue, a single bullet struck the heavy wooden door. Everything was silent again when it closed.
Joey started pacing, though the other men were still and waiting for a plan. "What are they doing? Why did they stop?"
"Would you like to go out there and ask them?" The man who'd checked, Anthony, laid his hand on the door like he'd open it. Joey sputtered and stepped up to him.
"Quiet." Kevin muttered from the corner of the room. He stared up at a small vent, and then looked at Joey. "There are no screws on these grates; I bet we could get it open easy. You could fit in there."
"Are you insane?" Joey snapped back, backing away.
"Mikey, do you think you could chance leading him through the vents? If you can get him near the boss, he could take out the guys in the way, and they could come get us out of here."
"Are you insane?" Joey repeated.
"Do you want to find your friend or not?" Kevin rounded on him. "We need to get out of here, and it's not going to happen with us pinned here. You've got a gun. Take another if you need to. Going out that door is suicide, and you alone could fit in the vents."
All of two minutes later, Joey found himself in the dark, dusty, cramped vents, wriggling along on his elbows. It was very warm and close in there, and he was distinctly glad he wasn't incredibly claustrophobic. Michael murmured tentative directions; the vents split off in so many directions. He felt like a secret agent -- except a whole hell of a lot less glam. In movies, there was exciting, intense music, and the crawls lasted for mere minutes and were easy and the vents weren't coated in dust an inch thick.
"This is bullshit," he muttered to himself, forgetting that everybody could hear him.
"Be glad you're not me." Michael chuckled. "Half the time, it's me up in those little tunnels, but I have extra gear."
"Shut it, Mikey," Kevin murmured. Michael giggled and quieted down.
Joey's interest was piqued. But he said nothing for the moment and continued struggling in the tight space.
"You should be near a room a few doors down from the boss. Do you see any openings or grates?" Michael broke the silence a few minutes later.
Joey slid down the tunnel and peeked into the room on the other side of the grating. It was empty, so he slid himself around, with difficulty, and kicked it open. It made a harsh bump when it hit the ground below and he waited for a few minutes in case anybody came running. When no one did, he carefully slid feet first out of the vent and dropped into the room below. Drawing one of his guns, he crept to the door and peeked out. The halls were silent and he left the room.
"They're just down the left hallway. Be careful, Joseph." Michael said.
His feet echoed, or so he imagined, while he tiptoed down the hall. There were faint rustling and murmurs ahead of him. His pulse raced, and he paused to wipe the sweat from his gun-totting hand. This was crazy, possibly suicide.
Joey stopped when he was close enough to pick out individual voices. They were speaking what he guessed was French, and he readied his gun and glanced around the corner.
The first man in his sight fell with a bullet in his back. In the time it took for the other four men in the enemy group to turn, another was down, though Joey's hand had been shaking too hard to make it a good clean kill shot.
Their leader shouted something and two began firing their machine guns in his direction, while the leader lifted the wounded man and they all started retreating down the corridor.
Joey waited for the guns to stop before he followed, stepping carefully over the downed man without looking. He might have been dead, he might have been unconscious. Joey could live without finding out, and simply pretend he was still breathing. The dark stain spreading rapidly over the carpet wasn't too serious, he reasoned. Some areas bled more rapidly than others, that's all. Even so, he had to force himself to stay calm.
