I grabbed the doorknob, turned, then pulled. It refused to budge. I tugged a bit harder, forcing it open.
The hinges creaked. I opened the door and slipped inside.
The pain-filled screams and cries of a female voice filled the silent home. A louder, gruffer baritone voice shouted back.
I closed the door behind me and swept the kitchen area. A rounded table sat in the corner. An array of crushed beer cans cluttered the top. The counters had little to nothing on them and neither did the open cabinets.
The keys to the truck or SUV had to be around somewhere. I skimmed over the table, then the counters, but found no keys.
I moved on through the kitchen and down the dark hallway with the piece trained ahead of me and my finger inside the trigger guard.
“No. Please,” the feminine voice screamed as heavy footsteps hammered the wooden floor.
“Take her upstairs,” the gruff, angry voice shouted.
The white light grew brighter from the room toward the other end of the hallway. I paused, moved toward the far wall, and trained the piece at the open doorway.
A man emerged from the room, dragging a frantic and battered woman behind him. He had his back turned to me as he moved across the hallway to the staircase.
“Get your hands off me.” The woman thrashed, jerking her arm and planting her feet. She turned toward the room. “William.”
Her escort wrenched her arm, throwing her forward. She grabbed the banister, then looked down the hallway. Even through the darkness of the home, I could see the naked fear on her face.
“Come on. Move your ass now, or I’ll really give you something to scream about.” The man pulled her up the stairs.
The cries and pleas waned, then died off as they hit the second floor of the house. Heavy footfalls tromped above my head, followed by the dull thud of a door slamming closed.
I moved from the shadows and crept down the hallway toward the staircase and the white light that remained in the room. My piece trained at the opened doorway, then to the darkness beyond the stairs. Multiple shadows moved along the floor of the hallway.
“Where is that damn tarp?” an angry voice asked. “I told him it should be in the back of the truck. It’s not rocket science, even for him.”
“Who knows,” a high-pitched voice replied. “Maybe it isn’t back there, or it blew out on the way over.”
“Look out the window and see if you can see him, will ya?” the angry voice asked.
“Please,” a weakened voice said, “I told you—”
“Shut your damn mouth.” A jarring blow sounded from the room. A dense thud hit the floor. “You know, if you’d just tell us where it’s at, then we could just place a slug in your head and call it a day instead of torturing the shit out of you.”
I toed the edge of the door, then peeked around the edge. A man lay on his side, tied to a chair that rested on the floor. His wrists had black zip ties around them. The raw skin where the teeth bit into his flesh looked inflamed, and bloody. He groaned in pain, like a wounded animal.
A short, bald, stocky man with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows grabbed the chair, then yanked the beaten man from the floor, sitting both upright. Across the room, a taller, slender man stood, staring out of the window.
I took a step forward, lowered the pistol to my side, then entered the room. The battered man’s head dangled forward–lifeless.
Stocky turned and looked my way, then flinched. He grabbed his chest with his hand. “Christ, Simmons. You scared the shit out of me. Did you see Daniels out there? He’s supposed to be bringing the tarp inside.”
A slender man turned away from the window. “I don’t see him out there. Not sure where he could be.”
Stocky glanced to the piece in my hand, then to my pants. His gaze flitted up to me as he reached behind his back.
I brought the pistol up in a blink, training it at his forehead. “Don’t even think about it. Hand me the piece, nice and slow.”
He froze, eyes narrowed.
Slender turned away from the window, then lifted his hands in the air. “Simmons. What the hell are you doing?”
“That isn’t Simmons,” Stocky said in a hoarse growl. He reached behind his back, pulled the heater from his waistband, then handed it to me. I stowed it away in the pocket of the coat.
“Then who the hell is he?” Slender asked, flanking the shorter, more muscular man.
“Who I am is none of your concern.” I shifted the piece from Stocky to Slender. “Are you packing?”
Slender hesitated.
“Johnson, give it up,” Stocky said.
Slender reached for his waist and pulled out the piece secured in the waistband of his jeans.
“Slide it across the floor to me, and don’t think about doing anything brave or stupid.” I kept the piece trained at Stocky’s furrowed brow as Slender slid the weapon across the floor, past Stocky. I stepped on it.
“Where are the keys to the SUV or that brown truck sitting out there?” I asked.
Stocky shrugged. “Not sure.”
I nodded at his waist. “Empty your pockets out now. You too, bean pole.”
Stocky lowered his arms and shoved his hands into the pockets of the trousers he wore. Slender did the same.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with, do you?” Stocky asked, rifling through his pockets.
“Don’t know and don’t care,” I shot back. “Come on. Let’s see what we have there.”
Stocky pulled his hands from both pockets, then held them up to me.
