Army of Two Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ingrid Weaver
something, even though he hadn’t spoken a word since he’d gotten to his feet. She could see it in the set of his jaw and the tightening at the corners of his mouth. She could feel it in the tension that radiated from his body as he walked beside her and in the way his eyes gleamed as he glanced toward the trees and then back at her.
Or was this just wishful thinking on her part? She’d once thought they’d had a connection that had transcended the age difference between them. She had misinterpreted the situation then, so she had no reason to think she was any better at reading him now. Simply because he’d been a hero in her teenage imagination didn’t mean he actually was one in real life. There was no sign that he was trying to save either one of them. Like her, he was walking with his hands clasped on his head, as he’d been ordered. So far, he’d offered no resistance.
They rounded the corner of the lodge and started toward the rear entrance. The man who’d found them poked his gun into Mitch’s back to shove him forward. He’d kept the weapon aimed at him the whole time. Obviously, he didn’t consider Chantal any threat. “Come on, keep moving.”
Mitch stumbled and knocked against her. He mumbled what sounded like an apology.
Chantal could feel a scream building. From frustration, from fear. From the sheer wrongness of what was happening. He’d said they needed to use their heads, and she understood that. Yet her heart rebelled at the idea of giving up so easily. They were steps from the back door, seconds away from being herded like sheep to join the rest of the hostages.
She looked over her shoulder at their captor. He was a huge man, built like an oversized fire hydrant. The black knit fabric that covered his face had a round hole for his mouth and an oblong slit for his eyes. It took away his humanity, making him seem like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare…or news footage of terrorists.
The urge to scream strengthened.
No. She wasn’t going to give in to hysteria. This was her home. Her staff was her family, and her guests were her responsibility. They depended on her; she had to be strong.
And dammit, she would not allow herself to be a victim. “Who are you people?” she asked, slowing her steps.
“Shut up and keep moving.”
“Not until you give me some answers. I’m the manager here. I demand to know what’s going on.”
“I said shut up.”
She halted and turned to face him. “Why did you come here? What do you want?”
Behind the round mouth-hole, his lips twisted. “Get going. Now.”
She dropped her hands and lifted her chin. “Whatever you planned, you’re not going to get away with it. You have no right—”
“Lady, you’re really starting to piss me off,” he said, swinging the gun away from Mitch.
The instant the gun barrel was no longer pressed to his back, Mitch exploded into action. He pivoted, swinging his bent arm backward so quickly it was a blur. There was a thudding crunch as his elbow connected with their captor’s windpipe.
The man dropped his gun and clawed at his throat, gasping for air.
Mitch drove his fist into his temple.
The man crumpled to the ground and lay motionless.
Stooping fast, Mitch grabbed the gun then snatched the man’s walkie-talkie and tossed it to Chantal. “Which way to your truck?”
“My truck?”
He patted the man’s pockets, withdrew all the spare ammunition clips and stuffed them into his own pockets. “You said you drive your supplies here.” He straightened. “Show me where you keep your vehicles.”
She looked at the downed man. He still hadn’t stirred. “Is he…”
“His larynx is crushed. He’ll be more of a drain on their resources if he’s disabled rather than dead.” Mitch grasped her arm and turned her away. “But we’re going to have about thirty seconds before someone comes looking for him. We need to go now, Chantal.”
She clutched the walkie-talkie tightly in her
Or was this just wishful thinking on her part? She’d once thought they’d had a connection that had transcended the age difference between them. She had misinterpreted the situation then, so she had no reason to think she was any better at reading him now. Simply because he’d been a hero in her teenage imagination didn’t mean he actually was one in real life. There was no sign that he was trying to save either one of them. Like her, he was walking with his hands clasped on his head, as he’d been ordered. So far, he’d offered no resistance.
They rounded the corner of the lodge and started toward the rear entrance. The man who’d found them poked his gun into Mitch’s back to shove him forward. He’d kept the weapon aimed at him the whole time. Obviously, he didn’t consider Chantal any threat. “Come on, keep moving.”
Mitch stumbled and knocked against her. He mumbled what sounded like an apology.
Chantal could feel a scream building. From frustration, from fear. From the sheer wrongness of what was happening. He’d said they needed to use their heads, and she understood that. Yet her heart rebelled at the idea of giving up so easily. They were steps from the back door, seconds away from being herded like sheep to join the rest of the hostages.
She looked over her shoulder at their captor. He was a huge man, built like an oversized fire hydrant. The black knit fabric that covered his face had a round hole for his mouth and an oblong slit for his eyes. It took away his humanity, making him seem like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare…or news footage of terrorists.
The urge to scream strengthened.
No. She wasn’t going to give in to hysteria. This was her home. Her staff was her family, and her guests were her responsibility. They depended on her; she had to be strong.
And dammit, she would not allow herself to be a victim. “Who are you people?” she asked, slowing her steps.
“Shut up and keep moving.”
“Not until you give me some answers. I’m the manager here. I demand to know what’s going on.”
“I said shut up.”
She halted and turned to face him. “Why did you come here? What do you want?”
Behind the round mouth-hole, his lips twisted. “Get going. Now.”
She dropped her hands and lifted her chin. “Whatever you planned, you’re not going to get away with it. You have no right—”
“Lady, you’re really starting to piss me off,” he said, swinging the gun away from Mitch.
The instant the gun barrel was no longer pressed to his back, Mitch exploded into action. He pivoted, swinging his bent arm backward so quickly it was a blur. There was a thudding crunch as his elbow connected with their captor’s windpipe.
The man dropped his gun and clawed at his throat, gasping for air.
Mitch drove his fist into his temple.
The man crumpled to the ground and lay motionless.
Stooping fast, Mitch grabbed the gun then snatched the man’s walkie-talkie and tossed it to Chantal. “Which way to your truck?”
“My truck?”
He patted the man’s pockets, withdrew all the spare ammunition clips and stuffed them into his own pockets. “You said you drive your supplies here.” He straightened. “Show me where you keep your vehicles.”
She looked at the downed man. He still hadn’t stirred. “Is he…”
“His larynx is crushed. He’ll be more of a drain on their resources if he’s disabled rather than dead.” Mitch grasped her arm and turned her away. “But we’re going to have about thirty seconds before someone comes looking for him. We need to go now, Chantal.”
She clutched the walkie-talkie tightly in her
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