The Gadget: The Rondon Chronicles Book One by V. Timlin (speed reading book .TXT) 📕

They tiptoed to the house. Nat moved to a small window and peeked in. After a moment, he turned to look at Anouk and lifted two fingers. She frowned. What did that mean? Did Rose have a guest? She shook her head, turning her palms up.

“Two men inside,” Nat said next to her ear, his voice tense. “It’s a trap. I’m going in. Watch my back.”

A cold grip squeezed Anouk’s heart. Had Rose betrayed them? To Stalo? If so, why?

Nat crouched in front of the door and took a knife from his boot. He wiggled it into the crack between the door and the doorframe. A soft clang came when the latch opened. Nat pushed the door open and charged in. Anouk lifted the goggles on her forehead and darted after him, drawing her katana.

Banging sounds of furniture toppling over was the first sign that the men had heard them. Not that Nat had tried to be quiet. The second sign was gunshots. Anouk didn’t know who shot first, Nat or the men.

A cry of pain inside was followed by Nat’s growl, “Don’t even think about it.”

Anouk entered the room, holding her katana in front of her, ready to wield it.

A man eyed Nat, hesitating but still aiming his revolver at him. He glanced at his comrade who lay crumpled on the floor and was holding his shoulder, his face twisted in agony. Based on their dark patched suits and caps, Anouk was ready to bet they were locals. Both men looked in their mid-twenties. They still had a youthful roundness in their chapped cheeks.

Nat cocked the hammer. That action seemed to motivate the man. He dropped his gun and lifted his hands into the air.

“That’s better.” Nat pulled down the mask of his face, Anouk following his suit. “Now, who sent you and where are Rose and her daughters?”

The man thrust his chin out in defiance. His comrade staggered up from the floor, doing the same.

Anouk had no doubt who was behind this trap. That son of a bitch. Because of men like these two, Stalo avoided justice, and she was prevented from going back to London and her normal life.

She stepped closer and rested her katana on the shoulder of the unwounded man. “I’ve cut a few hands, but I’d dearly like to extend my repertoire to cutting necks. Are you volunteering or will you answer my partner’s questions?”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Better do as the lady says,” Nat added, his tone amiable. “I’ve seen her do it and that sword is very sharp.”

The man’s Adam’s apple jumped up and down again, but still, he refrained. Anouk slid the blade closer to his neck, cutting the fabric of his shirt. He grimaced, but refused to breathe a word.

“Maybe he doesn’t like his head,” Anouk said to Nat, trying to sound nonchalant. In truth the man’s refusal to talk was as unnerving as it was irritating. She didn’t want to carry out her threat—cutting hands had been bad enough, cracking the skull even worse. Maybe the man sensed she wouldn’t follow through her threat. Anouk grounded her teeth.

“So it seems,” Nat replied. “Let’s see if this will loosen his tongue.” Nat shifted his gun, pointing at the man’s shoulder, and pulled the trigger in an exaggerated slow motion, giving time for the man’s imagination to fill the gaps. The thug squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the bullet to smack into his muscle. Why was he willing to put up with all this rather than tell them what they wanted to know? What had Stalo promised them to keep their mouths shut?

“Captain Biddulph,” the wounded man blurted. His comrade’s eyes flew open, and he scowled at him. The wounded man ignored it and continued, “I don’t know where he took the woman and her daughters. He just told us to keep an eye out for the bounty hunters.”

“That’s us, I presume?” Nat said.

The wounded man licked his lips. “Aye.”

“And?”

“Shut it,” his comrade growled.

The wounded man shot an irritated look, wincing in pain before he snapped back, “What does it matter? They have killed the two outside and have probably guessed the rest.”

Anouk wasn’t going to tell them the men outside were alive; unconscious, but alive. Better if they thought otherwise.

“I ain’t dying for a few ugions,” the wounded man added with a defensive tone when his comrade deepened his scowl. He turned to address Nat again. “The deal was…”

A sharp noise shattered the window. Nat pushed Anouk to the floor. She yelped in surprise and dropped her sword. Nat covered her with his body and fired. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, hitting metal. A series of loud clatters overlaid the gunfire when Rose’s pans fell from the fireplace onto the floor.

“Take cover. Next to the wall,” Nat shouted while firing out of the window.

Anouk fought off her tote bag and rolled over to the corner. The broken glass crunched under her. She curled into a ball, pressing her back hard against the wall under the window. If the cuts from the shards were the only thing she got, she wouldn’t complain.

Nat had moved to the other side of the window and returned fire. Anouk glanced towards the table where the two men had been standing—they both lay dead on the floor, bullet holes in their temples. Whoever was outside had shot them. She felt for the wounded man; he hadn’t wanted to die.

A sweet scent hit her nose. Lily of the valley? She turned her head. In the middle of the room, a greenish gas rose from her bag like a mist.

“Anouk, mask!” Nat barked.

Bloody hell, knockout gas! She fumbled with the mask around her neck with shaking hands. Holding her breath, she fought to get the mask over her mouth and nose. Had she inhaled too much? After what seemed a small eternity, she got the tangled straps open and lifted the mask over