Rescue: Richard Escape

Rescue: Richard Escape
Collins’s POV
The flight to New York felt like going into hell, with every minute stretching into an eternity while my mind was filled with images of Amelia—her bloodier face from the CCTV footage, her body crumbling as those vicious punches landed. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles white, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Fear and fury battled in me. Amelia was out there somewhere, in pain and afraid, and I wasn’t with her. I had promised to protect her and I’d failed. 
Daniel was sitting across from me staring at his tablet  pouring the updates for me from our team postings. “We have men all over the city,” he said, and his voice was level, but it was also tight. “Traffic cams, private security feeds — we’re pulling everything.” I nodded, barely hearing his words, my own eyes trained on the window and the thickening clouds far below me that were nothing but a cruel reminder of how far away I was from her. Sean had towed the van cross-country, avoiding major roadblocks, to New York. It was a daring play, smelling of Richard’s craft and Jenny’s desperation. They’d brought her to my city, right under my nose, and the sheer audacity stirred up my anger. I’d find them. And if I did, they’d beg for mercy I’d refuse to grant.
We landed at a private airstrip, my crew waiting with S.U.V.s, their expressions grim. Sean lead with his briefing, as we drove toward our first lead — a warehouse on the edge of the city with partial license plate match. “It’s where the van stopped,” he whispered. “No promises she’s even there, but it’s a beginning. I didn't answer, unable to concentrate, too afraid, too filled with the desire to do something, move somewhere, find her. The city passed by in a haze, its shimmering lights a mocking reflection of the darkness seeping into my heart.
The warehouse stood, its rusty irons and shattered glass. My men spread out, guns in hand, their boots loud on the cracked pavement. I burst inside, flashlight slicing into the gloom, heart hammering with hope and dread.  “Amelia!” I called out, my voice rough and echoing off the walls. No answer. My chest felt constricted, but I kept going, checking each room, each corner.
It was dark, and I stumbled in a chilly room. Blood darkened the concrete floor, next to a stack of cut ropes. My knees gave way; It was as though I had been struck a blow. Her blood. Her pain. The ropes was an evidence of struggle, of captivity, maybe I could see her now, bound, struggling defiant, even in the face of what must have been overbearing odds. My eyes clouded over, my rage and grief crashing into each other, and I screamed as I released that scream from deep within me. “Where is she?” I whirled, gripping Sean’s shirt collar, my voice a hiss. “Find her! Now!”
“We’re doing our best, boss,” he replied, his eyes steady but pained. “We’re going to sweep the perimeter, look for any mess they left.” I let him escape, and my hands shook, and I turned back to the blood, screaming in my mind that she was not dead yet. She had to be. I wouldn’t survive otherwise.
As my men were looking. one cried from the courtyard. “Over here!” I ran and my heart was in my throat, and I found Elena crumpled against a wall, her body a wreckage of bruise and blood. Her leg was a muddle, the bullet wound crusted over, her face swollen and largely unrecognizable. “Elena,” I whispered, squatting down next to her, my voice softer now, trembling and softer. “Can you hear me?” She didn’t wake, breathing shallow, and I felt another piece of my world creak. She’d struggled for Amelia, and they had left her for dead.
“Get a medic!” I barked and two men scurried to obey. We rushed her to the closest hospital in an SUV. My thoughts swam, sorting through the pieces. Elena was alive—barely. If she came to, she might tell us anything that would help us find Amelia. I paced the emergency room waiting room at the hospital,  as I dialed every connection I had — N.Y.P.D. chiefs, private investigators, even a senator who owed me a favor. “Find my wife,” I muttered, my voice a low dangerous whisper. “Every camera, every street. I want her found.”
Two hours later, a doctor came out. “She’s stable,” he said. “Awake, but weak. You can see her.” I brushed past him, ignoring Daniel’s attempt to follow, and saw Elena in a sterile room, hooked to machines, her eyes fluttering open. “Collins,” she whispered hoarsely, the sound almost too low to hear. “Amelia… they took her.”
“Tell me everything,” I said, leaning in close, my voice strung with urgency. She described the ambush — the men, the gunfire, the beating. Her escape, her unsuccessful bid to prevent them snatching Amelia once more. “They moved her,” she said, her eyes shining with guilt. “A hotel, I think. One of them said something… about a red dress and a… setup.” Her voice broke and she took my hand. “I’m sorry. I tried.”
I squeezed her hand, my teeth clenched. “You did enough. Rest.” But inside, I was unraveling. A red gown? A hotel?  I stepped out, calling Sean. “Arrest Richard and Jenny. Now. Wreck the city if you need.”
The search for Richard was futile — his penthouse was vacant, his phone had been disconnected. The bastard got away from me, but Jenny was another story. My guys traced her to a flophouse motel with her wheelchair tucked away in some grimy little room. They took her down to what we call “the dungeon”—a basement my team occasionally used for off the books activities. I waited outside the room, watching them question her behind a one-way mirror. She looked a mess, her shoulder bandaged, face pasty, but her eyes shone with a maniacal, frenzied glee that sent a shiver down my spine.
They weren’t gentle. Slap, punch, her head snapped up as they demanded answers. “Where’s Amelia?” growled one of my guys, grabbing her by the hair. “Talk, or it gets worse.” Jenny coughed out blood, her laughter ragged and reverberating throughout the room. “You can have nothing from me,” she spat, defiant with every word. They struck her a second time, harder, but she laughed still louder, her reason being struck from her with every blow.
I watched, fists balled, stomach churning. Part of me wanted to allow them to break her, to make her pay for every bruise on Amelia’s body. But this was time wasting — and time was something Amelia no longer had. I was fed up with games, fed up with her craziness. I walked through the door and the room fell silent. my boys flinching in the background as I hovered over Jenny. She off her head, blood dripping from her lip, and as her eyes locked onto mine they gleed. Me m She laughed as soon as she saw him and said, “Collins, … Did you come to visit me?”

(Hello, thank you all for reading this far. Tbh, I am not motivated, this book is filled with my energy, love, tears, and laughter but I have gained little or nothing from it which is painful. But I can't abandoned it because I love it. The love I have for it is the one driving me and not what I gain from it. Its will be completed, I promise)