But Conrad was right. By now, they’d have heavy equipment working to clear away the landslides, and the troopers and the Feds would be on them the minute the road was clear.

What a fucked-up operation. They needed to get out of here.

Nabera glared at the five buildings. The bastards had destroyed the compound. The Prophet. The movement.

His life.

Humiliation was an ugly taste in his mouth. He and his men wouldn’t run from the assholes like whipped curs.

He’d rather die.

As the floodlights went out, leaving the area in darkness, Nabera scowled. Were the off and on lights a deliberate plan or a problem with the electric lines?

No matter.

How could he turn this fiasco around? The group in Idaho paying their way had expected him to net several women. Kidnapping and selling the Mayor Lillian as well as the wives and girlfriends of the men who’d attacked the Zealots’ compound would have been an effective demonstration. Selling two people—one of them a man—wouldn’t bring much money. Even worse, Idaho would be less than impressed with the night’s work. Would they renege on their agreement? Dammit. He and his men needed new IDs and a way out of Alaska.

Nabera eyed the Hermitage buildings. They had a stand-off—and the Zealots had a time limit.

The men in there wouldn’t hand over the escaped women—their women—in exchange for Nabera’s hostages. However…it was doubtful they cared about the three politicians. Would they agree to that exchange?

The Idaho militia would be more than satisfied if Nabera made the libtard state representative women disappear.

“Conrad, that bitch in the van.” He had to raise his voice over the snapping of gunfire and the occasional cry of pain from his men. “Does she have a man in those houses?”

“Yeah. That’d be Bull. He owns the roadhouse. And my boss who’s tied up with her?” Conrad smirked. “That’s Hawk—Bull’s brother.”

Brother and girlfriend. Yeah, the Hermitage might go for an exchange.

“Tell the men to stop shooting.”

Conrad pulled out his phone.

As the gunfire decreased to sporadic firing from the houses, Nabera yanked open the back of the van.

For fuck’s sake. The prisoners were back-to-back, trying to untie each other.

Grabbing the woman’s leg, Nabera dragged her away from the man. “Bull!” he shouted loud enough to be heard inside the distant buildings. “Bull, let’s talk!”

The defenders stopped firing a few seconds later. They obviously had some way of communicating in there.

“Talk,” came a deep bellow.

“I got your pretty girlfriend. Frankie, right?” He drew his K-bar knife. The light from the quarter moon barely penetrated the back of the van, but he could see how the bitch glared at him.

Not going to cooperate? There were ways.

Nabera pulled Hawk sideways, ensuring he couldn’t kick, then ripped his shirt open.