Free The Betrayed by David Hosp Page A

tour of the first floor of the townhouse. “No one else down here,” Minnelli said. Just then, they heard footsteps from upstairs, and they all swung their guns over toward the staircase. Then it turned silent again.
    Train looked at Jackson. “You got these guys?” he asked, pointing to the five people lying on the ground.
    “Yeah, I got ’em, Sarge,” Jackson replied.
    Train nodded to Cassian and Minnelli. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, moving toward the staircase.
    “I’ve got point,” Cassian said, stepping in front of Train and heading up the stairs. He moved with fluid grace as he panned his gun up, tensed for anything that might move or jump out at him. It took only a few seconds for him to climb the stairway and round the corner at the top, with Train and Minnelli right behind him.
    The second floor was in better condition than the first. The entire area was open space except for a door at the far corner. A fraying rug covered the weathered floor, but a few of the boards that had covered the windows had been removed, letting some light in. A good-looking black man with close-cropped hair in jeans and a T-shirt sat on a large overstuffed chair near one of the windows. A thick gold chain hung around his neck with a large ruby-studded “J” weighing it down.
    “Freeze!” Cassian shouted at the man.
    He held his hands up. “I’m frozen, man,” he said calmly.
    Train and Minnelli rounded the corner at the top of the stairs behind Cassian, guns drawn. The man on the chair seemed to recognize Train instantly. “D-Train,” he said, shaking his head. “I shoulda guessed.”
    “How’s it goin’, Jerome?” Train responded, still swinging the shotgun in every direction, checking to make sure there was no one else on the second floor. “You alone up here?” he asked.
    Jerome Washington shrugged. “Far as I know.”
    “And how far would that be?” Train asked. He moved over toward the door at the end of the room as Cassian and Minnelli kept their weapons pointed toward Jerome.
    “You know,” Jerome replied. “Far as I can know. I been sleeping.”
    “What’s behind the door, Jerome?” Cassian asked as his partner tried the knob. It was locked.
    “Bathroom,” Jerome answered. “You probably don’t want to go in there, though.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “I had some Mexican fo’ breakfast, you know what I’m sayin’?”
    “I thought you said you were sleeping, Jerome,” Train said, stepping back from the door and considering his options.
    “Yeah, well, you know. I been sleeping for a while, but I was in there earlier.”
    Train looked at Jerome and then turned back toward the door. After another moment’s thought, he stepped back and reared up on one foot. He shifted his significant weight as he lunged forward and kicked open the door with a deafening crash.
    The gunshots rang out instantly, two of them exploding the wood by the doorjamb, and the third hitting Train squarely in the chest. The huge man went down, rocking the entire house as he hit the floor.
    “Sarge!” Cassian yelled, moving quickly to the side of the door. He grabbed his partner and tugged at him with all the strength he had, dragging him out of the doorway. Train winced as he rolled over, grabbing at his chest. He coughed and sputtered as he felt for a hole in the Kevlar. As helpful as the vests could be, the prevalence of armor-piercing “copkiller” bullets on the street made them far from a guarantee. After a moment, he was sure that he was all right. His ribs would ache for days, he knew, but he’d survive.
    Cassian was also running his hands over Train’s vest, searching for any sign of penetration. “You okay?” he was yelling. “Are you hit anywhere?”
    Train shook his head. “I’m fine,” he managed to say at last.
    Cassian nodded at him, and then turned to Minnelli, who was still pointing his gun at Jerome Washington. “Stay with him!” Cassian ordered. Then he got to his feet