“No. They were complaining about having to go back out and clean up the mess that was just made.”
Good. I pushed to my feet, stumbled to the door and prayed this worked. Reaching around, I pressed my thumb into the pad of the lock. With slayers, Anima never used the kind that needed keys. Too many of us knew how to pick them.
The lock disengaged. So quickly. So easily. Almost comically.
Justin jumped up and rushed to his door. “How did you do that?”
“My mother,” I said.
“I thought she was a civilian.”
I wasn’t going to explain. I walked to the door of his cage and pressed my thumb into the lock. The door opened, and he sprinted out.
“Let’s go.” He was halfway to the exit before he realized I’d merely walked to the table. “Ali! Come on!” He waved me over.
I stuffed the pen in my pocket. Use any weapon, Daddy? Watch me. Then I returned to my cage, shutting—and locking—the door.
He stumbled toward me, his dark eyes glittering with confusion. “You’re not coming with me?”
“No.” I was right where I needed to be.
“But—”
“No buts. Get out of here. Let Cole know I’m alive and that I’ve got a plan.”
He gaped at me. “Ali, don’t do this. Don’t stay. They’ll hurt you. And your plan, whatever it is, will get you killed.”
I offered him a small smile. “It’s already done. Now go. Before it’s too late for you.”
He took a step away, stopped. Took another step, stopped. Always looking back at me. I knew there was a battle waging in his head. The alpha side of him screamed not to leave the damsel in distress behind. Wanted to protect me. But the logical side of him knew he wouldn’t get very far if I was fighting him every inch of the way.
“I’ll gather the others. We’ll come back for you.”
“All right,” I said, pretty sure I’d be moved by the time he made it to Cole, but knowing he needed some sort of incentive to go.
Justin disappeared beyond the door.
I breathed a sigh of relief. And waited.
*
Time passed. I’m not sure how much. Eventually, three Anima soldiers stepped into the warehouse. One was sipping from a coffee cup; all were relaxed. No hazmat suits. Just T-shirts and jeans. The guys stopped when they realized Justin’s cage was open and empty.
Cursing, they sprang into action, searching the makeshift prison for answers. Finding none.
They focused on me.
“Where is he?” one demanded.
Another male strolled inside the warehouse, and he, too, sipped from a coffee cup. He wore scrubs. He was on the short side and lean, with thinning gray hair. Was that a piece of muffin in his beard?
He was somehow familiar to me, but I was certain I hadn’t met him. I would have...remembered....
Remembered. The word echoed in my mind, reminding me that Helen had covered my memory. That I’d spent the first five years of my life—no, six years—being tested by Anima. This man must have been there.
“Dr. Andrews,” one of the guards said. “The boy is gone.”
How nice. This man from my past was the mysterious Wyatt Andrews—Hodad. The one who’d hurt Justin. Perfect. Made my job a little easier.
Dr. Andrews stopped at the table, his gaze remaining on me. He set down his coffee and ran his tongue over his teeth. Focusing on me, he said, “We were going to do you both a favor and move you to a cleaner facility with better accommodations. Now we’ll have to hurt you first.” His attention shifted to the men. “Tie Miss Bell’s hands behind her back and bring her over.” He withdrew a small velvet pouch from the pocket of his shirt and unrolled it. Pieces of silver glinted. Weapons, I was sure.
The three males stomped to my door.
“How many Anima douche bags does it take to open a cage?” I asked, and I think my blasé tone startled them. “Three. Because they’re scared of the little girl trapped inside.”
One growled.
One smiled coldly, probably imagining his hands wrapped around my neck.
The other disengaged the lock and jerked open the door.
“Heard it before?” I asked, standing. The pen I’d taken from the table was already clutched in my hand, its belly pressed flat against my forearm, hiding it.
The first man stopped in front of me and reached for me. With lightning speed, I stabbed him in the neck. As his blood spurted, I twisted, giving the next guy the same treatment. Both tumbled to the ground, bleeding out. The other guard, the last one, was in the process of racing to the still-open door, but I dived on his back and stabbed him as we fell.
Just like that, all three were dead or dying. And I was without a single shred of remorse.
I stood, gaze locked on Hodad. He was paling, backing away from me. The table blocked him. It toppled over, crashed into the dirt and he darted around it. He reached for the phone in his pocket and dialed.
Ms. Smith?