My bed.
Fury takes over, my emotions unrestrained as I watch my woman on my bed, naked and in peril. This is the first time she’s ever been to my apartment, and those fuckers do it like this?
She’s groaning, which means she’s alive. A nasty red line crosses her neck. I see bruises and small spots of blood on her legs.
They’ve hurt her.
Just how badly have they hurt her?
I should have a strategy here, some sort of plan for what to do after I rescue her. Right now, the plan is:
1. Break into the bedroom and use the element of surprise as a tactic.
2. Kill John and Stellan.
3. Get Jane and Lindsay to safety.
4. Hand off Jane.
5. Run far, far away with Lindsay and tell the world to fuck off.
But numbers one and two are paramount. The rest can’t happen if I don’t do them.
“Look,” I hear Lindsay say in a weird, strained voice. “Let Jane go. Why is she here? Just -- ” Her shaky sigh makes rage run through my bloodstream. “Just leave her alone. She didn’t do anything.”
“Nothing other than feed you information for years when you were on the Island,” Stellan says.
The room goes stone cold quiet.
I pause. Drilling sounds should be intermittent to keep up the ruse, I remind myself. But I pause to watch my phone screen.
Jane is staring at Lindsay.
Whose eyes are closed, body trembling violently.
If I’m lucky, I’ve got two to three minutes left to get in there and save her. The clock races faster than my pulse. I have to catch up.
The toolkit contains the simple tools I need to penetrate the wall, but it also has two .380 caliber handguns in there. I need a clear line and a few seconds to pick off one of them.
The problem is -- what will the second guy do?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jane and Lindsay say in unison. I ignore them, turning the drill on again, scoring the wall. I penetrate slowly, feeling my way so I go through the wallboard just enough to be able to kick out the chunk I score, but not enough to pop through the other side. That would make what I’m doing obvious.
And that could kill Lindsay.
“Shut the dumb bitch up,” Stellan says, followed by a weird ripping sound. Muffled, higher-pitched sounds come through the wallboard, but I keep a steady hand as I cut the wall. Then I look at my phone.
They’ve taped Jane’s mouth shut.
And John is ripping more duct tape for a go at Lindsay’s face.
Once you mute a person, you remove a distinct part of their humanity. If they won’t let Lindsay talk, then they’re done with her. If they were smart, they’d pump her for information, but they’re not smart. They’re tools of evil and evil, apparently, doesn’t give a shit what Lindsay knows.
She’s a tool, too.
One that gets the job done by being dead.
I finish scoring the square and grab my weapon. Then I pause, closing my eyes, imagining in my mind’s eye the next set of steps. Muscle memory can’t be accessed for this set of maneuvers. I have to go deeper, to the part of me that runs entirely on instinct, with a singular goal: Save Lindsay.
Everyone else is collateral.
Including me.
Chapter 8
Lindsay
I can’t breathe.
Duct tape covers my mouth, my tongue retreating as the cold, sticky tape smacks over my lips. If I were thinking, I’d have made sure my tongue protruded so I could fight the tape later.
But I don’t believe in “later” anymore.
Later is a luxury for people who have a future.
I sink into the bed, my body a tense noodle. I’ve collapsed and given up, but my muscles haven’t received the message yet, tight and reactive, ready to flee or fight.
I can’t do either of those, and I already froze.
Time to just wait to be killed.
“Let’s do her first,” Stellan says to John, looking overtly at Jane.
Stellan walks quickly, a flash of movement coming toward me out of the corner of my eye, and suddenly my face is on fire. The shock of having the duct tape ripped off my face makes my jaw pop, my mouth screaming in agony, tears filling my eyes and making it impossible to see.
“Before we do that, I want some answers from Lindsay after all,” he says, giving John a series of weird looks, his eyes flitting to the wall to my right.
What the hell is so interesting about that wall? Someone’s doing maintenance work next door. Who cares?
“Leave Jane alone,” I choke out, looking at her. She’s gagging, and I hope she doesn’t throw up, because she’ll suffocate to death. Tears stream down her eyes and she’s just standing there, completely shut down, Stellan holding her arm, giving John hell.
“Fuck off,” he says to Stellan. “You keep changing orders, and we’re running out of time.”
“Why are you doing this at all?” I croak out. “You won’t tell me why me, but tell me why. Why do you want to do this?”
Stellan lets go of Jane, who crumples to the floor, as if she’s been held up entirely by his grip. He moves with catlike grace, a sickening athleticism to his motion. It’s captivating.
I’m captivated.
Or just captive.
His hand reaches out, my body jerking in strange movements as I struggle to breathe properly, my throat still swollen and hot from John’s choke hold. The sizzle of his skin against mine makes my abdominal muscles curl in, as if they’re trying to roll me away from him. Protect me. Secure me.
“Oh, Lindsay,” Stellan says in a sad voice, as if I’ve disappointed him. He sounds like every teacher who realized I didn’t understand a math concept, like my mother after a campaign appearance where I didn’t smile enough, like Daddy when I tried to do better.
“You really are naive, aren’t you?” With an attitude so close to tenderness it re-ignites my fear sensors, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a blade.