"Where is she?" Jake asked.
"The other door. But I hope she went back outside. That was the plan." Dewey freed Jake's wrist and Jake reached over to undo the rope holding his other one.
"Damnit." Jake pulled at the rope and flung the loosened portion over the chair's arm before grabbing it from underneath to finish getting it off his other wrist. "If they aren't coming in here now after your entrance, that must mean they found her." He nodded his head back briefly. "Get that back there. I can't lean over to free my ankles with that around me."
"Right." Dewey jumped around to get at the knot tied behind the back of the chair. A second later, he stopped. "No."
"What the hell do you mean, no. Undo the damn rope. Tiffin's in trouble!"
"Oh, no," Dewey said. He wasn't talking to Jake anymore. His head was filled with the image of his woefully inadequate body desperately pushing against the other door in the room, the one behind which three dangerous men wanted to kill him and Jake. "Tiffin."
"Dewey! Snap out of it."
Dewey heard Jake but his face continued to strain as if he really was struggling to keep the door shut while the men on the other side pushed against it to get at him.
Something hit Dewey in his chest and the image of his near future quickly disappeared from his mind. He looked down and realized Jake had struck him with the back of his head to bring him back to the present. Hurry, Dewey!
"Get that rope off me! I'm surprised we aren't dead already!"
Dewey feverishly worked to undo the tight knot holding Jake's back against the chair. A few moments later, he did it. "Yes!" He ran to the closed door across the room and leaned against it, grabbing the handle and holding it as tight as he could just as someone on the other side tried to turn it. He could feel the handle slipping inch by inch against his palm, despite using all his strength to keep it from turning.
He looked at Jake and saw him leaned over and working to open the knot tying his right ankle to the leg of the chair. "Hurry, Jake! I can't hold them."
"Dewey! Get away from there! They'll shoot!"
Dewey instantly realized Jake was right. The door wasn't even metal. Nothing would stop them from blasting a hole through it...and him. But he knew Jake needed a few more seconds to free himself, otherwise they'd both end up dead. Who'd save Tiffin, then? He squeezed the handle tighter and pushed himself harder against the door.
"Dewey!" Jake ripped the loosened rope from his ankle and pushed himself out of the chair, hurriedly grabbing the crowbar from the ground before racing toward the door Dewey held shut.
Dewey saw the look of surprise on Jake's face at the same time he felt the blast through the door behind him burning through his shoulder.
Chapter 18
Tiffin tried to push the dirty rag out of her mouth with her tongue, but after the man had stuffed it in, he put a wide piece of metallic tape across her mouth, from cheek to cheek. They'd taken her to a small room and made her sit in a chair. The man who'd taped her mouth left with one of the others, but the third man had a blaster trained on her. Tiffin feared the weapon less than she feared what the man might do to her. His expression told her dark thoughts were running through his head. A chill ran up her back as she watched him lick his upper lip while sliding his gaze around her body.
Before the two other men left the room, the conversation between the three of them made it clear to her that she was considered an unexpected treat. Jake was the one they wanted for...something. One of them men said something to the others about finding out what he knows, and then mentioned a payment they were expected. They were working for someone else, she thought.
What they wanted from her, she realized, was less complicated. When all three were still in the room, the man who gagged her made their plans for her clear when he groped her briefly after forcing the rag into her mouth. She wanted to fight him off, but he held the blaster with the tip of it touching her temple. She could see in his eyes that he'd have little hesitation to pull the trigger if she resisted. The other two chuckled as they watched. Thankfully, it was only a couple of seconds before he withdrew his hand from her chest and stepped back. He'd made the mistake of inadvertently slipping a finger into her vest pocket as he ran his hand across her chest. Squeakers wasted no time and bit the man's finger.
The man held his hand up and looked at it. Tiffin saw his finger bleeding.
Good job, Squeakers.
"Something bit me!" The man raised his blaster, pointing it at Tiffin's head again, though from a distance now.
"No," one of the other men said, evidently the one in charge. "That'd be a waste. Wait til after. Then you can do it."
"You're right," the groper said. "But she's got some damn critter in there." He pointed the barrel of his weapon at her vest pocket.
A noise coming from another room got their attention. The leader told the groper to keep an eye on her, while he and his thug friend checked on the noise. "You tied him up good, right?"
"Course I did," the groper said.
"Good. Leave the girl alone until I get back." The leader glanced at a spot of blood on the floor that had fallen from the groper's finger. "Wouldn't want you to get hurt." He chuckled.
"Or use her up before we get back," the third man said.
"Just go," the groper said. "I'll wait. But I'm gonna kill whatever's in her pocket."
"Just keep your blaster on her until we get back. You know you get carried away. Got it?"
"Yeah, whatever," the groper said. "Just go."
Tiffin figured they wanted to be there when the groper got back to finishing what he started with her.
I hope you found Jake already, Dewey.
Glancing to each of the closed doors—one to her left, one to her right—she wondered if she could possibly make it through one of them before the man shot her...or worse. They hadn't bothered to tie her up. She realized she must've seemed no threat to them. Each of the men outweighed her by at least seventy pounds, and towered over her.
The thought of any of the men having his way with her made her feel sick. What if Dewey gets captured...and Jake...can't rescue me?
It only took her a second to decide there was no way she was going to let the man, any of them, get their hands on her again. Glancing first to the door the other two men went through, she made up her mind to go for the other one. She wanted to see if Jake and Dewey were alright, but she knew if she ran the same way the other two men went, they'd likely grab her again...or shoot her to keep her from escaping. But the other way out must be unguarded. She looked at the groper, who stood several feet in front of her, holding his blaster more at ease now, but watching her closely.
The man disgusted her, but she knew her best chance was to convince him otherwise.
It's going to be okay, Squeakers. I have a plan.
First she cleared the scowl from her face, softening her gaze at the man. She widened her eyes a little, looking him in his eyes, then, for a fleeting moment when she had his eyes on hers, she drifted her gaze downward, looking him over as if she felt curious, even interested in him. When she noticed his pupils enlarge slightly, she slowly shifted her legs, spreading her knees wider. She slid down a little in the chair, scooting her boots out a from the legs of the chair, so that she settled into a somewhat supine position while still in the chair. He squinted as he watched her. She tipped her head down an inch or so and looked upward at him, then she smiled, only barely, as if she felt uncertain but hopeful about his response.
He lowered his blaster and tucked it into the holster on the side of his belt as he stepped closer to her. "So, you're one of those girls after all."
Tiffin hated hearing him say that, but she didn't let it show. She had surprised herself at how easily she was able to manipulate the man. She'd never done something like that before, but ever since she started spending time alone with Dewey...thoughts had started forming in her mind, thoughts she hadn't known before. She'd done her best to push them away before, with Dewey, because th
ey made her uncomfortable. But seeing what her captor wanted, she understood she could use that to her advantage.
As the man stepped in front of her, she felt Squeakers move inside her vest pocket.
"Why don't you get rid of that thing." The man nodded toward Squeakers. "Or better yet, lose the vest and shirt altogether."
Tiffin used every ounce of willpower she had to keep from reacting the way she actually felt about the idea, and about the man in general. Instead, she smiled and said, "Could you help me?" She raised her arms, holding them as if she was waiting for him to undo her vest and slip it and her shirt up and off of her.
Her captor grinned. "Yeah, I can do that." He took another step, then widened his stance a little directly in front of her, leaning closer and reaching to open her vest.
Tiffin kicked her leather boot as hard as she could into his crotch.
He yelped and fell forward, but she pushed against his shoulders instinctively, keeping him from collapsing onto her. His eyes rolled upward as he moaned from the pain. The weight of his body strained Tiffin's arms, but she wasn't done with him yet. Clenching her jaw, she dipped her chin and slammed her forehead into his nose, then pushed him away as hard as she could.
He cried out in agony as he fell backward, reaching for his broken bloody nose, but before he got his hands to his face, his back struck the concrete floor behind him, then his head.
Tiffin sprung from her chair, holding her hand over Squeaker's pocket in her vest. She darted for the door opposite the one the other men had gone through and flung it open. Without even glancing back at her former captor, she exited and ran half-blind through the next room toward the spot she remembered the other exit to be.
The light from the open door behind her failing to reach the other side of the room, she grasped in the dark to find the door handle, only guessing she'd run to the door itself. She heard the man wailing and cursing her from the other room. She hoped he was still on the floor, not coming after her.
After several seconds, she found the handle and tried it, but it didn't budge. The door was locked.
Behind her, across the room, behind the door she'd flung open, which had swung halfway back to closed, the man she'd bruised and bloody screamed, "You little tramp! I'm gonna kill you!"
Tearful, Tiffin yanked on the handle with one hand and frantically ran her other hand around the door and wall beside the frame, hoping to find a bolt or switch to unlock the door. "Please. Please. Where?" She found nothing.
Both hands now on the handle, she struggled to turn it, as the sound of the man's steps seemed to echo behind her.
Chapter 19
Jake reached for Dewey as his blue-skinned crewman fell away from the door screaming. The blast had blown a hole through Dewey's shoulder, and the scent of his seared non-human flesh quickly filled the room. Jake didn't make it to him in time to break Dewey's fall. Crouching at the end of his sprint in an attempt to catch Dewey left Jake vulnerable as the two men Dewey had been holding back barreled through the opening door.
Jake winced at seeing the bottom of the door smack Dewey on top of his head, but Jake quickly turned his gaze upward, seeing the first man crossing the threshold extending a blaster. Jake, still with forward momentum, dropped even more and slid on his knees while swinging the crow bar upward. The tip of the steel bar struck the blaster and the man's trigger finger, shattering the man's finger bones and knocking the blaster into a side spin as the weapon shot.
The man joined in with Dewey, both of them wailing from pain.
Jake heard the blast impact something behind him on the other side of the room, but he didn't give a thought to what it was. Relieved his head remained on his shoulders, Taking advantage of the fact that the lead of the two assailants likely couldn't get another shot in anytime soon, Jake rose from his knees and slammed into the man who still blocked his partner from clearing the doorway. Jake, packing more muscle in his considerable frame than most men, overwhelmed his attacked, sending him backward into his thug partner.
Jake staggered, bracing himself against the hinged side of the open door. Dewey moaned, and Jake realized he'd pushed the door against his crewman's head again. "Sorry, Dew."
Seeing the two men on the ground before him scrambling to get up, Jake leapt forward, driving his knee down into the groin of the top man. Jake dropped his full weight as he landed on the man, hoping to transfer as much of the impact into the second man beneath him. As the top man's head lifted slightly in reaction to the evidently excruciating pain Jake had applied to his groin, Jake whipped the tail end of the crowbar across the man's temple, knocking him out.
As the top man's body went limp, the guy beneath him struggled to pull his own blaster from its holster. Jake stood by the time he got it out and, out from under his partner. Leaning his head to the side to see past his passed out partner pinning him down, the bottom thug thrust his blaster clear of the side of the other man's body and aimed it toward Jake. But Jake stomped on the man's wrist and the blaster dropped from his grip before the shot was taken.
"You okay, Dewey!" Jake knelt and snatched up the dropped blaster, and kept it sighted on the man while stepping back to quickly peer around the door to take a look at Dewey.
Dewey was holding a hand over the blast wound through his shoulder. He moaned before answering, "I may live. Maybe."
Jake knew Dewey had probably quieted a little more from fatigue than from the pain subsiding, though he figured Dewey's chemistry responded similar to his. He guessed his blue body's natural pain-dampening chemicals were kicking in. Jake chuckled. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be..."
"No! Jake!" The scream came from somewhere on the other side of the door past the two thugs on the floor.
"That's Tiffin," Jake said, looking at the closed door twenty feet in front of him. He glanced at the still conscious, but unarmed man pinned beneath the one he'd knocked out. "Dewey, I need to-"
"Go!" Dewey yelled. "Save her!"
"I'll be back," Jake said, then he put a boot beside the pinned thug's head and kicked his jaw with his other boot, to make sure the man wouldn't get up anytime soon, before rushing toward the sound of Tiffin's cry for help.
Crowbar in one hand and stolen blaster in the other, Jake quickly got to the next door and stuck the crowbar through his belt to work the door handle. Seeing a the spot of blood on the floor in the middle of the room unnerved him. He hoped it wasn't Tiffin's.
"Jake!" Tiffin sounded terrified. Her cry came from the next room, the door to which was open.
Jake rushed in, but the room was dark. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He saw movement ahead. He couldn't tell if it was Tiffin or whoever might be after her. He rushed forward, even as he heard a struggle at the far side of the room. He could see two figures now. He wanted to shoot Tiffin's attacker, but it was too dark, so he dropped the blaster and pulled the crowbar from his belt just as he came upon them.
Up close, he could tell which one was Tiffin, but the man saw him too. The man released Tiffin to pull his own blaster, but Jake didn't give him time to use it. Stepping between Tiffin and the man to make sure she was out of the fight, Jake swung the crowbar at the man's head.
The thug raised his arm in front of his face, taking the metal on his elbow. Jake tried to move the crowbar to take another swing, but the man grabbed it with his other hand, having dropped the blaster inadvertently. Jake and the man wrestled for control of the steel bar, but Jake carried on with another attack at the same time, punching his fist into the man's gut. The thug bent into the blow, clearly unprepared for it. Jake held the crowbar high, pushing it against the man's arm to keep him from protecting his body. Then, stepping into to drive him further off-balance, Jake drove his fist into the man's side three more times.
Air and spit blew from the man's mouth, then he slumped and tripped. With no resistance against the crowbar now, Jake slammed it into the man's forehead, knocking him onto his backside. Jake's eye's had adjust well enough to see the man roll onto h
is side and begin coughing up blood.
"Your turn for that," Jake said, touching the cut inside his mouth near his lip. He heard Tiffin sniffle behind him, and a spike of adrenaline rushed through his body at the thought of what the man might have done to her had he not arrived in time. He raised the crowbar and took a step toward the man, who was still reeling on the ground.
"Jake, no!" Tiffin pleaded, just as Jake was about to swing at the man.
He stopped and exhaled sharply a few times, then turned to look at Tiffin as he slowly lowered the crowbar. "Are you..."
"I'm okay, Jake."
His breathing was still strong and quick, but he did what he could to calm himself down. "I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner."
"No, Jake. You did. You saved me."
Jake glanced at the man to make sure he still didn't pose a threat and Tiffin came to Jake's side and put her arm around his waist.
"I'm sorry our rescue plan didn't work," Tiffin said. "Dewey and I-"
"Dewey!" Jake said. He's hurt, and there's still a guy back there.
Tiffin grabbed the thug's blaster from the ground and pointed it at the man. "Go! I'll be fine."
Jake glanced at the thug. "If he-"
"Then I'll blast him to pieces," Tiffin said. "Go help Dewey!"
Jake nodded, confident Tiffin would do to the man exactly as she said she would, if the thug tried anything. Crowbar in hand, Jake ran back to Dewey.
When he saw that the man still lying beneath the first one he'd knocked out was also unconscious, he realized he must've kicked him a little harder than he intended, but he felt no guilt at the fact. Careful not to shove the door into Dewey's head again, he went through it and turned to Dewey, who was still on the floor, but sitting now, leaning against the wall, his hand still pressed over the open wound through his shoulder. Dewey looked weak, tired.
"The bleeding stopped," Dewey said, triumphantly, though sounding like he looked—weak, hurt. "Tiffin?"
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