by Kit Rocha
“Seth lives around the bend,” Drawl replied. “I’m telling you, he hasn’t been right since the old man kicked it.”
“Because there’s no one left to rein him in.” A pause, presumably to take a drag on his cigarette, and Low Voice continued. “But this is a new low. We had them in a fucking kill box. That should have been the end of it. Again. Taking captives is always stupid, but trying to hold goddamn Riders?”
Ana closed her eyes and let out a breath, dizzily relieved. They were still alive--for now.
Seth was still an idiot.
The drawler agreed. “You know they’re gonna bust out of there, sooner or later. And more of us are going to die because of Seth’s vengeance boner.”
Ana resolved to make that happen.
Deep Voice groaned. “What is it with him and Deacon, anyway? The bastard’s been gone for how many years?”
“Twenty, at least. But I guess that’s the point. He went AWOL on a mission, then turned around and started protecting his damn mark. Anyone else, they would have tracked down and ended.” The drawler’s voice dropped to a whisper, but Zeke’s bug still picked it up. “I heard from Haze that when Seth inherited the old man’s files, he found proof that the bastard knew where Deacon was the whole time. Was even checking up on him. Like he missed him.”
“Shiiiiit.” Deep Voice huffed. “So we’re all fucked. Maybe we should go downstairs and shoot the Riders before Seth’s daddy issues get us all killed.”
“Be my guest, but you better be willing to run afterwards. Seth’ll make you wish a Rider had gotten you.”
“Fine, but if the one with the crazy eyes comes at me, I’m shooting to kill. I don’t care what our orders are.”
The sound of boots scraping on the pavement followed--probably someone snuffing a cigarette--then the beep of the panel next to the door. Ana turned the last statements over in her head as she sat back on her heels, trying to tease useful intelligence from angry ranting.
The Riders were being held somewhere inside. Seth’s stupidity would keep them alive--for now. They were resourceful and had planned for a trap, so there was a good chance they’d find a way out of their cell.
But if Ana hadn’t cleared a path for them by then, a bunch of antsy mercenaries sick of Seth’s bullshit would shoot the hell out of them. And if it took too long, those mercenaries might not wait for the Riders to make their escape attempt.
Zeke hacking their network was Plan B. It was time for Ana to come up with Plan C.
Chapter Twenty
The Kings had prepared a heroes’ welcome for them, all right--the drunk tank.
The old man had put the holding cell together out of necessity. Mercenaries weren’t exactly known for their universal lack of vice, and Sand Harbor was close enough to the compound for a quick visit. Flush with cash and credits, they’d roll out to raise a little hell on a fairly regular basis. Problem was, they never seemed to leave hell where they found it. They’d come back drunk, spoiling for a fight, and the old man needed a place to put them while they cooled off and sobered up.
Deacon had wound up here exactly once before. He couldn’t remember the insult that had sparked his rage, or even who its target had been, but he remembered the old man snatching him up by the back of his shirt, dragging him down the hallway, and tossing him onto the single stained, lumpy bunk.
The bunk was gone. Everything else had been stripped out, as well, leaving behind stark walls and a bare floor. Only the smell remained--decades of piss and puke and blood that no amount of scrubbing could erase.
“Watch the goods, asshole.” Reyes stumbled across the threshold and smacked into the wall.
The man who shoved him laid a hand on his sidearm. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. I said watch it.” Reyes’s lip had been split, and he bared his bloody teeth in a feral grin as he added, “Asshole.”
The King barked out a laugh, a scornful sound full of angry promise instead of amusement, and stepped forward.
Hunter urged Reyes back with an arm across his chest, but he shook his head. “No way, man. He wants to get rough, I’ll get rough. I’ll rip his fucking head off.”
It was no use fighting, not until they had a handle on their situation. Deacon reached for him, as well. “Reyes, no.”
“Better listen to Daddy.” Seth filled the wide doorway, stretching his arms across it as he surveyed his captives. “Now, tell me--where are the rest of the Riders?”
A chill shivered up Deacon’s spine. “What you see is what you get, Seth.”
“Bullshit. By my count, there should be at least twice as many of you. Maybe you left the important ones at home.” His eyes glinted. “Or maybe they’re right outside.”
Deacon bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood.
Seth shrugged. “Eh, we’ll find out.” He gestured vaguely as he turned away. “Grab one of them, will you?”
The man headed towards Reyes, who was already stepping forward to meet him with murder in his eyes.
Before Deacon could intervene, Seth stopped. “No, not him. We want information, not blood. Well, not just blood.” He glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze lighting on Gabe. “Bring him.”
Gabe glanced at Deacon. Just for a few seconds, his lips parting as if to speak. But the guard grabbed his arm, and Gabe’s expression shut down as he shook off the grip and walked forward on his own.
No. Not Gabe, and not like this, when they still hadn’t settled their uneasy business. Deacon dove for the door. Two of the Kings intercepted him and tried to haul him back, but he stood his ground. “Cut the shit, Seth. We’re way past playing games. We both know why I’m here, so take me instead.”
“Don’t be greedy, Deacon.” Seth arched an eyebrow as his men pulled Gabe from the room. “Your turn’ll come.” He started whistling, a haunting tune that echoed through the hallway as he receded into the shadows.
One of the Kings slammed an elbow into Deacon’s jaw, and he reeled, almost falling into the wall before Lucio caught him. He steadied himself and turned just in time to see the door slide shut, to hear the deep, metallic clang as the lock engaged.
God-fucking-dammit.
Reyes growled and whirled on Hunter. “Tell me you did the thing with the thing.”
“Of course I did.” Hunter propped his right foot on Reyes’s knee and pulled at his boot laces. “I’m not stupid.” With his boot loosened, he reached in and pulled out his comms device. “I switched it off before I socked it away so they wouldn’t pick it up on a sweep.”
He handed it to Deacon, who flicked the tiny power switch as he raised it to his ear. Instead of the soft chirp of the device attempting to make contact with the monitoring station, it emitted a shrill, strident tone of feedback that had him jerking it away again.
Seth must have made improvements to the drunk tank before inviting them over. “They’re jamming the signal,” he told them.
Hunter laced his fingers behind his head. “Fuck. Then it’s useless.”
“Perhaps not.” Lucio stood by the door, running his fingers along the nearly seamless edge. “It’s a magnetic lock, probably controlled electronically. If we can--”
“Get it open,” Reyes finished, already digging in a hidden pocket on his cargo pants. “That’s what we’re gonna do, right? Get the hell out of here and rescue Gabe, preferably while shooting every last one of these repugnant bastards in the face along the way.”
The stone wall was cool against Deacon’s back, and he leaned against it for a heartbeat. Lives were riding on what he did next, whether he could marshal his wits and all those years of training and make it work.
He straightened. “That’s what we’re gonna do,” he assured Reyes. “But first, we calm down. Take a breath. We inventory what resources we have and lay out what we know--quickly and quietly. Nothing to arouse suspicion until we’re ready to move. Got it?”
Hunter nodded, and Lucio murmured his assent as he continued to study the door. Only Reyes
hesitated, and Deacon took him by the shoulders.
“We can do this. We can save Gabe, but we can’t do it without you.” He kept his voice low and even, though his thoughts whirled and his chest ached. He wanted to unleash, to bang on the door until someone--anyone--came running, and then loosen his tight hold on control and just...make the Kings pay.
Soon.
»»» § «««
The smokers were punctual as hell.
Ana used their appearance to track time as an increasingly harried Zeke struggled for a way past the apparently robust security the Kings had installed.
The first time the men reappeared, Ana had paused to listen to their conversation, hoping they would drop more information. But their bitching followed a similar path, interspersed with complaints that they could be balls-deep in hookers down in Sand Harbor if Seth would move it the fuck along.
Charming. And useless.
So Ana tuned them out, except as a measure of time slipping through her fingers. Instead, she focused on the puzzle of the fence, the cameras, the motion detectors, and that fucking door.
She and Laurel had identified a few of the cameras by sweeping for signals with another of Zeke’s toys. Ana quickly discarded the idea of shooting them to disable them. She had confidence in Laurel’s ability to snipe small targets in rapid succession, but the chances of getting everything were slim to none--and the Kings would be on alert from the first shot.
Work one problem at a time.
This had always been easier in theoretical exercises. Lives rested on her shoulders now--Hunter, Gabe, Reyes, Lucio...
And Deacon. Deacon, who didn’t care about his own life. But she did. God, she cared so much it burned in her gut and bled through her best attempts at numbness. The thought of leaving him to die in a hole in this mountain, locked away from sun and fresh air, knowing he’d never get a proper funeral, knowing he’d die alone.
If you can’t see a path through, change your perspective. It’s like one of Eliza’s balls of yarn, Ana. When it gets knotted up, you have to find the right string to pull first.
Fine, forget the cameras and the fence. Even if she circumvented all of them, she’d still be on the wrong side of that door. She’d gotten a glimpse the last time it had opened--a solid six inches of steel at least. No one was cutting through that.
If Zeke couldn’t get into their security system, having him attack the keypad wouldn’t be much easier--and they’d be sitting ducks the whole time, obvious targets trapped in the canyon with no real cover, waiting to get shot.
Trapped...
A memory tickled at her. She ignored the sound of Zeke’s cursing and closed her eyes, struggling to chase it down.
Trapped. Electronic doors and trapped.
Her eyes snapped open. “Oh God, I’m an idiot.”
Laurel glanced over from the spot where she was hunkered down, surveying the opposite ridge. “What’s that?”
“Deacon said they refurbished this place after the Flares, right?”
“Yeah, it’s some kind of old bunker.” Laurel rubbed her temple. “What are you thinking?”
Ana crouched next to her, excitement making the words tumble out as fast as her tongue could manage. “There’s one change just about everybody made to high-tech buildings after the Flares. They were so reliant on technology back then that when all the power went down and the circuits overloaded, people in bunkers like that? They got trapped behind steel doors they couldn’t open, and suffocated.”
“So if we cut the power, the doors will open.” Laurel nodded, then grimaced. “How, though? They’re bound to have all the access points secured.”
“We don’t need an access point.” With her blood pumping faster, Ana turned. “Zeke--”
“I’m trying,” he growled. “This shit is so far past military-grade security. Military-grade security wishes it was this impenetrable.”
“Leave it,” Ana ordered, and his gaze snapped up from the screen. “I need you to build me something.”
Both of his eyebrows swept up. “Build what?”
She turned back to the Kings’ compound and imagined it without power. Without cameras, or motion detectors, or a charge on the fence. The front door unlocked. The interior doors unlocked. The Riders free. The Kings rushing to evacuate--right into a hail of bullets.
Total chaos. And the perfect trap.
“I need you to make me an EMP bomb.” She grinned at him. “A big one. Let’s give the Suicide Kings the full Flares experience.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Hold it still,” Lucio whispered. “I think I can boost the signal output, I just need to connect these two--”
Reyes hissed out a curse and yanked his hand back from the tangle of wires sprouting from the transmitter. “Fucking thing shocked me.”
“Good. That means there’s still juice left.”
Hunter waved at them from his position by the door. “Someone’s coming.”
It reached Deacon’s ears a moment later, the murmur of voices, the shuffle of soft-soled boots on concrete. “Hide it,” he ordered, then faced the door so the first thing they would see would be him.
The lock disengaged, and the door slid open. As it did, a battered and bloody Gabe fell inside.
Deacon caught him, quickly cataloguing his injuries. A split lip. An eye rapidly swelling shut. Shallow slashes along his arms. At least two dislocated fingers. And that was just what he could see.
As the door slammed shut, Gabe sagged against Deacon. “I need...” a low groan, “...to sit down.”
“Over here.” Deacon helped him to the back corner of the room, bracing his weight until they reached the wall.
Gabe slid down it, wincing as Hunter took his hand and prodded it. Gabe’s jaw clenched as he stared up at Deacon. “They haven’t found them yet. They don’t even know how many Riders are out there.”
“Are they listening to us?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s possible that whatever they’re using to jam communications in here makes it impossible to bug.” Hunter’s expression was grim. “I need to set your fingers.”
Gabe took a deep breath, then another. Then he nodded abruptly.
Hunter made quick work of the dislocations. Gabe gritted his teeth but didn’t utter so much as a curse as Hunter popped the joints back into place. Deacon wiped away the sweat beading on Gabe’s forehead as Hunter tested the swollen digits by flexing them.
“They asked a lot of questions, mostly about where the rest of the Riders are. They know names. Details,” Gabe said, his voice still edged in pain. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I know you didn’t.” Seth probably would have been disappointed if Gabe had broken, because then he’d have no excuse to torture everyone else--not that he needed an excuse.
Too bad for him. Riders didn’t break.
A moment later, Lucio shattered the thought. “The next one of us to go may have a unique opportunity,” he observed quietly. “It wouldn’t be difficult to disarm a guard, take his weapon. It could very well lead to escape.”
“No,” Deacon grated. “You’d be killed by the other guards before you even got your finger on a trigger.”
Lucio just shrugged. “As we’ve already determined, there are worse ways to die.”
“I said no.” Deacon rose. “Your orders are to stay alive--”
The door clicked and slid open again. Seth stood there, grinning and expectant. “Have y’all decided who my next guest will be?”
Dark rage seethed under Deacon’s skin, so strong that his peripheral vision actually wavered. His hands clenched into fists, and his muscles trembled under the effort it took to relax them. He didn’t hate Seth enough to kill him, not anymore.
Now, he hated him enough to keep him alive. To make it last, to turn that satisfied grin to a rictus of pain and terror.
“Me,” he answered softly.
Seth groaned impatiently. “Come on,
we’ve been over this--”
“And I’m tired of waiting, so let’s fucking do this, already.”
“Holy Jesus.” Seth scrubbed both hands over his face with another groan. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
Deacon was grateful for the numb acceptance that settled around him. Reyes was behind him, saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. There was only one path, one way out of this mess, and he focused on it.
He took a step forward. Starting down that path. “No, you won’t. Because you’re a coward.”
Seth drew a pistol so fast it might have appeared out of nowhere. But time was slowing down, stretching around Deacon until every heartbeat took an eternity. A trick of the imagination, surely, that when his time was at an end, it seemed to go on forever.
The pistol barrel wavered between his forehead and his mouth before Seth managed to steady it. “You are such a self-involved prick,” he spat. “You can’t even see what’s really going on here because you can’t wrap your goddamn brain around the fact that it’s not about you. It’s a job, man. It’s a fucking job.”
Deacon froze. “It’s what?”
“You heard me.” Seth scowled, hatred burning from his eyes, giving lie to his next words. “I don’t give two shits about you. The Kings were hired to eliminate Gideon’s Riders, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He gestured with his gun. “Starting with you. Say goodbye to your boys.”
It’s a job. The words bounced around in Deacon’s head, echoing over and over until they weren’t even words anymore, just sounds, each syllable drowning out the ones around it.
All this time, he’d assumed the Kings were after him, and everything else was just a distraction. His history with them, the timing, the way Seth had taunted him--it was always the only thing that made sense. But if someone had hired the Kings to target the Riders, that meant Deacon was the distraction.
He could work with that.
He turned to Reyes, who immediately grabbed his arm. “Don’t do this. We’ll figure something out.”
“Yeah, you will.” He almost smiled at the stern, serious expression on the man’s face. “Reyes, it’s okay.”
