“You’re doing great, Mess. Now the knife in my right boot.” He taps a black boot on the floor, indicating the one I should aim for. His smiling eyes never leave mine as I rock and wiggle to place my bound hands along his shin. “It’s down near the sole. You’ll have to dig to find it.”
It only takes a few tries to realize I’ll never find it like this. Fiddling with the laces, I concentrate on slowly loosening them little by little.
“Can you wiggle the boot off?” The back of my head hits his knee as I turn to search his face.
“If you can hold on to the heel, yeah, I think I can.”
My slick fingers lose the grip on the boot twice before Trey’s able to work his foot free.
“Shit, I think it was the other boot.”
“What?” I start to shout but quickly remember our situation. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I am.” That damn smirk. Oh, how I love that damn smirk and the man currently wearing it.
Grumbling a string of curses, I dip both hands into the wet boot. “Ew, it’s wet. Why is it wet?”
“I’m a guy. Our feet sweat. I’m a little stressed, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Sweaty feet might be a deal killer, Trouble. I didn’t know you had swamp feet.” My fingers fumble with the loose hard plastic of the knife before scooping it up into my palm. “Got it. Now what?”
“Oh, so now you want a play-by-play?”
“Trey, I fucking swear I will sentence you to be killed by an assassin unicorn.”
“You and your unicorns,” he grumbles, but the lightness in his tone belays any annoyance. “Can you get it to me? Put it in one of my hands? I can open it and cut through the tie on my wrist.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“I know from experience how flexible you are, Randi. I believe in you.”
“Oh hell.” I shouldn’t be smiling, not at a time like this, but I can’t help it. It’s him. I should be a bumbling mess right now, terrified of the fate Shawn so clearly laid out for us, but I’m not. Instead I’m fighting, smiling, and, most importantly, hoping. And that’s all Trey Benson’s doing. Knowing him, he knows exactly what his words, jokes, and innuendos are doing.
And I fucking love him a little more for it.
Because we’re in this together. A team.
Forever.
A warm, comforting sensation tingles up my arm as our fingers touch. The small hard plastic case falls into his palm. Before I can pull away, he closes his fist, sealing our hands together with a quick firm hold. It’s over as fast as it happened, allowing me to shuffle back away from the sharp knife his dexterous fingers just flicked open.
From the knife sawing through the zip tie, to his cringing face, to the stairwell, and back again, I shift my nervous gaze as my heart races with the anticipation. Will we get out of this in time? Will Shawn open the door now and ruin everything I just painstakingly fought for?
A faint tap draws my attention to a long string of plastic sliced in half lying close to my bent knees.
The zip tie. The cut zip tie. I stare at it, amazed that it fucking worked. That hard ring of plastic with the slice through it no longer holds Trey’s wrist. Or confines our freedom.
Damp palms press to my cheeks, tilting my gaze up from off the floor.
“Randi, you with me?” Trey searches my face as he kneels in front of me.
Kneels.
“You’re free,” I rasp.
“And so are you. Now come on, we need to fray those wires. I liked your plan of setting the place on fire. Seems a worthy exit, don’t you think?”
Chapter Seventeen
Trey
This has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done—setting a house on fire with me and my girl trapped in the basement. That’s a bold statement considering all the shit I got into during those international trips prior to Randi. Hell, there are several countries I’m banned from ever entering again because of those… creative antics.
What can I say? I was a rich dipshit with short-term goals focused solely on women, booze, and having fun pre-Randi.
With a cautious glance to the sole door leading to the main part of the house, I say a silent prayer that this works. It has to. We don’t have any other options, not with Tank….
My heart seizes just thinking his name.
My best friend, the one who’s saved me more times than I can count. Gone.
Breathing becomes difficult as the weight of what happened earlier engulfs me, drowning me in waves of grief.
“Hey. Look at me, Trey.” Reluctantly, I tilt my face to hers. I don’t want her to see me this broken. Because that’s how my soul feels. Broken. Shattered. Unrepairable. All that and more must reflect on my face as she presses a palm to my swollen cheek.
“He would’ve known what to do.”
“We’re doing okay, aren’t we? We’re free. Plus we don’t know if he’s actually gone. Have some faith in your friend. If anyone could get out of that situation, it was T.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.” Fingertips to the ground, I push off the cool floor to stand. Careful of her injuries, I scoop Randi into my arms and gently rest her on the chair I was tied to just moments ago. “You stay here. I’ll figure out what we do next.”
Not waiting for a reply, I turn on the one boot heel and wet sock toward the sheet-covered mattress. A shiver of revulsion races down my spine at the sight, keenly aware why there’s a bed and she was lying on it instead of me. My fingers tighten into fists at the thought.
Nails digging into the white sheet, I rip it from the bed and wrap it around my forearm. I tilt my face to the ceiling, surveying the beams and exposed wires. Placing the igniting point far from Randi is a given, but I also need to consider that we’ll need the smoke close to the door; that way when they realize what we’ve done and come storming in, the smoke will conceal us to a certain point. The last thing we want is for them to have a clear shot. If I start the fire and keep the smoke near the door, it could offer the split-second opportunity to disarm the first one through the door before they know what’s happening.
But the smoke….
The sheet will have multiple uses today, it seems. Uncoiling it from my forearm, I use the handy-dandy Swiss Army knife to slice two wide strips. Bunching them together, I toss the small bundle to Randi’s lap.
“Hold on to those. We’ll use them as face coverings for the smoke.”
A somewhat plan in place, I stride across the room, my one boot heel clicking with every other step, to inspect the rectangular window. A frown tugs my lips downward. It’s too small for Randi to wiggle through and too high. Our only way out of here is up the stairs. Through the dozen or so armed men waiting beyond the door. Through a house I’m about to set fire to.
Not great, but it’s too late to turn back now, not that I want to. As sketchy of a plan as this might be, it’s still a better alternative to dying without even trying to fight.
With the remaining section of sheet, I dip beneath the wooden stairs’ supports, shimmying along until I’m directly beneath the landing above. I glance from the wires to my one boot and back again. The sole is rubber, so hopefully it’ll prevent me from electrocuting myself and leaving a roasted corpse for Whit to laugh over later. I just have to do all this while standing on one foot.
Fuck me.
Wire held between two fingers, I begin methodically stripping a red cord, careful to not scrape the copper wiring beneath. A spark and zap pops, jolting a bolt of electricity all the way up my arm. The wooden support beam for the stair slams into my spine as I’m shot backward, cursing. Eyeing the wire like it’s a coiled snake, I sluggishly push to a crouch and start on the next wire. Again a bolt of electric current lashes through my fingers and up my arm, though this time I stay upright on my one foot like a badass, indicating I’ve hit the mark.
The thin sheet molds beneath my hands as I bunch it into a tight ball and cram it between two studs, situating it behind the exposed wires.
Pinching the two wires between my fingers, I carefully guide the exposed sides until they’re only a hairbreadth away from one another.
“Fuck, I hope this works.” Grimacing and leaning my face as far away as possible, I offer up one final prayer to anyone who’s listening and press the two exposed live wires together.
Blue sparks crackle and brighten. Powerful electrical currents surge up my arm and through my body. The force propels me back a couple of feet, my back once again colliding with the wooden stud with a crack. Tingles scurry along my skin while literal shimmering stars dance in my vision.
“Whoa.” I cough, gripping my chest and digging the heel of my palm into my sternum. “I think my heart stopped for a second.”
“Don’t worry, I know mouth-to-mouth,” Randi’s quiet voice says, sounding closer than it should. Chin to my shoulder, I find her standing just a foot behind me, arm cradling her waist.
“You know what I’ve heard works better?” I cough again. Each breath feels singed and too warm to be normal.
“Do I even want to know?”
Lips numb my attempt at a smirk fails. “Mouth to dick works even better.”
“Are you suggesting blow jobs save lives?”
I nod. “We should make that a slogan.”
The faint scent of burning fabric turns me back to the wires that almost killed me. Finger slightly shaking, I point at the small tendril of smoke swirling upward. “Look at that. It worked.”
Maneuvering around the beams Randi squats in front of the smoldering embers. Her back rises and falls as she blows a steady stream of air. Over and over she fans the small flame until a soft glow brightens the shadows cast by the ascending wooden stairs above us.
Sitting back on her heels, she glances over her shoulder. “Now what?”
A commotion above us has us both freezing. Heavy feet stop, and shouts and the sounds of a scuffle vibrate down the wall. I hold a tight breath, waiting for the door to open.
“It’s not working fast enough.” Fingertips to the ground, I shove to stand. “We need to give it time to really catch and a flame to build, but if they look down here and find us gone, all of this work was a waste.”
“You’re suggesting we go back to where they left us?” A deep line forms between her brows, her focus on the bed they dumped her on.
“But this time we won’t be tied up. I can fight back when they come at me, catch them off guard.”
“We can fight back,” she corrects.
“You’re hurt. I fight back. I’ve trained for this. I’ve done this. Let me do what I do best, Mess.”
“And what’s that?”
“Neutralize the threat by any means possible.” That lust-filled fire once again flares in her hazel eyes. “I love that violence turns you on, baby. We’re perfect for each other, you and me.”
“Despite your sweaty feet,” she adds with a smirk.
I glance down to the offending foot. “Unless you want to bat for the other team, you’ll always be with someone with sweaty feet. Now come on, we need to hurry.”
At the bed, I ease her down to the bare floral print mattress. The grimace of pain that flashes across her face before she can control her reaction stokes the rage already burning bright. Before, I tempered that need for violence, the need for revenge, because I couldn’t do a fucking thing about it tied up.
But now I’m not.
Now I’m free and able to protect my soul’s other half.
The spot under the stairs has a thin trail of smoke coming from the burnt sheet, but it’s still not enough to offer the concealment we need to even the odds. I scan the room for what feels like the hundredth time in search of any accelerant that will turn the small flame into a roaring inferno.
No fluid containers, no cleaning supplies.
The only thing in this room is the bed frame, mattress, and chair.
Looks like I’ll have to fight without any smoke for cover after all.
The voices upstairs grow louder, strengthening my sense of urgency.
Bending forward, I seal my lips to her hot forehead for a quick encouraging kiss.
“We’ve got this, Mess. Don’t worry, and please, please do not interfere when shit goes down. When you see me fight back, I want you to get as far away as possible. Hell, hide under the bed if you can’t get away. Don’t let them grab you and use you.”
“Trouble?”
“Yeah, Mess?”
“We’re going to get out of this, right?”
“Yeah, Randi. We’re getting out of this. The promise of anal is a hell of an incentive.” I shoot her a wink as I step backward toward the chair. Settling down into the seat, I shake out both hands and roll my neck, mentally and physically preparing myself for what’s to come.
“When did I agree to that?” The smile in her tone eases a part of me that thrives on her being happy and protected.
I open my mouth to respond, but the door swings open, slamming against the banister. Three members of Shawn’s cheap muscle descends the stairs. A held-in snort tickles my nose. Three against one is never ideal for a fight, but these three are untrained fools, helping my odds.
The one with a pug nose sniffs the air, a line forming between his bushy eyebrows. Fuck. I need a distraction to keep their focus on this side of the room.
“Took you long enough,” I shout, drawing all three men’s attention. “Did you bring my sparkling water? I’m feeling a bit parched.”
“He told us you’d be mouthy,” one snaps. At the bottom of the stairs, he creeps closer to where Randi lies, eyes sealed shut. “Sent us down here to shut you up so he didn’t have to hear it later. But don’t worry, he’ll be back before we break you both completely.”
That sinister leer he grazes along Randi’s trembling form snaps something inside me.
“So you’re his bitch, is that it? Here to rough me up but not able to finish the job until your master gives the command?” Tongue to my cheek, I click it in an obvious taunt. “Fucking pathetic.”
All three puff out their chests, shoulders squaring, ready for a fight. They stomp closer, the scent of something burning and the vulnerable woman both forgotten. Two flank the sides of the chair while one widens his stance directly in front of where I sit, still pretending to be tied up. His combat boots come toe to toe with….
Oh fuck.
I’m an idiot.
My motherfucking boot.
I know the moment he sees it. The boot lying haphazardly to the side of the chair leg, beside my foot. His brows narrow like its taking all his fucking brain matter to think through how my boot could be off. Behind me, I slowly flick open the knife blade and tighten a death grip on the handle until it becomes one with my skin.
Our eyes lock. Understanding finally smacks him, his features going from confusion to shock in a blink.
I’m out of my chair, the blade swinging through the air toward the bulging vein running down his thick neck before he can utter a word of caution to the other two idiots. The blade slams into his neck, slicing through his jugular, the exact target I intended. Hot red blood bubbles between my fingers, coating my hand and sliding down my wrist and forearm. With zero remorse, I jerk the small blade from his neck with a pop of suction as the metal slides free. Meaty fingers wrapped around his neck, he shoots pleading frantic glances to his two friends. Gurgling, blood spilling from his lips, he falls to his knees.
The other two are just as slow as the idiot clutching the gaping hole in his neck. With brutal efficiency, I lunge for the one on my right, aiming for his neck, while I kick out with the boot-covered foot toward the other man, connecting with his stomach. He stumbles back but stays on his feet. The other sways back, dodging the knife, the sharp blade barely skimming over his neck as he bats my hand away.
Shit.
The stiff red casing digs into my blood-slick hand as I tighten and loosen my grip to work some feeling back into my cramping fingers. I don’t dare take my eyes off these two asshats to see if Randi obeyed
the earlier order. My sole focus is on these two and taking them out before they’re able to alert others of what’s going on down here.
In my periphery, a hairy-knuckled fist flies toward my face from the side. I stoop to miss the blow but can’t dodge the other man’s shoulder from ramming into my stomach. I grunt from the impact and the shove of air forced out of my lungs. Wrapping him in a bear hug, I stumble backward, slamming into the other guy. A cheap shot comes to my kidney. Gritting my teeth, I keep my curses as quiet as possible. Fisting the small blade still secured in my grip, I slam it into his lower back and drag it up his spine.
His screams rattle around the room as I slice through skin and muscle, keeping the blade deep to do as much damage as possible. Something hard slams to the back of both knees, dropping me to the floor. Slick blood and sweat loosens my hold, and the knife slips from my hand, remaining embedded in his shoulder.
My knees crack against the concrete. I use the new angle to my advantage and wrap both arms around the legs of the man I stabbed and yank hard, forcing him off balance so he falls to the floor beside me. A shriek beats around the room as he falls to his back, shoving the knife deeper. The blade is too small to do too much damage, but being stabbed hurts like a bitch. Not only that but it was probably just deep enough to slice through tendons and keep him immobile with pain for a while.
A shadow descends with a warrior’s battle cry. Shifting right, I roll and pop back to my feet, fists ready to defend and strike. Chest heaving, sweat streaming down my face and neck, I take several short breaths and charge the last man standing. My first punch connects with his jaw, cracking his bone and a few of my knuckles. But I push past the discomfort as I pull back to smash into his face again and again. Blood sprays everywhere and bones audibly crack and snap beneath my never-ending blows.
He drops to his knees, cries of pain and pleas to stop slipping from his blood-swollen lips, but I don’t listen or care. Gripping his greasy blond hair, I hold his face toward the floor and swing a knee with as much force as I can leverage. A spray of red shoots around me like an arc.
Power Term: A Secret Service Romantic Suspense Series (Power Play Book 5) Page 17
