by Stone, Kyla
Liam didn’t lower the HK45. “Stand up. Drop the tire iron and show me both hands. Turn in a circle, nice and slow.”
Luther stood, his knees popping. “You took my weapons, remember? I’m unarmed.”
“Don’t think I’m gonna fall for that.” Liam patted him down, pulled a kitchen knife from inside Luther’s belt and a hammer looped to his waist. He tossed them away with a clatter.
“Those don’t count.”
“Why are you following me?”
“I’m not.”
“B.S.”
Luther gave a churlish shrug. “I was watching the facilities. Then you came along.”
“And why the hell are you hanging around Vortex headquarters?”
Luther’s face reddened. “I had nowhere to go.”
“Hannah said we would kill you if you came back. You remember that little detail?”
He blanched, not taking his eyes from the barrel of the gun three feet from his face. “I didn’t come back to Fall Creek! I swear. I’ve been wandering. No destination. No purpose. Forced to hide from thieves, raiders, thugs, gangs. I’m trying to figure out what I’m up against, who my enemies are, how the hell I’m going to survive. I…I didn’t want to stray too far from my father, okay? I couldn’t do it.” His gaze flicked sideways, evasive, maybe a little guilty. “And then I saw her.”
Liam stiffened. “Who?”
“The one who hates me.”
“We all hate you.”
“I’m well aware.” He grimaced. “The girl with the blue hair.”
“Her name is Quinn.”
A couple of rats skittered from an overflowing dumpster and disappeared inside the missing front door of an office.
Liam scanned their surroundings again, ears and eyes peeled for sound or movement, anything out of place. They were in the shadows between three-story buildings, an empty parking lot behind them. “Keep talking.”
“I don’t know why I followed her. A familiar face, I guess. Boredom, maybe. I just ran across her. Chance, happenstance. Few people moving around these days—they draw attention. And then she met up with that crazy gang.” He shrugged again. “I’ve been watching for a few days from a distance with some binoculars I found in an empty house.”
Liam narrowed his eyes. “Convenient, if you ask me.”
Luther met his gaze without blinking. “Believe me or don’t. That’s your problem.”
“Then what the hell do you want?”
“I told you, I’ve been watching them come and go for a few days. I know which doors they use, where they park their trucks and campers. I also know something big went down last night—lots of screaming and shouting. Thought you might want to know that information.”
“I could ascertain the same with a bit of surveillance.”
“Sure, but it’d take you precious time that you don’t have. A trade. That’s all I’m asking, and I’ll tell you what you want to know right now.”
Disgusted, Liam glared at him. “You want back into Winter Haven.”
“I do. I help you save Quinn, you give me my spot back. Let me take care of my father until he dies; then I’m gone forever.”
“The townspeople will kill you.”
“They won’t, because you won’t let them.”
Liam eyed him, restraining his anger. “I could torture you for the intelligence.”
“You won’t. And you don’t have the time.”
“Why not?”
Luther hesitated, working his jaw as if weighing how much information to provide for free. Finally, he relented. “Because we’re not the only ones here.”
Liam stiffened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“A force of eight men in black armed with assault rifles showed up in armored vehicles. They looked skilled, like pros.”
His veins went ice cold. “When?”
“About fifteen minutes ago. They’re already inside.”
Adrenaline spiked through him. Liam’s mind spun, his brain churning through the possibilities, none of them good.
He needed to act, now. He was about to break a dozen operation rules, as he hadn’t conducted a reconnaissance of the site ahead of time and had no sniper team providing overwatch.
Liam was on his own and against the clock.
“And Coleman,” Luther said. “I’m fairly certain they’re going to kill everyone inside, including Quinn.”
56
Quinn
Day One Hundred and Two
The door opened.
Quinn cracked one swollen eyelid. She lay on the floor in the corner of the room, stiff and cold.
The air was musty, dank, and smelled of coppery blood—hers. The frigid concrete leached the warmth from her bruised, mangled body. It was hard to lift her head.
Bright light blared into her face. With a yelp, she squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t help. The harsh glare pierced through her closed eyelids straight into her retinas. Red and white stars burst in her brain.
“Stay back!” someone shouted.
A grunt and a curse and the sound of something heavy dragging, then falling to the concrete floor. A thud like a boot connecting with flesh. Someone groaned.
The door shut again. The click of a lock. A clanging noise, like metal against metal.
Then silence.
The light faded behind her eyes.
A shuffling, scraping noise. Low raspy breaths.
Someone was in here. She wasn’t alone.
A harsh laugh rang out. “He has a twisted sense of humor, I’ll give him that.”
Fear torqued through her, overtaking the pain. She knew that voice. Loathed that voice. “Sutter.”
“In the flesh.”
Shifting her weight, she got her leg under her, straining against the floor until she’d leveraged herself onto her butt, pain lancing her ribs.
With a gasp, she leaned against the wall and peered into the gray murk of her cell. The swelling had gone down some; she could see a little better.
A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness.
Not ten feet away, Mattias Sutter sat across from her. His legs were drawn up, his arms resting on his knees, hands zip-tied at the wrists, like hers.
His face was featureless in the shadows, but his eyes glinted in the moonlight like a cat’s eyes, a predator taking in its prey.
He smiled—a flash of sharp white teeth.
Despite herself, Quinn flinched.
Sutter chuckled darkly and waggled his bound hands at her. “You afraid, little girl? You should be. I can kill you with my little finger.”
“Not afraid,” she mumbled between split lips, a fresh dribble of blood leaking between her teeth.
It was a bald-faced lie, and they both knew it. Without a weapon, she was no match for a man like Sutter, who was twice her size and an experienced fighter.
Even with a weapon, it had only ever been a pipe dream.
She realized that now. Her utter stupidity. The absurd senselessness of it all.
Quinn was trapped in a cell with a stone-cold killer. And she’d brought it upon herself.
“Why?” she forced out.
Sutter grunted. “Why am I in here? Good question. Guess your friend Xander got a little paranoid. Decided he couldn’t trust me after all after your accusations against me. He had his goons use me as a punching bag and threw me in here. Maybe he hopes we’ll kill each other. More like he wants to torment you before he kills you.”
He paused, offering another flash of teeth. “Is it working?”
Quinn struggled to get her brain to work, to process his words. Her palms were damp, mouth dry. Hot panic pounded in her chest, roaring in her ears. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Go ahead.”
“You deserve to die a thousand deaths. Torture by a thousand cuts.”
He snorted. “I’d like to see you try. Maybe it’ll provide an evening of entertainment.”
“Screw you.”
“It wasn’t pe
rsonal, little girl. It was a job. Rosamond brought me in to get your town under control, and we did it. If you’d just fallen into line, none of this would’ve happened.”
She spat blood out the side of her mouth and licked her lips. “Stop talking.”
“I have nothing against you. Truthfully, I even found it amusing when you joined up with us, like you were some superspy going to infiltrate a terrorist group and bring it down.”
“Xander’s going to kill you, too. It’s what they do.”
“He thinks he will, but he won’t get the chance.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“You’re in over your head. You have no idea what’s going on.”
“I know you’re stuck in here just like me, so I’d say the joke’s on you.”
He chuckled, an ugly raw sound like nails on a chalkboard. “They won’t kill me. Not yet. Besides, Xander Thorne and his deluded little gang of psychos won’t last the week.”
She imagined scratching his eyes out with her fingernails. Cutting off his tongue. Stabbing the solid mass of his chest until there wasn’t an ounce of lifeblood left inside him.
“Whatever. You going to kill them all from in here? With your hands tied and no weapons? Good luck with that.”
That sharp smile again. “You think Xander’s band of crazies are the only threat? You have no idea what’s coming. Not a freaking clue. It’s almost funny, how stupid and deluded you are.”
She lifted her head from the wall. A low buzz started deep in her chest, like a warning. She didn’t want to listen to him, hated his words drilling into her eardrums, sinking their claws inside her, foul and toxic.
“Rosamond called someone before she died.”
“So what?”
“You ever hear about the General? No? You wouldn’t have, I suppose. He’s an incredibly powerful man, but he does his best work behind the scenes, in the shadows. He wants something done, he gets it done. Rumor has it he’s got a proper army behind him now, too. He isn’t someone you’d want to cross.”
“I don’t care about some stupid general.”
“You should.”
She took the bait. “Why?”
“Even Rosamond feared him. So did I, when I was a kid. She hated him. Frankly, I was surprised to discover she’d contacted him. I guess she knew something I didn’t.”
He laughed again. Darkly, bitterly. “Everyone’s willing to make a deal with the devil, if they want what he offers badly enough.”
A trickle of icy dread slicked her spine. “Not everyone.”
“We shall see, won’t we?”
“Who is this guy, if he’s so important?”
After a beat of silence, Sutter said, “The General. He’s Rosamond’s father.”
57
Quinn
Day One Hundred and Two
Quinn gaped at Sutter, stunned.
“They were estranged, but that doesn’t matter so much when one of them is dead, does it?” Sutter asked.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
“He knows about all of you. He knows what happened in Fall Creek, how you people turned on Rosamond, murdered her in cold blood. I told the General everything. All about your super-soldier hero, Coleman, and that whore who killed Gavin Pike, his grandson. Not to mention Julian Sinclair’s untimely demise.
“The General’s entire surviving family murdered in Fall Creek. How do you think he feels about that? What do you think he’s going to do when he comes? And he’s coming. He’s coming with his entire army.”
For a long moment, she sat frozen as the terrible revelation sank in. Rosamond Sinclair’s father coming for revenge, coming for Fall Creek.
“It’s over. The game’s already finished; your people just don’t know it yet. He’ll slaughter them all.”
“No.” Horror filled her. Hannah and Liam. Milo. Charlotte and L.J. Bishop. GRAN. “No, no, no!”
“When he comes, he’ll send his men to collect me. I just gotta wait a few days. And when the General arrives in Fall Creek, I’ll be right by his side. I’ll get to watch it. And I’ll tell you, it’s going to feel damn incredible.”
He paused, gloating, relishing every word, knowing how they were shattering her into pieces. “In fact, I think I’ll perform the executions myself. It will be particularly satisfying to see Liam Coleman on his knees. To hear Sheridan’s wife begging for mercy.”
He leaned forward, the whites of his eyes glinting. “Right in front of the courthouse. Just like before. I’m sure you remember.”
Her mother’s dead body flashed in her mind’s eye. Of course, she remembered.
Quinn’s entire body ran hot, then cold. Pressure built in her chest, behind her eyes.
Everyone she loved. Everything she cared about. They had no idea what was coming, the rain of fire about to descend upon their heads.
They wouldn’t be ready for it—not unless someone warned them.
The cold realization sank into her bones. There was no one else. No heroic knight or superhero riding to the rescue at the last moment.
Quinn was the only thing standing between Fall Creek and utter devastation. But she was locked in a cell with the man she’d come here to kill.
No, not a cell. Not a prison. A room. A supply closet in an enormous warehouse.
There had to be a way to escape.
She’d been stupendously foolish and made a hell of a mistake. Got the snot kicked out of her for it, too. But she wasn’t dead yet.
Either she got the hell out of here and warned her people, or everyone she loved died.
No other option. No way out but through.
Whatever you do, keep your head. Liam’s voice echoed in her mind. She forced herself to focus, clearing the cobwebs from her thoughts. Time to stop feeling sorry for herself and get to work.
Determination filled her, galvanizing her. Clenching her teeth, Quinn lifted her left leg, then her right. Cautiously, she stretched, testing her limbs, her battered body.
She rolled her ankles. Needles of pain spread up her shin. Her left leg might be sprained, but nothing appeared broken.
“What are you doing?” Sutter said.
She ignored him. Shut him out. Shut out the pain.
It was a hell of a lot harder than it looked.
With a grunt, she pushed herself to her hands and knees and paused, panting, sucking in the musty air, adjusting to the fresh eruption of pain.
Put it in a box. That’s what Liam had said. He would know. If he could do it, then it was possible. If it was possible, she could do it. Would do it. Put it in a box.
Using the wall as support, she managed to stand.
Quinn hobbled to the door and tested it. Hands still bound, the plastic digging into her wrists, she yanked the doorhandle with all her might, her bruised biceps aching in protest.
The lock wasn’t just a simple lock. It was a sturdy deadbolt.
She took a step back, swaying on her feet, and forced herself to think. What could she do? What could she use? After a second, she patted herself down.
She still wore her coat, sweater, and undershirt, jeans with a leather belt, combat boots laced with paracord. Her Beretta, slingshot, and the karambit had been confiscated, Xander taking the curved blade for himself.
She was weaponless. Defenseless.
No, not completely. Her fingers skimmed the small hard case tucked into her coat pocket. Whoever had frisked her hadn’t bothered with it.
After all, what harm could a pair of sunglasses cause? What harm indeed.
For the first time, a spark of hope flared in her chest.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sutter asked behind her. “There’s nowhere for you to go. Nothing you can do.”
Quinn smiled in the dark. “Watch me.”
58
Quinn
Day One Hundred and Two
Quinn twisted the multi-tool and removed the last of the hinge screws.
Stepping back, she thrust the
tool into her pocket and seized the door handle. Her ribs screamed in protest as she shoved the door to the side and leaned it against the wall.
A pitch-black hallway beckoned.
“Holy hell,” Sutter breathed.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Gunfire sounded in the distance. Muffled screams and shouts barely reached them.
Quinn flinched. “What was that?”
“Sounds like an internal spat. Or maybe a gang turf war. Either way, it’s an opportunity.”
She didn’t need Sutter to tell her that. Her heart hammered against her ribs, adrenaline spiking her pulse. It masked some of the pain.
She’d used the small folding knife to cut the zip ties binding her wrists. Now she held it in both hands, staring at the blade glinting in the moonlight. A four-inch blade.
Not much, but still a weapon.
Slowly, she turned toward Sutter.
He looked from the knife to her face and back again. “Hey now. What are you doing?”
“What I promised. I’m going to kill you.”
A flicker of doubt entered his voice. “You don’t want to do that. You can’t do that.”
“I can and I will.”
More gunshots blasted. Closer this time. The rat-a-tat of automatic fire. Screams shredded the night.
Quinn pushed away the pain, the panic, the fear. Her heart slipped into coldness, into blackness.
He was right here. Sutter was right in front of her, waiting for her like a trussed turkey.
This was her chance to make things right. To turn this little topsy-turvy part of her world right-side up again. To fix whatever was wrong with her, once and for all.
“I’m unarmed!” Sutter raised his bound hands in front of his chest. “I’m a prisoner!”
She gripped the knife and took a step toward him. Darkness breathed down the back of her neck. The roar in her ears like a terrible howling thing, a fury filling up all the spaces inside her head, drumming in her veins, in her blood.
Sutter rose to his feet—slow, with jerky movements, like they’d hurt him, too—and scooted back against the wall, away from her.
