Chapter 5
RYLAN
“Help her!”
Georgia’s desperate cry adds to the chaos, jumbling with Hanna’s wheezing gasps and Lance’s frantic curses.
“What the fuck?” Lance bleats. He takes a faltering step towards Hanna, who’s tipped over in her chair like an upended turtle, before stopping himself. His gun moves in her direction, wavering in his hand. “Stop it! Now!”
Rather than stopping, Hanna lets out another agonized gasp. Her face is bright red from coughing, and her features are contorted with pain.
Or rather, she’s pretending they are. And shit, she’s a good actress. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was really having a medical emergency.
Georgia doesn’t know that, though, so her panic is real. Terrified for her friend, she strains forward in her chair and shouts, “She needs help! Stop being an asshole and call 911!”
Lance turns to Georgia to glare at her. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
“Then help her!” she shoots back. “Look at her! She can’t breathe!”
To back up Georgia’s statement, Hanna jerks in her chair. Her neck arches back. Her legs twitch.
Charlie glances at me, her eyes wide with fear. But before I can say anything to reassure her, she visibly gathers herself. Determination fills her gaze. Her chin lifts and her shoulders set.
“As soon as he turns,” she says, so softly it’s barely audible. “Get ready.”
“Stop it!” Lance bellows. After a moment’s indecision, he advances on Hanna. Once he reaches her, he gives the side of her chair a hard kick. “Stop it! Now!”
“She can’t!” Georgia snaps at him. “She can’t breathe. Can’t you see? She needs help!” Her face reddens with anger. The scared, passive Georgia of five minutes ago is gone, replaced by a fierce warrior who’ll do anything to protect her friend.
Just like Hanna, who’s risking her life to help us escape.
Guilt slashes through me.
It should be me. I should be the one creating the spectacle. Drawing asshole Lance’s attention. I’m the one who fucked up, after all, letting this piece of shit get the jump on me.
“If you don’t do something, she’s going to die!” Georgia yells. Furious tears stream down her cheeks. “If you won’t help her, let me. Just let me go, and I’ll do it. You can just leave. We won’t say anything. Please.”
With Lance’s attention on Hanna and Georgia, Charlie nudges my foot with hers, then rolls her chair back until it bumps the shelf behind her.
My heart leaps to my throat.
I’m so damn proud of Charlie, but I’m scared shitless for her, too.
If Lance sees what she’s doing…
Almost as if Hanna senses my fear, she bleats out a weak, “Help me. Please,” before gasping for air again.
Lance crouches beside Hanna, frowning at her. “Stop it!”
“She can’t!” Georgia says. “Look at her!”
Hanna jerks in her chair. Her back bows.
“So, I’ll stop her!” Lance shouts at Georgia. “This is fucking everything up!” Then he clamps his hand over Hanna’s mouth and nose, cutting off her air.
“No!” Georgia cries.
Instinctively, I lunge forward in my seat. The handcuffs dig into my wrists. Pain flares from the bullet wound in my arm. Fresh blood dampens my shirt.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Charlie fumbling with the organizer on the shelf.
Unable to see what she’s doing, and with her hands bound behind her, she’s having a hard time of it.
The organizer keeps skittering away from her.
As soon as she catches hold of a paperclip, it slips from her trembling fingers.
“Come on,” Charlie whispers, more to herself than to me. “Come on. Please.”
Across the room, Lance’s hand is still clamped over Hanna’s face.
Georgia is still shouting.
And I’m still stuck in this fucking chair, helpless to do anything.
Then.
Several things happen at once.
With a small, triumphant, “Yes!” Charlie snags one of the paperclips.
Lightning-quick, she scoots her chair back to the table and turns, so her hands bump against mine.
Thin metal pokes my thumb, and I snatch hold of it.
Georgia shouts, “Get your hands off her!”
As I push the tip of the paperclip into the handcuff lock, Hanna pulls her legs up and kicks Lance in the gut.
He lets out a startled, “Ooof!” and falls backward, onto his ass.
After sucking in a deep breath, Hanna snaps, “You asshole! I needed help! Not for you to smother me!”
Urgency prods my fingers to move faster. Working by feel alone, I wiggle the paperclip back and forth, waiting—hoping—for the familiar click of the mechanism unlocking.
“What the fuck!” Lance blurts. He lunges towards Hanna. His fist flies out, clipping her jaw. “You were supposed to be dying!”
Hanna winces. But she holds her head high. Throwing a furious look at him, she spits, “And you’re an asshole. And you stink of sweat and onions.”
Lance blinks at her. “What?”
“Hurry,” Charlie murmurs. “If he hits her again—”
“I know,” I mutter. “This damn paperclip—”
Works.
The mechanism unlocks.
I pull at the handcuffs, loosening them before slipping them off. Carefully, I slide them onto the chair behind me, so Lance can’t hear them fall to the floor. I don’t want him to know I’m free. Not yet. Not until I’m armed and ready to attack.
“I smell like onions?” Lance asks, sounding more than a little offended. He scowls at Hanna. “Onions?”
“Yes,” she retorts. “Stinky onions. And sweat. And—” Her face screws up in disgust. “Your skin tastes like dirt. It’s really gross.”
Reaching behind me for the same organizer Charlie just used, I feel around for something sharp. Scissors. A letter opener. A damn ballpoint pen, for that matter.
“Gross?” Lance sputters. “You’re calling me gross?”
“Ry,” Charlie hisses. “The door.”
Turning my attention away from Lance and Hanna for a second, I follow Charlie’s gaze to the door. At first, I don’t see anything. But a moment later, I notice the doorknob twisting. Only a little, not like it’s being opened, but as if someone’s trying to pick it.
Relief surges. But right on its heels comes alarm.
It could be my teammates, back early from their trip.
Or it could be Lance’s accomplice, here to help him finish the job.
“Gross?” Lance repeats. His voice pitches up. “You’re calling me gross? And smelly?”
My fingers curve around the handle of something hard and smooth. A beat later, I realize what it is.
A letter opener.
We never use it, preferring to rip the envelopes open when we get them.
But we still keep one in here, just in case we ever need it.
“You never know when you might need a handy weapon,” Zane explained as he added the letter opener to the collection of pens and pencils.
“After all, you can never be too prepared.”
We laughed at him back then. But I’m not laughing now.
“You tried to kill me,” Hanna retorts. “And you’re worried about me calling you gross?”
“You bitch!” Lance snarls. He lunges at her again with both hands outstretched.
At the same time, I grab hold of the letter opener and push up from my chair.
“Forrester!” I bellow.
He freezes mid-lunge and spins to face me. Shock jerks his face. “What? How?”
Rage burns through my veins. “Don’t you dare touch her again.”
Then I fling the letter opener at him, channeling the hours of practice I’ve done over the years. My injured arm screams from the movement, but I pay it no mind. All that matters is my aim landing true.
And a second later, it does.
The letter opener buries deep into his shoulder, dangerously close to his axillary artery. If I hit it, he’ll bleed out in minutes, and right now, I’d be fine with it.
The fucker hurt Georgia. He tried to kill Hanna. He scared my wife and son.
Oh, and the piece of shit shot me.
So, no, I don’t care if I kill him.
Lance stares at the metal stuck in his shoulder. Blood is already soaking his sleeve. He turns ghostly-pale. Then he howls, “My arm! You stabbed me!”
I’m already racing towards him, my attention focused on the gun still dangling from his hand. In his shock, he hasn’t thought to use it, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
On the floor, Hanna’s trying to wriggle away from him. But with her hands trapped beneath the chair, she’s stuck.
As I sprint across the room, time seems to slow.
I know what I need to do. I just need to reach him in time.
Arm chop. Leg sweep. Flip him over and bind him with the zip ties I never go anywhere without.
Then I can free the women. The babies. My precious Charlie and Sam.
I can have my family back. And if this works, I’ll make damn sure nothing like this ever happens again.
I’m less than six feet away from Lance when he starts to raise the gun. Rage suffuses his features. He snarls, “You fucking asshole!”
“Drop the gun!” I shout as I leap at him.
At the same time, the door flies open, crashing against the wall before ricocheting back.
Nora and Jack stand framed in the doorway, both of them with their weapons drawn.
Nora’s gaze sweeps the room, taking in Charlie and Georgia still handcuffed to the chairs, Hanna sprawled on the floor, the gunshot wound in my arm, and finally, Lance, getting ready to fire.
Fury lights in her eyes.
She doesn’t hesitate.
Spinning towards Lance, she fires.
A red hole erupts in his arm.
The gun falls uselessly to the floor.
Lance screeches in pain.
Jack leaps forward and snatches up the fallen gun with his sleeve. Then he trains his weapon on Lance and barks, “Don’t fucking move!”
Nora runs over, pulling zip ties from her pocket as she goes. “I’ll restrain him,” she says. “If he tries anything, shoot him again.”
While Nora and Jack are dealing with Lance, I hurry to Hanna’s side. As much as I’d like to get Charlie free, she’s unhurt, and Hanna isn’t.
Just as I’m kneeling beside Hanna, a ruckus of voices approaches from the hallway.
“What’s going on?” Zane asks. “Where is everyone?”
“I heard gunshots,” Finn says, sounding completely freaked. I don’t blame him. I’m freaked, and I know what’s going on.
A muffled thump rattles a door down the hall. Then another. “We’re in here!” Maya shouts. “The storage closet!”