Chapter 25
twenty-five
Blood filled Naomi’s mouth, copper-bright and warm.
She swallowed it down and glared up at the man still gripping her braid.
He yanked her head back further, his eyes cold above the bandana.
“Nothing to say now, fed?” he sneered, leaning close enough that she could smell cigarettes and cheap bourbon on his breath.
She didn’t answer—just memorized his eyes, the only part of him she could see clearly.
Dark brown, almost black, with a burst blood vessel in the left one.
When she got out—not if, when—she’d make sure those eyes stared out from a mug shot.
He released her braid with a shove that sent her face-first into the dirt floor. “Food’s there. Eat it or don’t.” He walked away, boots heavy on the wooden planks. The door slammed shut. Metal scraped against metal as he threw the bolt.
Naomi stayed still, listening to his footsteps fade before she rolled onto her side, spitting blood onto the floor. Her jaw throbbed where he’d hit her, the taste of iron thick on her tongue. From her corner, Angel watched with wide, terrified eyes.
“Are you okay?” the girl whispered.
Naomi nodded, though it was a lie. Nothing about this was okay. She twisted her wrists against the paracord again, feeling it bite deeper. The angle was all wrong—she couldn’t get the leverage she needed. She shifted her weight, trying to see the food tray he’d left.
“Can you push that over here?” she asked Angel.
The girl hesitated, then scooted forward, using her bound feet to nudge the tray toward Naomi. It contained three bottles of water, some stale-looking bread, and what might’ve been bologna sandwiches. Nothing useful for cutting rope.
Frustrated, Naomi leaned her head back against the wall and looked up. Above her, between the wooden slats, something caught her eye. A nail. Rusted, bent, and half-worked out of the old board.
Hope flared in her chest.
“Angel,” she whispered. “I need your help.”
The girl inched closer. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’m going to try to stand up. I need to reach that nail.” Naomi nodded upward. “Can you steady me? With your shoulder?”
Angel glanced up, then nodded. Using the wall for leverage, Naomi rolled to her knees, then pushed herself up with her bound hands. The world tilted, her head spinning from the drugs still in her system. Angel pressed against her legs, providing what stability she could.
Naomi stretched, balancing on her toes. The nail was still a good six inches above her reach.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“Maybe I could try?” Angel offered. “I’m taller.”
The girl was right. Even hunched over, she had a couple inches on Naomi.
“Okay. But be careful.”
They switched positions. Angel braced herself against the wall, Naomi steadying her as best she could. The girl’s fingers stretched toward the nail. “I can’t—wait.” She tried again. “Got it!”
The nail came loose with a squeak of rusted metal. Angel’s fingers closed around it as she stumbled back.
“Don’t drop it,” Naomi hissed.
“I’m not.” Angel turned, holding the prize like it was made of gold. “Here.”
It took some maneuvering to get the nail into Naomi’s bound hands. The thing was about three inches long, the head flattened from decades of hammering, the shaft bent into an S-shape. Perfect for sawing through paracord.
Naomi worked the nail between her palms, angling it against the binding. Every movement was awkward and painful, her shoulders burning from being wrenched back for hours. But the first thread popped. Then another.
“What if he comes back?” Angel whispered.
“Then we hide this and try again later.” Naomi gritted her teeth as the rough metal scraped against her wrist. “But he won’t be back until morning. He thinks we’re secure. And we will be, if I can’t get these bonds off.”
Angel nodded, then curled back into her corner, watching the door.
It took nearly an hour. Naomi’s hands cramped, her wrists were slick with blood, and the nail kept slipping.
But strand by strand, the paracord gave way.
Finally, with a snap that seemed too loud in the silence, the binding broke.
Her arms fell to her sides, shoulders screaming in protest at the sudden release.
She fought through the pins and needles that stabbed through her arms, flexing her fingers until feeling returned. Then she tackled the tape around her ankles, picking at the edge with the nail until she could get a grip, then peeling it back in one quick, painful motion.
Free. She was free.
Angel watched her with naked hope. “You did it.”
“Yeah.” Naomi crawled to the girl, working quickly on her bindings. “We need to move fast. Can you help me with Tariah?”
Angel nodded, rubbing her newly freed wrists. “She’s heavy.”
“I know. But we can’t leave her.” Naomi moved to Tariah, who still hadn’t moved from her slumped position against the hay bale. Her eyes were half-open, glazed and unseeing. “Tariah? Can you hear me?”
No response.
Naomi checked her pulse. Slow but steady. She cut the girl’s bonds, then gently tapped her cheek. “Tariah. We need you to wake up. We’re getting out of here.”
Tariah’s head lolled, a thin strand of drool escaping her lips. Whatever they’d given her, it was strong.
“We’ll have to carry her.” Naomi glanced at the door. “But first, let’s see what we’re up against.”
She crept to the stall gate, testing it. Locked. But the mechanism was simple—just a sliding bolt on the outside. She threaded her arm through the bars, fingers stretching toward the latch. Almost...
Angel watched her, trembling. “What if there are dogs?”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens.” Her fingertips brushed metal. “Almost there.”
With a final stretch that sent pain shooting through her shoulder, she caught the edge of the bolt and slid it free. The gate swung open with a creak that made her freeze.
No sound from outside.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s move.”
Together, they lifted Tariah between them, arms around her waist. The girl was deadweight, her feet dragging on the floor. Each step was a struggle.
“Wait.” Naomi paused at the stall door. “Listen.”
Through the thin walls, she could hear the low murmur of voices. At least two men, maybe more. One sounded agitated, pacing.
“—can’t just keep her here. She’s fucking FBI. You know how many people are looking for her?”
“Ex-FBI. And nobody’s looking that hard. The sheriff’s already eyeing that ex-con from the Ridge she’s been fucking. We’re in the clear.”
Naomi’s blood ran cold. Ghost. Of course this would blow back on him.
“Keep your voice down,” the first voice hissed. “I’m telling you, this shit is going sideways. When El Carnicero finds out—”
“He won’t find out if you shut your mouth. Just keep them locked down until the exchange.”
Exchange. The word hung in the air like a death sentence.
“Let’s go,” Naomi whispered. “Now.”
They dragged Tariah toward the side door, the one farthest from the voices. It was locked, of course—a heavy deadbolt that would take more than a rusty nail to open.
“We need a key,” Angel whispered.
Naomi scanned the barn. There were tools on a workbench near the front—hammers, pliers, what looked like a hacksaw.
“Stay here with her,” she told Angel. “I’m going to check for something to break this lock.”
She crept toward the workbench, keeping to the shadows. The voices were louder here, coming from just outside the main doors. A flashlight beam swept beneath the crack, illuminating dust motes in the darkness.
“—took the truck to ditch it. Said he’d be back by morning. We’re on our own tonight.”
“Good. I’m tired of his paranoid ass.”
Naomi reached the bench and ran her fingers along the tools. The hacksaw would work, but it would be noisy. She needed something quieter. Her hand closed around a heavy screwdriver.
Perfect.
The beam of light disappeared. Footsteps crunched in the gravel outside, moving away.
Naomi hurried back to Angel and Tariah, screwdriver clutched tight. “I think I can break the lock with this.”
It took all her strength to jam the flat end between the door and the frame, leveraging her weight against it. Wood splintered. The deadbolt groaned, but held. She tried again, muscles burning, teeth gritted against the pain in her jaw.
With a crack that seemed to shake the whole barn, the wood around the lock gave way. The door swung open, and cold, rain-scented air rushed in.
“Go,” she breathed. “Quick.”
They dragged Tariah through the doorway and into the night. Rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking them instantly. Through the downpour, Naomi could make out the dark shapes of trees about fifty yards away. Beyond that, nothing but darkness.
“The trees,” she gasped. “Head for the trees.”
They half-carried, half-dragged Tariah across the muddy ground, her feet leaving twin furrows behind them. Naomi’s lungs burned, her shoulders screamed, but adrenaline drove her forward. Twenty yards. Fifteen.
Behind them, a door slammed.
“Hey! HEY!”
A flashlight beam cut through the rain, landing on them.
“Run,” Naomi gasped. “Run!”
They abandoned any pretense of stealth. Angel grabbed Tariah’s arm and Naomi took the other, and they ran in a stumbling three-legged race toward the treeline. The flashlight beam bounced wildly behind them, gaining ground.
A shot cracked through the air, splitting the night. Another. Naomi flinched but didn’t slow.
“You better fucking run, Little Rabbit!” The voice carried clear through the rain, edged with rage. Another shot, closer this time. Bark exploded from a tree just ahead of them.
They hit the treeline at full tilt, plunging into the darkness. Branches slapped their faces. Roots caught at their ankles. But they kept moving, Tariah a dead weight between them.
“We... can’t... keep... carrying her,” Angel gasped after what felt like miles but was probably only a hundred yards.
“We have to.” Naomi’s muscles were on fire, but she didn’t dare slow down. “Just a little further.”
She had no idea where they were. The rain had soaked through Ghost’s hoodie, plastering it to her skin like a second layer.
Her socked feet were torn and bloody from the rough ground.
The only direction she knew was away—away from the barn, away from the men with guns, away from that voice that knew her nickname.
The ground began to slope upward. Every step was a battle against gravity and exhaustion. But stopping meant capture. Capture meant death, or worse.
“There,” Angel panted, jerking her chin toward a distant glow through the trees. “Lights.”
Naomi squinted through the rain. Yes—lights. Maybe half a mile away, a soft yellow haze against the dark sky. A house? A ranch? She couldn’t tell, but it was civilization. It was hope.
“We need to head that way.” She adjusted her grip on Tariah, who was starting to stir, making small sounds of distress. “Come on. We can make it.”
They changed course, angling toward the lights. The trees thinned, giving way to a clearing. Beyond it, more trees, and then the soft glow of what might be safety.
Halfway across the clearing, Tariah’s legs suddenly buckled.
“No, no, no,” Naomi grunted, struggling to keep the girl upright. “Come on, Tariah. Just a little farther.”
“She’s too heavy,” Angel gasped. “I can’t—”
“We’re not leaving her.” Naomi’s voice cracked. “We’re not.”
But Tariah had become dead weight again, her eyes rolling back in her head. They managed another few steps before the girl collapsed entirely, dragging them all to the muddy ground.
Naomi pushed herself up, spitting mud and rain. “Tariah. Tariah, please.” She shook the girl’s shoulders. Nothing.
“They’re coming,” Angel whispered, terror sharp in her voice.
Naomi looked back. Through the curtain of rain, she could see flashlight beams cutting through the trees behind them. Getting closer.
“Help me,” she ordered Angel. “I’ll carry her on my back.”
With desperate strength, she managed to heft Tariah across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Each step was agony, but the lights were closer now. Maybe a quarter mile. They could make it. They had to make it.
The trees closed around them again as they left the clearing.
The underbrush was thicker here, branches catching at their clothes, roots waiting to trip them in the darkness.
But the lights were brighter, closer. Through gaps in the trees, Naomi could make out the shape of what looked like a ranch house.
There were other buildings, too—maybe a barn, outbuildings.
“Almost there,” she gasped. “Keep going.”
Her toe caught on a root, and she stumbled, nearly sending all three of them to the ground again. But Angel steadied her, showing strength Naomi wouldn’t have guessed the girl possessed.
“We can do this,” Angel panted. “We’re almost—”
Something rustled in the trees ahead. Naomi froze, every sense on high alert. Angel went still beside her.
A branch snapped. Then footsteps, coming toward them.
“Get down,” Naomi hissed, lowering Tariah to the ground as gently as she could. She pushed Angel behind her, her hand reaching automatically for a gun that wasn’t there.
A figure stepped out from the trees, silhouetted against the distant lights.
No! Naomi’s heart stuttered in her chest.
They’d been so close.
So damn close.