Chapter Twenty-One #5
The Warden is speaking to Hancock, but I can’t see well from this angle. In fact, the only thing I can see well is the back of my fiancé’s head.
Tears well in my eyes just from seeing his dreadlocks, fingers twitching with the clawing desire to reach out and touch one. To touch him…
God, it’s been so long.
We haven’t been apart this long since we met, and it’s insufferable. I hate being away from him. I hate not knowing what’s going on with him, if he’s okay. If they’re… hurting him.
At the thought, fury replaces the sadness, so thick I can barely see through it.
I swear on my life, I will make these fuckers pay.
The Ivory tells Johansson and Hassan to get Hancock patched up and collared. I’m not sure what he means until I notice something… around Lemuel’s neck.
A black ring that looks like a dog collar, snugly fitted.
My muscles tense, clenching my knife’s handle while I choke back a snarl.
They put something around his neck…
That’s triggering for Lemuel, after what happened to him.
I am going to slice each and every one of them from ear to fucking ear. Starting with that prick Hassan, who watched that fuckface Templeton raping me, and his buddy Johansson, who I just know is responsible for these goddamn collars.
Peeling my eyes away from my man, I watch The Ivory leave the room, stopping on his way out to whisper something to Trevel. That’s when I notice that he and Byron have collars on as well.
I gulp down a mouthful of sorrow. They’re trapped too… Of course they are.
Regardless of how any of us got here, or where we’re currently standing, we’re all trapped by The Ivory in one way or another.
Byron is visibly distraught over the sight of a now unconscious Hancock. It reminds me of when I watched him leaving the prison the other day, coming from his meeting with Velle…
Trevel Fenwick isn’t evil. He’s just playing the part because he feels like he has to.
He needs to be evil to explain away the things he’s done. Otherwise, he’s responsible for them. I’m speaking from personal experience here.
Been there, done lots of that.
Despondence weighs me in place while I stand, staring through the wall at the love of my life. Trapped mere feet from me. And I just can’t get to him.
Dropping my forehead to the shelf, I brush my fingers over the books, heart splitting down the middle.
Fuck, Lem…
Baby, I’m here.
I’m right… here.
Lips parted, I’m without a voice. I can’t speak. I want to, but I can’t cough them up.
I could scream and rage. Bash my way through this wall of books and burst in there. I see it in my mind…
Slicing them all open. Every single one… Spilling their blood in waves to get him back.
But I don’t. I stand still and bite my tongue.
I have to do this right.
I will not die trying to save him. I refuse.
I haven’t come this far just to fall apart when I get close. And I am close. I can feel it.
Trevel stomps off in the direction The Ivory just went, but Byron stays behind, lingering at Officer Hancock’s side until they pick him up and carry him away to God knows where.
Byron’s eyes shift to my fiancé, shining with obvious regret. “I’m—”
“Let’s go… Dr. Strange.” Hassan grabs Lemuel by the arm, lugging him away, effectively cutting off whatever Byron was about to say, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess.
He’s sorry…
Shivers rack my limbs as the dipshit doctor shoves my fiancé out of the room.
Where is he taking him??
“Where’s he taking him?” Byron asks Johansson quietly, tone indifferent, though I can tell he cares. He wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t.
“We’ll be resuming our work,” Johansson says. “Warden’s orders.”
Byron looks confused.
But I’m not. I know exactly what he means.
The experiments.
They’re going to torture Lem, just like they did to me, and countless others. The East Wing may be gone, but the sadistic fucks behind it are very much still present.
My teeth grind together so hard my jaw is aching as I stuff the book back into its place and slip out of the secret viewing room. In the corridor, I make a right and take it to the end, checking that the coast is clear before sneaking outside.
Slinking around the back of the mansion, I stay close, seeing how far east I can get before I hear people.
I come up to a dip in the ground; a small hill where the foundation rests higher, as if maybe there’s a basement.
It never occurred to me that the mansion would have a basement, though now that I’m thinking about it, of course it does.
If it’s anything like the prison, there will be either sewer drains, or a bulkhead, or—
“Shit,” I gasp under my breath, eyes widening as I come to a screeching halt.
A gate. There’s a fucking gate—a door of steel bars like the prison cell doors—leading down into what appears to be a tunnel of sorts. This must go to the basement.
Of course it’s locked with a giant, thick as fuck padlock.
“Fuck you,” I growl at the thing, yanking at it over and over.
Grabbing the bars, I pull on them, but the gate doesn’t budge. No surprise there.
But this is it. The way in… Or out.
I wonder if Velle has bolt cutters, or a blowtorch…
Echoing voices catch my ear. They’re too far away for me to hear what they’re saying, but I don’t need to. It’s probably best that I can’t anyway…
Because one of them belongs to Lem. I’m sure of it.
There’s no mistaking that deep, sexy brogue.
My chest is compressing, like there are vice grips around my ribcage, squeezing.
This is where they brought him. This is where they’re going to…
I bite down so hard on my lip it’s instantly bleeding as I jam the tip of my knife into the lock and fight with the goddamn thing to just fucking open, but it won’t and I’m seething. Snarling under my breath, begging myself to stay quiet. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
There are cartel men just through the trees. They’re so close.
Fuck. I gotta get out of here.
I’m gone mere moments before they come through. Sprinting between the trees, heart galloping the way I’m weaving and jumping over things, back to the west. Back to my forest.
I’m the fox in my dreams, stealth and wily.
An animal running through the woods.
A predator they won’t see… until it’s too late.
The Ivory’s men are circling the old armory, closing in. This must be where the shootout happened…
Where Hancock went down.
I’m stalking them, breathing shallowed, despite the pure wrath burning inside me.
They’re just so loud, and completely unaware of their surroundings. It’s actually funny. I would laugh if I could, which I can’t.
I’m empty without him.
But alas… This predator is hungry.
Stepping through blood and spent rounds, I advance on my prey. Like a phantom, I grab them, and I end them. One after another, after another…
Slit. Slash. Stab, and gut. I chase them down. I hunt them.
I take my rage out on his men, because it’s the only bit of control I have left.
Six bodies, lying in pools of blood. And I’m just panting, face spattered with sticky red and smears of dirt.
Collecting their guns, I leave them on the left side of the armory for Velle, or whoever he sends to collect. I wish I could stay and talk to them, but it’s not safe.
I’m alone.
I have to be…
Instead, I’ll just stay out here and do what I do best.
I’ll kill, and kill, and fucking kill. For them.
For him…
Bowed to what I am. It’s all I have, and all I can do.
Choke back every ounce of fury and let it fuel me.
Channel your inner Love, Felix…
Steel your emotions. Put them away, and just focus on the task at hand.
Look past the pain, dig your heels in… and fight.
Survive.
Break free from the rope.
Once you do… the hunted becomes the hunter.