30. Zoe
30
ZOE
The adrenaline rush is like no other. My heart pounds against my ribs and echoes in my ears. I keep my grip tight and choking. Boone jerks against me, trying to wrestle himself free. I tighten my hold even more, arms and legs knotted around him. His face reddens from the strain.
Pressing the blade more firmly into his throat, I boldly look around the barroom.
“Lower your weapons,” I command. “Do it now. Put them down and hold your hands up. The Kings will be coming out to collect them. Then we’ll see where things go from there.”
Boone’s men hesitate. Their gazes dip to him restrained within my grasp. The air in the room feels charged, so tense it’s visceral.
Boone grows frustrated and grits his teeth. The blade has pressed deeper into his flesh, a few beads of blood bubbling to the surface.
“Do what she says!” he snarls at them.
Slowly, his men begin lowering their weapons, the metal clicking as they’re placed onto the floor. Relief rolls over me, lightening my pulse.
Once Ozzie and the others collect their weapons, then it’s over. We’ve won.
Boots scrape across the floor, loud in the tense barroom. I look up at the same time everyone else does, detecting where the sound’s coming from.
Behind all of us.
The realization slams into me and evaporates all the relief that’s begun to wash in.
Boone has more men.
A sick sensation twists inside my stomach. I come to the slow realization that we don’t have the upper hand I thought we did.
We’re surrounded.
I maintain my submission hold on Boone despite how I feel on the inside. The dread spreads through the room, reaching the others too.
We’re screwed.
Boone shifts beneath me, and then he laughs.
The sound is low at first, more of a quiet, amused chuckle, but then it builds into a full-blown fit of laughter. His body shakes from the force of it.
“Oh, sweetheart, you really thought you had me, didn’t you? I gotta say, you almost did. You were so close. But this? This was adorable .”
The edges of my vision blur slightly as my brain struggles to catch up with the situation. I’m searching for any possible out. Some way we can get ourselves out of this.
I come up with nothing.
Boone’s men stand with their weapons set on us from all sides. Their fingers hover over their triggers, waiting on his next command.
“How about we start with this? Let me go,” Boone orders. “Drop the blade, sweetheart. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn. I’ll handle you. My men will handle the Kings.”
My fingers tighten around the switchblade, breathing shallow and slow. My gaze flickers to Ozzie, communicating with the looks we exchange. I’m checking for his thoughts, seeking some kind of direction or confirmation.
He’s as attuned to me as I am to him. His jaw is clenched, his glare telling me what I’ve known deep down. He gives a stiff nod.
Don’t fight him on it. Do as he says.
FUCK!
My stomach twists as I process what he means.
I hesitate a moment longer, trying to push down the urge to keep fighting, keep refusing, keep standing my ground.
But there’s no way out of this right now. We’re surrounded and outnumbered, and they’ll kill all of us before we could ever kill all of them.
Boone’s won this round. We’ll have to see how circumstances change.
Taking a slow breath, I loosen my grip on him. The switchblade falls from my fingers and clatters against the floor. The final death knell of any leverage I had left.
Boone doesn’t hesitate. The second I release him, he’s up on his feet.
He wrenches me up by the neckline of my shirt, spinning me around and twisting my arms behind my back.
“Good girl,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath warm and sickly against my skin. His grip tightens to the point of sharp pain. “Now the others.”
Ozzie, Mudd, and Johnny Flanagan set their weapons down, their movements stiff with reluctance as they step out from behind the overturned tables. Boone’s men grab them immediately, twisting their arms behind their backs and forcing them forward. Boone lets one of his men accost me and stands at ease in the middle of the takeover, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. His grin widens like a man who knows he’s already won.
“You’re coming with me,” he announces. “All of you. We’ve got a guest appearance to make at a very special meeting.”
He slides the cigarette between his lips, flicks his lighter, and takes a deep drag. The smoke billows from his pursed lips as he turns and blows a cloud into my face. I clamp my mouth shut and resist the urge to sputter out a cough, my eyes squinting against the chemical smoke.
I won’t let him know how much it reeks or stings being blown right in my face. In my eyes.
Ozzie, on the other hand, bucks against the man restraining him. “You asshole! You dipshit motherfucker—let me at you! Just you and me, Boone. I’ll break your goddamn face!”
Boone lets out a delighted laugh, shaking his head as if Ozzie’s rage only amuses him. His attention shifts back to me. “So, is the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing for real?”
He waits for my answer as Ozzie continues jerking violently against the guy holding him.
When I don’t provide an answer, Boone seems satisfied anyway. His tone is teasing, like he’s soaking up every moment he gets to taunt us. “I’ve gotta admit, you two seemed like an odd pairing when Oz told me you were together. Then those little sweet kisses you exchanged during the tournament…”
He places a hand over his chest in mock sentiment. Some of his other men grunt out thick laughter.
“Man, it made my heart melt. It made me think you might actually be into each other. And that’s gonna make things so much more fun. Know that.” He nods to his men. “Tie them up. We’ve got places to be.”
We’re marched out of the Steel Saloon. I drag my feet as I’m nudged me forward, and I manage to throw a quick glance over my shoulder.
Mick is the only one who remains. He managed to make it to the stockroom like Ozzie said. Which means he’s our only hope to alert the rest of the Kings.
The henchman gives me another rough shove. I stumble over my own feet as we reach the back of a van and the henchman throws a coil of rope over my wrists. He begins looping and knotting the rope wherever he can, tightening it so the rough material abrades my wrists.
The same is happening to Ozzie and the others. We’re being bound by rope while the rest of his men move toward the other vehicles they’ve brought with them. Then they shove us inside the back of the van. I’m pushed so hard, I tumble with no free hands to catch my fall.
Instead my knees do. My left one hits the metal framing at the van’s entrance, sending a sharp jolt of pain ringing through me.
That’s sure to bruise and swell.
The doors slam shut and they bang on them tauntingly.
Ozzie is on the floor of the van next to me. He waits to speak ’til the doors up front are popping open and the two who’ll be driving our van climb in.
“Are you fucking crazy? What the hell was that back there?”
I breathe through the pain and shake my head. “Keep your voice down.”
The van lurches forward, the engine rumbling as it rolls along the uneven terrain. I shift against the cold metal wall, my stomach in knots. Through the windows on the van’s back doors, I see the other cars falling in line behind us.
“They’re taking us to the meeting,” I whisper. “The one between the Steel Kings and the Road Rebels. They’re going to use us as leverage.”
Ozzie exhales, his jaw clenching. He’s looking toward Mudd and Flanagan. “Get ready to fight dirty. Kick dust in their eyes if you have to.”
I shift my wrists against the binds again. The rough material scratches against the delicate skin of my wrist. I breathe slower, drawing in steadier breaths. I’m forcing my mind to focus. My thoughts into clarity.
Stay calm.
I’ve spent years chasing this moment. If this is the end, I’ll make sure Boone doesn’t walk away from it either.
I turn to Ozzie. “Reach into my pocket.”
He eyes me in confusion. “What?”
“The switchblade,” I whisper. “I grabbed it off the floor when Boone yanked me up. I slid it into my pocket.”
Admiration passes over his features before he inches closer and maneuvers his bound hands toward my jean pockets. It’s not easy considering both his wrists are knotted together and his hands are large.
But his fingers are long as they dip into the denim pouch and feel around for the switchblade.
The van jerks as we make a turn on the road. We have no choice but to wobble along with the vehicle as it passes over gravel and bumps.
Ozzie nearly slides all the way into the van wall. He regains his balance and inches back toward me.
“Fuck,” he mutters, digging into my pocket. “This is harder than it looks.”
The van rattles over another bump, jarring him forward, but he manages to grasp the handle just before it slides out of reach. He flips the blade open, the sharp edge glinting in the dim light.
Together, we work the blade through the thick rope. It takes a lot of precise sawing motions and some finger cramping holding it at awkward angles.
The rope thins against my skin as Ozzie cuts into it and then frees my hands altogether. I scurry over to return the favor, grabbing the blade from him and starting on his binds.
It takes some work, but we manage to free the four of us.
Ozzie cups my face and presses a hard, desperate kiss to my lips. “We’re getting through this together,” he murmurs, his brow resting against mine. “No matter what.”
I nod, but I don’t say the words back. I know the truth. I’ve made peace with dying tonight if it means Boone goes down.
The van slows to a stop.
Ozzie glances around at the others. “Give them hell.”
Mudd and Flanagan nod along.
“Bite, kick, scratch,” Ozzie goes on. “Anything you’ve got to do to raise hell.”
The engine cuts off, but the back doors remain shut. We listen to their footsteps crunching on gravel as they hop out of their vehicles and then reconvene. Boone’s voice stands out among the others as he talks to his men about what their plan is from here.
We only catch bits and pieces. Stuff like “get the jump on them” and “if Rollins ain’t with the program, he can get it too”.
I frown, trying to piece it all together.
The van doors are wrenched open only a few seconds later. Ozzie, Mudd, Flanagan and I lunge forward.
And then freeze once we realize we’re staring at multiple rifle barrels pointed right at us.
Boone steps into view, his dark shades even darker in the night. “So predictable. You didn’t think we wouldn’t count on you trying this, did you?”
The men on either side of him reach inside the van to drag Ozzie and the other two out.
I’m taken last as Boone reaches in and grabs my arm. “You're coming with me, sweetheart.”
My stomach roils at his touch. All I can think about is Zani. How much I hate this man. How I’d do anything to make him pay.
We start walking toward a wooded area. My boots drag along, making it harder for him to pull me at his side. He punishes me by squeezing at my arm with bruising force.
We’re not far from where the Steel Kings and Road Rebels should be meeting up. It’s likely Silver and Rollins are already in negotiations.
Boone crushes my arms in his grip some more, jolting me out of my thoughts. “So, I didn’t realize we had beef, sweetheart. That you apparently hate my guts. That true?”
I don’t answer. My jaw locks as I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. The sharp, metallic tang hits my tongue, providing the distraction I need from doing something reckless.
Boone chuckles at my silence. “Apparently, you think I’m some monster? I’m the sole reason you became a federal agent? Don’t I feel special?”
He really is savoring every moment he gets to rub it in. Every chance he gets to remind me he’s in control.
“You remember my good friend Carlito Estrada, don’t you?” he asks as we walk. He shoves me ahead and makes me stumble some more. “Well, it probably doesn’t surprise you to know, he’s disgustingly rich. And when you’re disgustingly rich, you tend to be able to do things regular normies can’t.
“Carlito was out of jail within hours after the bust. He figured he’d help me and Rollins escape since we made for such good business partners. He made a couple phone calls, and what do you know? Our transport route changed. Just so the Road Rebels could be waiting to swoop in and interrupt.”
My heart thrums harder. I continue gnawing on my inner cheek to refrain from speaking.
“But you want to know what else he was up to?” he asks. “He did some digging on the beautiful and alluring FBI special agent named Zoelle Strauss. Even found her parents.”
Instant rage burns through me like a firebomb. “Stay away from them!”
Boone throws his head back and laughs. “Too late. Carlito bribed them to lure you back. Remember that phone call about the lights being cut off? They figured… how could you resist? You never have before. But it didn’t work. You were a step ahead. Already out of the state. Funny though.” He drags me closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. “You still wound up in my clutches anyway. So much for your victory.”
I clench my teeth and grit out, “So much for yours.”
“Is that a threat, sweetheart?”
“It’s a promise. You’re never going to win. I won’t let you.”
His grip crushes my arm to the point I almost wince. With his other hand, he plucks his cigarette from between his lips and blows a cloud directly in my face. It’s the second time in minutes, and this time I can’t stop the chemical smoke from making me cough.
“Too damn late, doll. Just like you were too damn late for your little sis.”
A switch flips inside me.
The rage burning inside of me vanishes, going out like a lit candle that’s been snuffed. Replacing it is a sense of eerie calm. A quiet, numbed lack of feeling as things like fear, doubt, hesitation cease to exist.
I know what I have to do. I know how this night ends.
Boone dies.
And if I have to go with him, so be it.