Chapter 37 - Kate #2
Good for Charlie. She’s been burned by those closest to her, who should have protected her, yet exploited her.
I’m happy so long as she is. I’d love to call her right now for a long gossip session.
Hear her soothing voice. Tease out the truth over wine.
Get some therapeutic advice. Luxuriate in getting my nails painted.
But it feels weird getting a romance breakdown about her stalker when he’s present.
I’m trespassing on something I’m not supposed to see.
She’ll tell me when she’s ready, and I hope it’s soon, because I’m dying for the spicy goss.
“Treat her right,” I warn, my voice as sharp as the edges on my heart. “She’s got enough scars.”
“I do,” he promises with quiet conviction that makes me believe him. Something about him comes across as honest, unlike a certain he who shall not be named.
I lean back into the chair, nursing my drink, wondering what kind of battlefield Charlie’s going to have to walk through before she’ll believe it herself.
Grayson resumes his work, hacking the social accounts of content creators, political advocates, news commentators, and analysts, pushing the story’s engagement higher and higher.
I get up and observe, fascinated by his ease and speed, him overriding the push back he gets from the Romans in suppressing the story.
Leaning my palms on his desk makes my ribs complain.
Drums pound in my skull and behind my eyes.
Pain I didn’t tell August about because he’ll get the doctor down here.
I’ve had bruised ribs before. This feels slightly different.
Strained from fighting off my attacker and sore from where he slammed my chest and head into the desk.
I prod my ribs gently and suck in my breath at the tender parts.
Every time I shift, the vinyl chair creaks in protest, the shorter leg at the front rocking.
Grayson notices and rolls open a drawer of a filing cabinet under his desk. “Want something stronger?”
I wave him away. “I need to keep my wits about me.”
“Suit yourself.” He shuts the drawer, but it doesn’t close properly.
He glances at the door, a habit he does often, and I trail his gaze, expecting August in the entry. He’s been gone about an hour, and I’m getting antsy for his return.
“Want to see the comments? The women are loud.” Grayson’s wicked tone says he enjoys his evil genius job a little too much. I don’t blame him when he has the power to crush people and dissolve empires at his fingertips.
“Yes!” Book Girlie me crows, inching closer.
“No,” Rational me insists.
I end up going with, “When it doesn’t feel like I’m standing naked on a freeway.”
He chuckles. “You’re missing out.”
Okay. When he dangles a carrot like that, I can’t help but take a gander.
He drags his laptop over to me, and my eyes dart over the flood of usernames and outrage.
JusticeJunkie888: Castrate the creep.
InkandIron: Burn these assholes down!
Momof3: Name the place, and my sisters will bring the baseball bats.
I exchange a smile with Grayson, pleased my article is hitting the right audience, and they’ll fight with me. “Whew. The mob’s out for Burt’s blood.”
Grayson gives me a measured smile. I can see why Charlie likes him. He’s introverted like her, but with quiet strength.
A sharp beep slices through the bunker, breaking up our triumphant moment.
Lights flash, and Grayson’s attention snaps back to his monitor. “Motion sensors in the east perimeter. August and Katar don’t enter that way.”
My heart leaps up my throat. I try to convince myself it’s just a delinquent kid looking for trouble.
Grayson’s chair skids back, rolling into the wall as he launches upright. He moves to another computer and enters in keys. “Three heat signatures moving this way fast.”
Fuck. That’s no kid. The Romans found us. Traced our location somehow.
I fumble for my phone to contact August and get him back here to take care of it. “I thought August said your network is secure.”
“It is. They’ve tracked us by other means.” He glances at me. “Give me your phone. You didn’t leave it alone, did you?”
I think and answer, “When I went to the bathroom at work.”
He removes my Morally Gray Bitch phone cover and rips off a small chip. “They slipped a GPS chip here.” He snaps it in two and drops it on the floor.
“I… I’m sorry,” I start.
Grayson’s jaw tenses, and he punches in a few keys and the screens go black. Lights die in the servers a moment later. “We’re leaving. Now. Grab whatever you can carry.”
Fuck. I stuff my things into the bag his friend delivered for me.
He snatches up a duffel bag and slides his laptop and power adapter into it. My throat dries when he arms himself with the gun on the warped bench.
“This way.” His thin voice makes my stomach drop.
Gun in hand, he takes the lead up the stairs, stopping at the top. His fingers stutter over the keypad, the system flashing red with the wrong password.
“Grayson—” I say.
“Just… give me a second.” The words come out clipped.
He tries again, and I’m afraid of the three strike policy locking us in.
I brush him away. “Give me the key.”
He does and I punch it in. The door releases and I yank it open.
Oh, thank God. Rational Me was about to consider something crazy, like try the vent system next.
We stumble into the hall, his breath coming in short gasps.
His eyes dart to the walls like they’re closing in on him.
My gut sinks at the creaking gun from his twitching fingers.
I recognize the signs because I’ve been there more times than I care to count.
Tight chest that doesn’t let in air. Static ringing in the ears.
Clammy skin. Disorientation and nervous system crashing.
Shit, he’s having a panic attack. The last thing we need when we require a fast getaway and time isn’t on our side.
I catch his arm to steady him. “Slow those breaths, Grayson. Breathe with me. We’re not getting far with you in the throes of anxiety.”
His wide pupils flick to mine in a quick, embarrassed flash.
“Come on.” I tug him forward, but he’s heavy.
“Charlie,” he wheezes, fumbling for his phone.
“What about Charlie?” I shove him two steps.
His phone slips to the floor with a clatter. He scrambles to get it, and it skitters along the linoleum. “Need her voice,” he grits out.
“We don’t have time for that.” I scoop up the device and lift him.
A shot cracks in the air, a bullet pinging the locker ahead of us. I scream and duck.
Grayson stumbles into me. Blood blooms dark on his shoulder. I come away with it on my jacket.
“Go!” He shoves me forward, barely able to get the words out. “August won’t forgive me if you don’t get out of here.”
Like hell. I’m not leaving August’s friend to die.
Another bullet shatters the cinderblock near my head, and I curl my body in. Boot thumps down the hall, and I glance back at the trio closing in on us. Panic claws at my throat as I drag Grayson back three paces.
Rough arms lock around my throat and strap under my chest.
“Get off me!” I fight, kicking, biting, nails raking skin, drawing blood.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” My duffel is ripped from me by a man in a black suit. He slashes my bag, spilling the contents on the ground.
A hood drops over my head before my hiss ends. My world descends into darkness and panic. The ground disappears under me.
Grayson croaks my name as the man drags me away.
I don’t go without giving them hell, writhing and head butting the man carrying me. Fire cracks from my skull to my neck.
“Fuck!” he snaps, almost dropping me.
“The boss wants this little bitch alive,” someone grunts. “Don’t touch her. That’s his job.”
Another man grabs my wrists and twists them behind my back.
I arch and cry out, my brain misfiring, scrambling to remember my self-defense training.
Plastic ties bite into my wrists and cut tight before I lock onto a single technique.
I’m hauled out of the school and tossed into the trunk of a car, locked inside, choking down the sob in my throat.
They drive long enough for the muscles in my shoulders to scream and cramp, my wrists to beg for freedom, and my brain to cycle through places I don’t want to consider. The vehicle slows on gravel and crunches to a stop. Doors grind open. A roller door perhaps?
Light filters through the fine spaces of the fabric over me as the trunk opens. Two men lift me out and carry me inside to my doom.