Chapter 16 #2
Opal’s pulse hammered in her ears, making her head pound with it. This was her chance.
Maybe her only one.
A thin band of pale light streamed through the blinds, but she didn’t need light for what she was about to do. This was muscle memory, instinct and years of training condensed into a single moment.
Leaning forward, she jerked her arms in a sharp move to break the plastic ties. The motion made the handcuffs cut into her wrists, but she tried again and again until the plastic of one gave way.
She threw herself into breaking the other. It took three more tries, but she snapped that one too.
She worked her bound hands upward, fingers skimming the tiny, useless back pocket of the trousers she’d borrowed from Alyssa. She’d never understood what those pockets were for. Women didn’t carry wallets, and the small slit couldn’t fit a phone.
The fabric was tight and unforgiving, but Opal shimmied and strained until her fingertips brushed a sliver of warm metal.
The bobby pin Smith taught her to always carry, just in case.
Relief flooded through her so fast and fierce it dizzied her, and her vision swam for a heartbeat before she dragged in a steadying breath.
Always be prepared, Smith had told her, and handed her that first bobby pin years ago and trained her to pick locks with it. He’d drilled into her that it wasn’t just a skill, it was the difference between walking out alive and being found in pieces.
She already had one tip of the pin bent into a small hook.
When she worked it into the lock, twisting her hands at an angle that made them ache, adrenaline screamed through her system.
She tamped it down, pulling in calming breaths through her nose, part of her mind out there with Cipher and what was going on and the other part in the small inner workings of the lock.
She felt for the catch point, the sweet spot that would—
The lock gave with a soft pop that sounded like a gunshot to her. She shot a glance at the closed door, her head spinning—not only from the blow that leveled her but from the crushing weight of what was coming next.
The tracker on her boot was still active, broadcasting her location to whoever cared to look.
That person would be Sinner. Unless Cipher got to him first.
No. She would not let that thought penetrate her brain.
Sinner would come for her because that was who he was—loyal and protective.
But Cipher wouldn’t let him just walk through that door and rescue her. Which meant she had to keep him from getting himself killed.
She couldn’t let Cipher use her as bait to hurt Sinner. She could survive most things—the bad childhood, a lonely existence and training that made her a tool for the FBI.
But she wouldn’t survive it if she was the reason Sinner got killed.
She stood slowly, testing her balance as the room rotated around her once…and twice.
She swayed but remained upright, gritting her teeth and pushing through the sick sensation.
Pain is just information. Use it or let it stop you.
She made it to the door with silent steps and jabbed the bobby pin into the lock.
Before she could trip it, the door flew open, slamming into her forehead.
Hard fingers bit into her arm as stars arced across her vision. Someone yanked her against his chest, knocking the air out of her.
When cold steel pressed into her throat, the sharp edge rattled her from her stupor. A blade pressed into her skin with just enough pressure to sting without breaking flesh.
She knew the blade—her own knife. The one she’d carried for years and that had saved her life more times than she could count. The dirty son of a bitch had stolen it from her when he knocked her out, and turned it on her now.
Her mind raced through options, calculating her odds with the cold detachment Smith had beaten into her.
She could elbow him in the ribs and his injured leg might throw off his balance. She could stomp his instep, go for his eyes, drop her weight and slip from his grip.
But the knife was so close she felt the blade move with every pulse of her jugular. One wrong move and he’d open her throat.
From the street came the screech of tires, not from just one vehicle but multiple vehicles skidding to a stop in front of the house.
The team. Blackout Charlie.
Sinner.
She stopped the surge of relief before even a drop flowed into her system. She had to keep a clear head and not let her emotions overcome her.
Cipher stiffened, his grip tightening on her arm until it went numb. “Your boyfriend brought his friends.”
Terror squeezed her lungs until she couldn’t draw a full breath. They’d come for her—of course they had—but now they were all in danger because of her.
Cipher started backing them out of the room and down a hallway, the knife still pressed to her skin hard. She moved with him, shuffling in awkward tandem as her mind continued to race through ways to shift the odds and give the team an opening.
Sinner, where are you?
She darted her gaze side to side but only saw plaster walls with water stains from some old plumbing leak.
They reached a door, and with a grunt of pain, Cipher kicked it open using the leg she’d stabbed just—was that only a day ago? All the hours blurred into one endless block of time.
The wood splintered as it slammed open, and Cipher dragged her out onto a porch, using her body as a shield.
Her stare raked over peeling paint and dry-rotted wood…to worn denim hugging muscular hips.
She jerked her gaze up and it landed on Sinner’s face.
A cry bottled in her throat, but she refused to let it loose for fear of giving Cipher more ammo to use against her and the man she loved.
Sinner stood in the middle of the overgrown yard with his weapon raised and his face a mask of apocalyptic rage.
The metal crash of car doors echoed from the street.
“That’s the team.” Sinner’s voice was lethal in a way she’d never heard before. “You’ve got two choices, Sheen. Decide between revenge or freedom.”
Cipher’s laugh was dark and utterly devoid of humanity. “You think I’m afraid of you?”
“You should be.”
Cipher’s grip on her tightened—and then pain seared across her collarbone, the blade slicing through skin and muscle in one vicious stroke. Hot blood welled up immediately to soak her shirt and run down her chest in warm rivulets.
She gasped in shock, her free hand flying up to press against the wound.
Sinner’s weapon didn’t waver, but his eyes—god, his eyes—went black with murderous intent. “Let. Her. Go.” Each word was as sharp and precise as the blade in Cipher’s grip. “Now.”
Without warning, Cipher shoved her forward. She stumbled, legs refusing to cooperate and bile rushing up her throat.
Sinner caught her before she hit the ground, his arm locking around her waist protectively. Shouts sounded all around them, booming through the neighborhood.
And Cipher…was gone.
Opal sagged against Sinner, blood seeping between her fingers.
“Damn it,” she bit off. “That’s gonna leave a scar.”
Fury vibrated through his body, but she felt a tremor too as he swept her up in his arms. “I’ll cover it with a tattoo,” he rumbled.
“Caius…”
“Christ, Opal.” He pulled her tighter against his chest and took off around the house, passing Steele and Chickie racing toward the dilapidated fence that Cipher had obviously managed to scale and get away.
Cradled in Sinner’s strong arms, Opal’s mind cleared enough to know she didn’t give a damn about scars—they were the proof she survived something that tried to kill her.
She cared that she was alive. That Sinner was alive. That they’d both made it out and nothing—not Cipher or the FBI, Project Lazarus or the whole damn world—was going to tear them apart.