Lives Worth Saving #2
I strip him of ammo and his weapons. Hide what I can’t carry, and take the rest with me. My hands shake now due to adrenaline, but they’re steady enough.
Voices are closing in. Shouting. Men running. Orders are being barked from somewhere nearby.
I don’t wait for them to arrive. I slip out of the mess hall and head toward the sound of the crying women, knowing that seconds wasted could determine if they live or die.
When I find them, it's in an older part of the prison. Both are locked up. Each in their own cell. I search the area first, but when I don’t see any of the men, I double back.
“How do I open the cells?”
“One of them has the key,” she whispers urgently. “They call him Riker. He’s the one with a mustache and a red flannel.”
She’s a small thing. Petite. A brunette. The bruises marring her face make something feral rise in my chest—a sharp, violent need to commit more murder.
She grabs my hands when I come to the bars, her slender fingers wrapping around mine.
“You should go before they come back,” she pleads. “Get as far the fuck away from here as you can.”
“No. That’s not why I came here. I came to get you out.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not possible. There are too many of them.” Her eyes are frantic as they sweep over my face.
“Hey, hey. Calm down.” I keep my voice low and steady. “What’s your name?”
“Lila.”
“Lila.” I hold her gaze. “I promise it’s going to be okay. I can do this. Just trust me, okay.”
I peer into the cell beside hers.
A blond girl is handcuffed to the bed. Duct tape stretches cruelly across her mouth. Her lower body is naked and visibly marked, and though she struggles weakly, she only makes the wounds beneath the cuffs worse.
My jaw tightens.
“I’ll get you both out of here.”
“How?”
I take Lila’s hands again and hold them between mine.
“I may not look like much, but I know how to handle myself.”
It takes her a moment to absorb that. Then slowly she nods. Fear and dread still shadow her features, but something fragile flickers to life in her eyes.
Hope.
“Look,” I say quietly. “Just play along, okay? Whatever happens, don’t freak out. I need to get close to them to get the keys if that’s the only way to open these bars.”
“It is.”
“Okay.” I squeeze her hands once more. “Then that’s what I’m going to do. Just try to stay calm.”
I step back from the cells and move into the open corridor, making sure they can see me when they return.
Slowly, deliberately, I unclip my knife and set it on the floor. Then the gun. I push both away with the toe of my sneaker and raise my hands. I back up until my shoulders brush cold concrete. Every instinct in me screams. I force myself to breathe through it.
Footsteps echo down the hall.
“In here, assholes!” I shout.
Male voices. Laughter. The scrape of boots. The guy who enters the cellblock first does so in a careless way, the way men get when they think they have nothing to fear.
“Well, I’ll be fucked,” he says. “Riker,” he shouts. “Cell block C. And it looks like we caught ourselves a stray feisty female.”
I don’t answer. I keep my palms open. Keep my posture small to appear intimidated. Let them believe what they want.
He approaches alone, swaggering, eyes roaming over me in slow appraisal.
“Hands on your head,” he says.
I comply.
His grin grows, as does his confidence. He steps within my reach.
I surge forward before his brain catches up to his sight and drive my shoulder into his chest, taking him to the ground. My knee slams into his ribs. Air explodes from his lungs.
He tries to roll and get on top of me. So I hook my arm around his throat and lock it in tight, my forearm crushing into his windpipe as I drag him backward against me.
His hands claw at my arm, shredding skin. He bucks and kicks wildly against the floor. I plant my feet as far back as I can, pouring everything I have into the hold.
His face begins to turn red. Before he loses consciousness, another set of boots pounds down the hallway. Red fades to purple, and the man I’m holding starts to go limp. He manages a wet gasp, fingers scraping desperately at my sleeve.
I keep my cheek pressed against his temple and whisper in his ear. “Don’t fight it.”
His body starts to tremble. That’s when Riker comes through the doorway.
“Let him go.” His voice is deep and commanding. He’s calm. Too calm. Second go by before cold metal presses against my skull. His gun. “I said, let him the fuck go. Now.”
My eyes flick up to Riker’s. He visibly reacts. Mine haven’t changed back to their normal hazel just yet, not completely, which has him pausing in shock.
“You’re one of them. A Harbinger.”
The pulse beneath my forearm stutters and begins to slow. The man in my arms spasms once, twice, and after the third time, his arms fall weakly to the side as the rest of his body goes limp. I push it to the side, and his dead weight hits the floor with a thud.
Riker swears. Because yes, his shock and fascination just cost his buddy his life, and by the curses he vehemently utters under his breath, he knows it.
Before I can so much as move, he grabs a fistful of my hair and hauls me upright, wrenching my neck back until I’m staring at the ceiling.
“Where the fuck did you come from and who the fuck are you?” he growls.
I say nothing.
He places the gun under my jaw. “How many did you kill?”
I give him my best smile. “All of them.”
Disbelief builds over his features. The tendons in his arm move. I jerk my face to the side so the shot he takes only grazes my ear. But another hits me square in the chest as he backs up a step.
The bullet shouldn’t have, but it takes me by surprise. Another gunshot wound to the gut, and another to my hip.
I fall to the floor and begin to bleed out.
Behind us, Lila screams, sobbing for him to stop.
My grin stays somewhat in place because even though I’m dying, the keys are clutched inside my hand.
I close my eyes and let him believe he’s seen the last of me and my smile.
When I wake, it's to a disgusting grunt and more feminine cries. I peel my eyes open slowly and take in my surroundings. Riker is giving CPR to his buddy, focused entirely on him and not looking my way.
“Come on, Dale. Pull through, man.”
I move carefully. I feel eyes on me—Lila’s, I assume—as I stretch my fingers out to my side, searching for one of my weapons. After a few seconds of searching, my hand locates cold metal.
I shift just enough to draw it closer, wrap my fingers around the grip, and bring it up in one smooth motion. The bullet I send into Riker’s back is utterly satisfying.
His body jolts with the impact, and he falls forward with a grunt and groan. Turning, he shouts, “What the actual fuck!”
I rise to my feet and lift my shirt, showing him my unblemished skin.
His eyes bulge.
I shoot him twice more in the chest. You know. So we’re even.
He clutches his hand over the wounds and begins to spit up blood as he coughs.
“Funny thing,” I say, crouching in front of him. “You can’t actually kill someone who can’t be killed.”
I hold up my hand and dangle the keys in front of his face. “Thanks for these. Super helpful.”
He lifts an arm, attempting to grab them from me, but he doesn’t have the strength. His eyes blink repeatedly as if he’s fighting to stay conscious.
“You know, I truly believe there’s a special place in Hell for men like you. So enjoy these last few moments.” I slap the side of his face, then stand and turn toward the cells. I don’t watch him take his last breaths. He’s no longer my concern.
Lila’s eyes are too big for her dainty face. “He shot you,” she whispers harshly. “Killed you. I saw it.”
“Yes, but there’s something you should probably know about me.” I shrug. “I can’t die. Or at least nothing anyone has tried has worked so far.”