Chapter 49 #2
“I’m real, bunny. I promise. Everything about you and me is so goddamn real.” I don’t know if she hears me, because she seems to slip back under, her eyes growing hooded and dreamy. Whatever version of me the drug is painting, she’s looking for the real thing in its strokes. I can see her trying.
“Fuck.” I swallow past the dryness in my throat, as I saw threads of rope at her wrists with my Fury knife.
With her in this state, I can’t have her completely free yet and blow any secrecy and upper hand I might gain.
I need it to look like she’s still tied, but I want her to have the option to flee.
I cut through the core strands and leave the outer wrap loose.
Quickly, I reach to slice Duchess’s too, aiding them so that both can pull free when they need to.
I lift her head and try to meet her unfocused gaze. “Who did this to you? Whose head do you want to roll, Lucy? Tell me who did this and I’ll give it to you.”
“The beast,” she slurs, the light in her eyes fading out almost completely and quickening my pulse.
“Grady Wilde, my cousin,” Duchess murmurs, and my fingers accidentally tighten around the nape of Lucy’s neck, ready to pull her into me and flee from these monsters if necessary.
“He—” Her voice catches. “He’s been on her all night. Touching her. He was about to—”
“I know.” My grip on my knife handle goes white. I swallow, pushing down my impulses.
“He won’t touch her again. Your cousin is a dead man.”
“Good,” Duchess whispers.
Then I cup Lucy’s face one more time. She’s so fucking soft it makes my chest ache.
“Don’t run from me when this is over, bunny. Okay?”
Her mouth moves, but nothing comes out. She’s trying, even when her eyes roll back and I have a goddamn heart attack.
“Hey.” I stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Eyes on me, Lucy. It’s just me.”
Something shifts in her expression. The glassiness pulls back, just for a second, and I know without a doubt she sees me. The real me. Not the Hatter, not the drug’s version. Me.
“Hatton?” she whispers.
My shoulders sag.
“There you are.” I press my forehead to hers. “Hold on for me, baby. I’m going to save you.”
I kiss her forehead and vanish behind a wall, traveling to X next.
I cross the ruin low and fast, keeping to the shadows along the wall until I reach the alcove. His good eye snaps to me the second I clear the pillar.
“Hatter?” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I’m already working my knife through the thick rope. It takes four cuts before it frays enough to pull apart. “What happened?”
“Those fuckers jumped me behind The Rabbit Hole.” He rolls his wrists as the rope falls away, grimacing. “Put a gun to my head. The last thing I heard was Duchess crying.” His voice goes rough on her name. “They used me to get her to cooperate.”
Cooperate.
As in betray Lucy?
“… the initial betrayal played out just as DarkBoard predicted.”
My jaw tics, but I push that fear down, staying on task and handing him my backup piece from my ankle holster. “Can you shoot?”
He peers around the alcove. The men are still arguing loudly, so he racks the slide one-handed, testing his grip. His right arm is slow but functional, and he nods.
“I can shoot.”
“Good. Also, there’s an axe just outside your cubby?” I raise a brow, huffing in derision. “Fucking bold. Who the hell just carries around an axe? And why the hell would they leave it near their enemy?”
“Part of a bet, I’m sure,” he grumbles. “They’re like dumb versions of Jigsaw.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, if you decide to be so creatively inclined, might could be a fun little weapon. I’ve got my knife and my gun, so take your pick. I say we take each of them out, then get our girls.”
He looks past me toward where Duchess is tied up, and his whole body goes rigid. He takes a step toward her, as if drawn to her.
“She’s alive,” I say, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “I need you with me first. We clear the field, then we get them. Got it? I already cut her rope, so if she needs to run, she can.”
My jaw tics. Hopefully Lucy can too.
Every tendon in X’s neck is taut. He looks at Duchess, then at the men by the fire, then back at me.
“For Duchy,” he says quietly. “I’ll do whatever you need.” Then his voice goes low, and shadows fill the sharp angles on his face. “But Jabber is fucking mine.”
With that, he stuffs the gun in his waistband and picks up the axe.
I nod once. “Give ‘em hell, X.” I pat his chest. “Wait for my signal.”
His brow furrows. “What’ll that be?”
“Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”
Then I melt back into the darkness and into position.
X peels away to the west wall, and the plan takes shape between us without words.
He flanks wide, I take center, and I’ve barely found a good vantage point when the Grady fucker separates from the fire again.
He takes a swig from a bottle then tosses it to one of his men before setting his sights on her.
I don’t know how much he’s had, but he doesn’t look drunk.
Though he definitely looks too sure of himself.
His gait is loose and predatory as he heads straight for Lucy.
When he kneels in front of her, my vision tunnels to a single point.
Grady grabs Lucy’s thighs. “Now. Where were—”
In one fluid, furious motion, I step out from behind the gravestone, raise my gun, and put a bullet through his shoulder.
“Get your fucking hands off my wife.”