Chapter 32 #2
“Do you have an answer now?” I stand, crossing my arms. Briefly, there’s a light hum as the power flickers, but I suspect it just isn’t well connected this far down.
He doesn’t move, but that dark gaze is pinned on me.
I chuckle, knowing that I need to keep a tight leash on my control. “You don’t want to push me. You have no idea how much I love to break people.”
To prove my point, I grab his hand and twist. With the right pressure and angle, there’s a sickening pop and the man groans.
“Start talking before I decide to test how many broken bones it will take to make you pass out.”
His breathing is a little ragged, but he doesn’t twitch. A part of me feels like I should wait until Kieran gets here to go too far.
But a larger part wants to make him bleed .
I’m no saint. That’s why Kieran loves me.
Pulling a knife from my thigh sheath, I drag it up the column of his throat. For the first time, fear flashes across his face, and I can’t hold in the grin. I love when people finally realize that I won’t hold back.
Tipping his chin up with the end of my blade, I lean in close.
“I have several blades and know a lot of ways to make you scream without letting you die. Don’t test me.
” I apply a little more pressure, and he strains, trying to get away from the sharp edge.
“What were you doing when you were caught?”
“Cutting wires.” He says it so softly his throat barely bobs. I ease off the pressure a little. “I was given a map of the specific wires.”
“Broadcasting wires?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes widen when I step closer, digging the knife into his skin. Blood trickles down his throat, and he gasps, “I swear.”
I hum, dragging the blade down through the blood. “I don’t believe you.” I can see it in his eyes. He might not know exactly what the wires are for, but he knows the end goal.
And I don’t like being lied to.
“I don’t know?—”
I slam the palm of my fist into his face. I honestly can’t help it. He’s getting on my nerves.
The crunch of his nose fills me with delight as his head snaps back. He coughs as blood pours down his throat, and he drops his head forward so he doesn’t suffocate.
I step back, wiping my knife along my thigh and tucking it away. The lights overhead flicker, and I try to ignore it. Again, I get that feeling—the same prickling one from when we arrived.
I can’t show weakness right now, though, so I level my gaze on the man in front of me, blood dripping down his face. “Don’t make me ask again.”
He coughs, blood dribbling down his chin, but doesn’t answer.
The lights flicker again, and the disruptions in power seem to be coming more and more frequently. I glance to Jude, whose icy gaze is hard. I can already tell this isn’t normal. “What is that?”
“I don’t know.” I can read his face so well that I know he doesn’t want to admit it. “Maybe we should go up?—”
The lights go out all together.
My stomach drops. That instinct that has been screaming at me roars, and I shouldn’t have ignored it. But I tried to play it off as knowing that Kieran was going to be pissed when he found out I was down here with him. I tried to tell myself it was adrenaline or Rohan’s growing paranoia.
Not what it really was—my body trying to tell me something I should have been listening to.
“We need to get you out of here.” Jude’s voice is rough, and I swear that there’s an underlying current of emotion I never thought I’d hear there. Terror. “I never should have brought you down here without?—“
The door slams open, and I'm blinded. I react on instinct, pulling my favorite fighting blade from the sheath and sinking back, looking for the wall that should be at my back. But it’s hard to focus with no sight and the sounds of far too many people storming in.
I know I take down a few bodies from the grunts and thuds, the slick warmth on my hand that I easily recognize as blood. I only have a flicker of worry that stabbing blindly will hurt Jude or anyone who comes to help us.
A low whistle catches my attention, directing me. I know that it’s Jude’s signal. It’s an easy way for us to communicate in case of situations exactly like this—something I taught him when we started training together. I answer back with my own low sound, trying to find him in the chaos.
But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t give me another guide.
Where the fuck is ? —
“I got her.”
A low and gruff voice says right as a muscular forearm wraps around my throat, and I do everything to break free.
I don’t recognize the voice, but I haven’t made a habit of learning any of the rebels.
Miles has identified some, but for the most part, I’ve stayed focused on training the guards to kill the bastards.
Maybe if I had bothered to learn, I could identify who has me right now.
All I know is my captor is no amateur, and even stabbing my blade into his thigh only earns me a grunt.
Something cool and wet covers my face, sealing perfectly over my nose. I thrash more aggressively, not daring to breathe as I kick the handle of the knife, trying to get him to loosen his grip.
But he holds out longer than I can. His arm tightens on my throat, and my lungs are on fire. I have to breathe, despite knowing the chemicals I’m about to inhale. I hope that Kieran will be here soon, that Jude won’t let these fuckers take me, that even Caius or Larkin will be of some kind of use.
Because no matter how I twist, I can’t get a good hold on him. No matter how much pain I inflict, he doesn’t loosen. I’ve never fought someone so impervious to pain.
It makes me wonder if those toxins the rebels are breathing in kill their nerve endings as well as they kill the rest of their cells. Or if the one holding me has just learned to ignore a fucking knife twisting in his thigh.
I thrash and kick, but there’s no way out. Not when I’m lightheaded, desperate to breathe, and without even a conscious thought, my body overrides my mind. My mouth opens even when I plead with my body not to, and I suck in a breath.
My lungs burn as I suck in air, and a slightly sweet taste coats my tongue. A buzz floods my system, and I can’t move. Bit by bit, my whole body shuts down, becoming unresponsive until I feel my consciousness slipping from my grasp.
I can only hope that my husband will find me.
And when he does, we will rip every one of these bastards apart together.