Chapter 13
Amber’s heart pounded like a drum in her chest, the rhythm syncopated with the drip of water somewhere in the dank room where she was held captive. Her hair clung to her face, plastered by sweat, and she searched the poorly lit space for any sign of weakness.
“Focus,” she whispered to herself, the sound scarcely louder than the scuttle of a roach across the cold concrete floor. She listened intently to her captors speaking in raised voices on the other side of the door for clues that might aid her escape. Her wrists chafed against the zip ties, a biting reminder of her dire situation. She recalled the episodes of her crime documentary series where she”d detailed escapes and survival—never imagining she”d apply those lessons firsthand. But here she was, about to put theory into practice.
The room was dim, the single bulb overhead flickering intermittently. In one corner lay a stack of boxes—supplies, perhaps? In another, a rusted pipe dripped at a maddeningly slow rate. It was the sort of setting she”d seen before, a tableau of despair, but Amber saw it differently—an environment ripe with opportunity.
She shifted slightly, feeling the give in the chair to which she was bound. A plan began to form in her mind. The zip ties—they were tight but not infallible. She recalled an episode where an escape artist demonstrated how to break free from such restraints. With measured movements, she began to rub the ties against the metal edge of the chair, working the plastic against the rough surface. The friction burned, but so did her desire for freedom.
“Almost there,” she breathed, the ties weakening. In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a glint of metal—a loose screw on the floor, fallen from the dilapidated chair. If she could just reach it...
With a contortionist”s grace born of desperation, Amber angled her body, extending her bound hands toward the small object. Her fingertips brushed against the cold metal, and with a surge of adrenaline, she grasped it.
“Got it,” she muttered triumphantly.
With the makeshift tool, she twisted and turned, working the edge of the screw against the tie. The material stretched, fatigued, and finally gave way with a satisfying snap. Her hands were free. Amber paused for a moment, allowing herself the briefest sigh of relief before she set to work on her ankles. She wasn’t sure why her captive hadn’t killed her on sight unless they planned on using her as a bargaining chip or…selling her.
Amber knew Hunter would be out there somewhere. She had no doubt he’d be coming in, guns a blazing, to save her. But Amber didn’t need a knight on a white horse. She wouldn’t meekly sit by and wait to be rescued. No, she’d rescue herself.
Barefooted—they’d removed her shoes and socks to make escape harder—she stood in the center of the decrepit room, hands finally free, feeling the grit and grime beneath her soles. The door creaked open, and two men stepped inside, their eyes widening at the sight of Amber”s liberated stance.
“?La chica está suelta!” one shouted, surprise contorting his face into a snarl.
Without hesitation, Amber coiled into herself, recalling every lesson her trainer had drilled into her—strike fast, strike hard, aim for the vulnerabilities. As the first man lunged toward her, she sidestepped, driving her elbow into his throat with all the force her frame could muster. The man staggered, gasping for air that wouldn”t come.
The other captor moved quickly, anger flaring in his eyes as he reached for his belt. Anticipate, adapt, act. She feigned left, pivoted right, and swept the man’s legs out from under him, her movements fluid and precise—an echo of countless training sessions.
The situation escalated when Amber’s second attacker, now on the ground, made a desperate grab for her leg. She reacted instinctively, slamming her heel down onto his outstretched hand, eliciting a howl of pain. With the man momentarily incapacitated, she scanned the room, her brown eyes catching the glint of steel—the fallen captor”s gun lying within reach.
A third cartel member burst into the room then, alerted by the commotion. But Amber was already moving, propelled by a survival instinct honed by years of living on the edge. As the new threat raised his weapon, a loud bang echoed from outside—a distant gunshot or perhaps thunder? It didn’t matter; the distraction was all Amber needed.
She lunged for the pistol, her fingers wrapping around its cold grip with an assurance that belied her civilian roots. Rolling to her feet, she pointed the muzzle at the stunned man”s chest. “Don”t move!” she commanded, her voice steady, a reflection of the documentary host who’d interviewed hardened criminals without flinching. She backed out of the room, the gun still pointing at the man, and locked the door behind her.
Amber”s heart hammered as she slowly moved along the wall of the house, unsure if there were more men around the next corner. Every shadow seemed alive, every sound a potential alarm. Her body was a coil of tightly wound muscles, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. She edged along, pistol gripped in both hands, eyes scanning for movement.
She paused at the end of the hallway, listening. Footsteps coming up the stairs alarmed her. Turning, she slipped inside the room next to her, praying it would be empty. It appeared to be a small bedroom they’d turned into a supply room. She crouched behind two large crates, her breath shallow, silent. The voices grew louder, then faded away. She counted to ten before daring to peek out. Once it had been silent for a few minutes, Amber went back to the hallway. Each step she took was a calculated risk, each turn a dance with death.
Amber turned into a dark room, her eyes adjusting to the dark. The kitchen. Thank God it was completely empty. She saw the back door and breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching it, she burst from the doorway, the cold mountain air biting at her skin. She sprinted across the rough terrain, the stones and underbrush familiar beneath her feet. Her lungs burned, her legs pumped furiously, but she didn’t dare slow down. Behind her, shouts broke out as her escape was discovered.
She screamed when strong arms reached out and grabbed her from around the waist. “Shh. Amber. It’s me,” Ghost told her.
“Damn it! You really are a ghost.”
“And you”re a sight for sore eyes,” Ghost returned. ”You look like hell, but I”ll be damned if it isn”t the best sight today,” he said.
“Good to see you too, Ghost,” she managed. “Now will you put me down.”
“Yeah. Let’s get you safe.” he said, guiding her forward. “We have vehicles parked to the east. Eight hundred yards. Go.”
“I want to stay. Help.”
“Amber, you are barefoot and exhausted. You will do more harm than good. Hunter can’t worry about you and take down these bastards at the same time. Go.”
Knowing he was right, she nodded. “You,” Ghost pointed to Slash. “Go with her and keep her safe.” Amber nodded reluctantly and allowed Slash to guide her away into the darkness. She cast one last glance over her shoulder at the compound, praying that Hunter and the others would make it out alive.
Slash led Amber through the woods, his flashlight cutting a path ahead of them. After what felt like an eternity of stumbling over rocks and branches, they finally emerged onto a dirt road where three SUVs idled quietly.
“Let”s get you checked out,” Slash said as he opened the passenger door. Amber sank gratefully onto the seat, suddenly feeling the full weight of her exhaustion. After he examined her feet and treated her cuts and scrapes, she gratefully accepted the bottle of water he offered her with shaking hands. The water soothed her parched throat as she gulped it down. When the bottle was half empty, she paused for breath before recounting everything that had happened since her abduction.
“I just hope Hunter and the team can take them down,” she said.
Slash gave her a reassuring smile. “Don”t underestimate Hunter. He”s been in tougher spots than this. “
“What happens now?” she asked hoarsely.
Slash met her eyes. “Now we wait. Try to get some rest, we”ll head for the safe house as soon as the others join us.”
“Rest? With this amount of adrenaline pulsing through my veins?” She laughed softly.
“Is there someone you want to call? Let them know you are okay?” Slash held out his phone to her.
Amber took the phone with a grateful smile. With shaking fingers, she dialed Lauren”s number. After two rings, her cousin”s face appeared on the screen. “Amber! You”re okay! Thank God. Grandma, Grandpa, Jack! Come quick! Amber’s on the phone!” Lauren cried.
Amber quickly reassured her family that she was safe for the moment. Lauren”s eyes brimmed with tears of relief. “We”ve been so worried. I”m just glad you”re alive.”
“Me too,” Amber said with a weak smile. “Have you heard any updates?”
Lauren shook her head. “No, I think Hunter wanted us kept out of the loop for now. But he”ll get those monsters, I know it.”
Amber nodded, despite the unease twisting her stomach. She had faith in Hunter, but with the cartel, nothing was guaranteed. All she could do was wait and hope.