Chapter Forty-Seven - Elise
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Elise
When I’m sure Tripp is dead, I search him for more weapons, but there’s nothing aside from a small radio attached to his hip.
The knife will have to be enough.
Standing takes more effort than I expect, especially when my body would rather curl up and sleep, but there’s no time for that—not with so much on the line.
I’m two feet from the door before realizing I have no clue what to do next.
If all goes well, Ryder will get Rachel and Lyla out of here safely, and he’ll be able to stop Joshua from coming.
That leaves my father.
I need to tell him to stay away. If both my father and Joshua come here, Mason will make sure they don’t leave alive. That means I need a phone, but the only one I’ve seen is in Mason’s office.
Even I know it sounds like a suicide mission, but I have to try. Besides, this is what Ryder has been training me for.
Hell, I just killed a man. I can manage to get to an office.
Throwing one last triumphant look at Tripp’s lifeless body, I slowly peel the door open and tiptoe into the hall.
I didn’t see much of the layout when Ryder and I were brought down here, but I can recall enough to give me a general direction.
The halls are eerily quiet, and I wonder just how many people are here. From the outside, the factory looked huge, so it shouldn’t surprise me that the soldiers here are so spread out.
As if my thoughts have jinxed my good luck, faint voices sound from around the corner.
I scan my immediate surroundings and run to a door that looks similar to the cell Ryder and I were kept in. It’s locked, and so is the one next to it.
I’m about to resort to running when I see a smaller door to my left. It’s the same color as the wall, like no one noticed it was there when they were painting. Even the door handle blends in.
I sprint to it, and by some miracle, it’s unlocked. I hadn’t considered what I might find in the room, but I’m grateful when it’s only a janitor’s closet.
I shut the door as quietly as I can and press my back against the shelves.
The voices grow louder, and I can make out the faint conversation.
“I didn’t believe it either. I would’ve put money on hell freezing over before betting on Moreno keeping the girl,” one jokes.
“Have you seen her? I’d keep her, too. Tripp had the right idea.”
My stomach rolls at that.
“Speaking of, where is that bastard?”
My heart drops. They can’t go looking for him yet. I need more time.
“Probably terrorizing the prisoners.”
The voices fade as they make their way down the hall.
Even from this distance, I hear their laughter, halted by the sound of radio static. I press my ear to the door, trying to hear the message, but it’s too muffled for me to understand.
My eyes go wide when I realize they’re coming back the way they came, grumbling as they go.
“I didn’t realize they were that close.”
“Guess it’s go-time,” the other soldier huffs.
I hope they aren’t talking about Joshua or my father—but since when has anything ever gone my way? For all I know, it’s too late to stop what Mason put in motion.
Their footsteps pass the door, and I let my head fall back against the shelf in relief, knocking over whatever cleaning solution was placed there.
“Did you hear something?”
I desperately wish a black hole would replace the floor and swallow me up. It’s the only chance I have now. There’s no way I can take on two soldiers.
“I don’t know. This place is old as hell, Will. It’s probably rats.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Dread settles in my stomach, and I ready my knife at my side. It won’t be much help if these men have guns, but it’s better than nothing.
“We don’t have time for this. We can call animal control when all of this is over. I’m going to the workroom.”
“I’ll catch up to you.”
“Your funeral,” the other man mutters.
This I can work with. It’ll be difficult to keep Will from alerting the second man when I attack, but it’s a risk I need to take.
The handle jiggles only seconds later, and I crouch behind the door.
The door opens slowly, and Will peers inside. Thanks to the darkness, he doesn’t notice my small frame hidden in the corner.
When he steps inside the room to get a better look, the light from the hall gives me a clear view of my target, and I strike.
My fist collides with Will’s throat, and his eyes bulge as he reaches for his damaged windpipe. His wheeze is louder than I hoped it would be, and I prepare myself in case his friend hears us and returns.
Before he has the chance to process what’s happening, I swing the knife, making contact with his chest.
Pride courses through me—until he stumbles into the shelves, knocking over a row of cleaning supplies and filling the hall with the echoes from the crash.
“Will?” His friend’s voice is distant, and I don’t have long until he’s here.
I grit my teeth and give Will the same fatal injury that Tripp received. Blood pools on the ground, and Will’s eyes sag lifelessly.
My heart twists at my own actions. It was easy to take Tripp’s life because I knew he deserved it. Do these men deserve it, too?
But I can’t afford to wonder.
The man’s footsteps are getting close, and I scan the room for anything I could use to help me.
A gun rests at Will’s side, and I quickly tuck it into my waistband. As good as it feels to have a weapon, I can’t use it and risk attracting attention unless I have no other choice.
Just as the man is about to turn the corner, a crazy, dangerous-as-hell plan comes to mind, and I swing the door to hide Will’s body.
“Please, help me!” I cry, falling to my knees.
The man comes into view then, gun pointed at my head.
“What the hell?” he mutters, brow furrowing.
I look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t hurt me! They dragged me from my cell!”
He’s so puzzled that he doesn’t even seem to remember that his friend is missing.
The gun drifts from my body, but I don’t trust that my knife-throwing abilities are as precise as Ryder’s, so I’ll have to draw him closer before I make my move.
I pitifully shuffle forward on my knees. “Just take me back to my cell. Please, don’t hurt me.”
He nods in a daze. “Hands behind your back.”
Sagging my shoulders in relief, I reach behind my back and let my hands rest on the gun hiding there.
The man tucks his gun into a holster and moves toward me.
Exactly two seconds after he lowers in front of me, his eyes widen, finding something over my shoulder.
And that would be Will.
I grab the gun and swing my arm until the weapon connects with the side of his head. The blow stuns him, and he loses balance.
I move to stand, but his leg swings beneath me, and I’m knocked on my ass. When I hit the ground, my gun slides out of my hand and into the hallway, hopelessly out of reach. Before I can orient myself, he’s on top of me.
My only sliver of hope is that his gun is a few feet away—he’s unarmed, and I still have my knife.
This would be immensely helpful if not for the fact that his knee is pinning down the hand that holds said knife. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he pushes into the cuts on my arm with a force that makes my vision blurry.
The pain, mixed with the metallic smell of blood, sends my stomach lurching—a reflex the man must notice because he leans back, nose crinkling in disgust.
I take advantage of the reaction and jerk my arm free, slicing his thigh as I swing the knife upward.
There’s a hiss before I feel pain burst across my cheek. My head snaps to the side with the force of the slap, and the man sneers. “No wonder Tripp had it out for you.”
If it didn’t take all my strength to keep my eyes open, I’d roll them.
He moves to get on top of me again, but I roll out of his reach. My hand makes contact with a rag that must’ve fallen when Will crashed into the cabinet, and I get an idea.
Rag clutched in one hand, knife in the other, I lunge forward and press my forearm to his throat, using the knife to press into the side of his face.
“Well then, it’s a good thing he’s dead now, isn’t it?”
He opens his mouth, and I shove the rag in before he gets the chance to say anything. I swing the knife downward, leaving a gash from his sternum to his stomach, but not nearly as deep as I needed it to be.
Despite my makeshift gag, the yell is ear-piercing. There’s no way it went unheard.
I’m out of options, and I’m out of time.
The next cry that fills the air is mine when the man takes a fistful of my hair and violently drags me to the floor.
I expect him to snatch my knife, but he doesn’t. He only turns his head to scan the floor. When he reaches out, I know what he’s found.
The next few seconds happen in slow motion.
Only a few feet away, the man reaches for the gun, and the pounding of running footsteps echoes in the hall.
My life is about to end.
With a strength that I didn’t know I possessed, I lift myself from the ground despite the death grip the man still has on my head. I feel hair being ripped from my skull as I make one last-ditch effort to save my life.
I lurch forward, dragging the knife across his throat. I’m unable to make a deep incision from my angle, but it’s enough to loosen his grip on me.
The second I have enough freedom, I slash again and again until the man goes limp.
The footsteps in the hall grow louder, and I’m out of time. The gun is too far out of reach. Not that it would matter anyway.
I don’t have any fight left.
My body sags as the footsteps stop beside me. I don’t even look up to see my murderer’s face.
“Damn,” he mutters, and a wave of relief crashes into me so hard that tears prick my eyes.
Ryder.
He crouches beside me to check for wounds, which must be difficult considering my clothes are blood-soaked, and I take in his appearance, too. Ryder looks infinitely better than me, even with the giant gash on his forehead that’s painting the side of his face bright red.
I don’t notice my shaking until Ryder takes my jittery hands in his strong ones. The gesture is simple, but it’s exactly the comfort I need to take in a full breath of air and get myself together.
After giving me the moment that I desperately needed, Ryder takes rags off of the shelves and helps clean me up.
“You did this?” he asks softly.
I nod. “Did you—”
“Lyla and Rachel are safe, but Moreno isn’t. He’s here, but I don’t know where. We need to find him.”
“Why didn’t you go with the girls?”
He pulls away like he’s searching me for a head injury. “Did you think I’d leave you?”
I did.
I expected him to go with the girls, and I’d accepted that. Seeing him now—when I thought I was on my own—brings on emotions that we don’t have time to address.
So, I don’t answer the question.
“The packing warehouse,” I tell him. “Mason said that’s where they’d be.”
His eyes narrow in thought. “I might’ve passed it earlier, but I’m not sure.”
“Only one way to find out.”
We throw the rags to the side, deeming me clean enough as we step into the hall and close the closet door behind us.
“Lead the way.”
Now that there are two of us and we’re both armed, we don’t move with nearly as much stealth as I had before. Like me, Ryder must have realized that all of the halls are mysteriously empty.
Despite the blood loss and exhaustion, I drink in every detail of the halls we run down, committing them to memory. My senses, which should be shutting down, are sharper than ever, thanks to the adrenaline rush and fear for Joshua and my family.
The words Packing Warehouse are written on a door at the end of the hall, and we race toward it. Ryder beats me there, swinging the door open with ease.
The clicking of guns echoes through the massive garage-like room, and my eyes go wide when I realize that every one of them is aimed at us.