Chapter 17 #2
I nod, keeping my focus on him as much as instinct tells me to watch the other one.
There was something off about his smile when he’d peered into the cell as if he could see through Kellan to Raegan.
Something twisted. He won’t be so easily manipulated.
Fortunately, he’s busy staring at his phone.
This agent seems less self-confident; more likely to go overboard to prove himself to others.
“Then why her? Or are you gathering all the women from the Guild for some reason?”
“No, just her,” he answers automatically, confirming that the others are here, too. Dane’s the only question left. I have a sinking feeling that he’s not here, though. We’ve escaped Charles too many times for him to trust putting Dane too close to us and risk us taking him back again.
“May I ask why? Or is that not something you’re privy to?” I challenge softly, just a nudge to his ego.
“The president requested her personally,” Stephens counters heatedly, then flicks his wrist with the gun. “Now, move it. She’s the only one we’re here for, but we have permission to shoot if we have to.”
“What are you going on about with the prisoners?” The taller agent pockets his phone and narrows his gaze on me and his partner.
His thumb strokes the grip of his gun still at his hip.
When he sees where his associate’s gun is pointed, his eyes flash, and the smirk on his lips curls tighter. “Someone looking for a fight?”
I step aside, but only to be closer to Kellan.
Stephens seems satisfied I’m no longer waiting just behind where the bars will swing open and stuffs his gun away after clicking the safety back on. “It’s all good, Creighton. I’ve got it.” He shoves the key into the lock, and the rest of us still.
None of us need to say a word to the other to know that they’re not walking out of here with Raegan.
We just have to wait for the bars to open before we make our move.
The lock clunks, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls, followed by screeching metal when the door drags open.
It’s so loud that I don’t hear Jackson move.
Stephens doesn’t either, because he still has two hands on the door to get it open when Jackson drives one knife through his eye and another into his chest.
The sound of a gunshot plants my feet before I can charge the opening. Jackson drops to one knee, yanking his knives free as he goes and freeing Stephens’ body to crash to the ground. When he looks up, the second agent has his pistol trained at his forehead.
Creighton grins like a madman, his crazed eyes flicking to Kellan—and Raegan—and back to Jack. “What a loyal dog you are. So willing to die for one girl.” He laughs under his breath. “She must be something special. Real special, for the president to ask for her, too.” He licks his lips.
Jackson stands abruptly, and the agent jabs him back down with the muzzle. “Ah-ah! Down, boy. I’d love to give you a chance to fight me when your bite’s not muzzled, but you can’t do that if you’re dead, right?”
I rack my brain for a way out without Jackson being shot. Again. I can’t tell where exactly because of his damn clothes, but a trail of blood leaks down the side of his boot to a small but growing puddle on the floor.
“No, stay back,” Kellan rumbles. I turn on them and grasp Raegan’s arm as she tries to go around him.
“Wait. Let me think,” I caution her. “Giving yourself up isn’t the answer.”
She stares at me with fierce resolve. Even though he's planning to bring her to Charles, and it could mean her death, she holds my gaze, and a soft smile tugs at her lips. “You’ll find me. You always do.”
My chest contracts painfully, stealing my breath away. I tighten my grip. “No.” I’m not letting her be taken from us again.
Raegan puts her hand on mine. “Any of you dying right now isn’t the answer, either. You have to let me go.” She squeezes my hand, lowering her voice to a whisper. “We just need to stall for time, right?”
Until our gifts return. Until she can reduce whatever place we’re being held in to ash.
But what will happen to her until then? How long will it take?
I can’t risk it. I can’t risk her.
“If we rush him together, maybe we can catch him off guard,” Kellan murmurs between us, equally defiant at the thought of them taking her.
“Do you hear that? They’re plotting against me,” Creighton feigns a whisper, then chuckles. “I guess they don’t care much for your life.”
Everything next happens in an instant.
Jackson swipes one of his blades over the agent’s arm holding the gun. Instead of dropping it, he fires, and my heart lodges in my throat.
“Jackson!” Raegan screams.
Kellan and I rush at the agent.
Creighton swings again, his fist slicing toward Jack’s face.
Jack barely dodges, and it grazes his ear with no new bullet injury in sight. He thrusts his knife upward toward Creighton’s gut.
Creighton catches his wrist and twists, then crack’s Jack’s elbow with the butt of his gun.
Jack’s other hand arcs toward his throat while his hands are occupied, and Creighton lowers his face, taking the slice from ear to jaw over his nose instead.
He pistol-whips Jackson and knocks him back, dropping in time to miss Kellan’s swing.
He twirls up, kicking Kellan in the chest, and sending him flying to the middle of the cell.
I kick the back of his knee, then throw an elbow at the side of his head.
The second my foot connects, something feels off.
Creighton turns his head, a manic grin on his lips as my elbow slides past him, and he lands a solid punch to my kidney.
It feels like a wrecking ball drove a knife into my side, and the force of it has me airborne.
I hit the wall, and all the air is knocked out of me before I collapse to the floor.