Chapter 18 #2
“Good idea,” Marc responds. “She’ll talk faster once she realizes she is completely isolated.”
They exchange glances. They’re making plans that pull me farther from Katie and a potential rescue by Slate—that’s if he got my text—and maybe farther from any chance of surviving what comes next.
He steps back. “Let’s take a minute to regroup.” Glancing at one of the two security guards, he orders, “Prep the vehicles for extraction.”
The three of them walk out, the second guard in tow.
I get excited because that only leaves one guard to monitor me and he’s already pulling out his cell phone and sticking in his ear buds.
I plan to take full advantage of his distraction if I can and start looking around for ways to escape the room.
I immediately notice the ceiling tile above the table I’m sitting at has a thin line of dust along its edge.
It is out of alignment by a hair. Someone must have opened it recently for maintenance.
It only takes me a second to realize I can stand on the table and maybe get into the ceiling and hide or make my escape into another part of the building.
I slide the chair back a few inches with my foot. The guard left behind glances up, then immediately returns to his phone. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t see me slowly get to my feet.
While he’s otherwise occupied, I choose that moment to snatch up all my courage and put one foot on the chair, then my opposite foot on the table and brace my weight as I reach for the ceiling tile. My fingertips hook the edge and the panel lifts, making a whisper soft sound.
The guard laughs at something on his phone, but he still doesn’t look up.
I hear tinny sounding music and glance over at him.
I can see a topless woman dancing on his screen.
Thankful that the guard is more interested in porn than doing his actual job, I quickly push the tile aside and pull myself upward.
I haul myself through the square opening to find the crawlspace is dark, cramped, filled with cables and metal braces.
I pull myself inside and slide the tile back into place with a barely audible swishing noise. It lands almost flush.
Within seconds, shouts rise from the room below.
“What the fuck! Where is she?”
The other guard has returned.
“She was here a second ago,” the distracted guard insists.
I panic a little and begin crawling forward. Unfortunately, one of my knees hits a loose bracket and it’s not only painful but it makes a clattering sound.
One of them calls out. “She’s in the fucking ceiling!”
“How the hell did she do that?” The other responds.
I freeze, hearing boots pounding on the cement floor and then on something metal.
I know without a doubt that they’re trying to follow me.
I quickly force myself deeper into the crawlspace.
My elbows bump into dusty beams and the dust is so thick in the air that I can hardly breathe.
My palms sting as I drag myself forward, as fast as possible.
The voices below grow louder, climbing into panic. A radio crackles with frantic updates.
“She’s above the interrogation room.”
“Check the vents. Block the other vent exits.”
I need to move faster, so I can get to one of those exit vents before it gets closed off.
I press my body flat against the metal support bars and crawl towards a junction ahead.
Sweat drips down my temple. I grit my teeth and push myself forward, careful to keep my weight centered on the beams. One wrong shift and I’ll punch through the ceiling panels and drop straight back into their hands.
I look left and see a rectangular gap that opens into a vent shaft.
The metal grate is old and looks to be held by two screws.
I brace my forearm against a beam, lift my foot, and slam my heel gently but firmly against the vent.
The grate bends inward. A second kick loosens the screw.
The metal pops. I lower myself through the opening, feet first, careful to land on my feet.
I drop into a dark office. Thankfully, it’s empty. My legs buckle for a second when I hit the ground. But I catch myself and in the end, I’m standing and one step closer to freedom. Hopefully, I’m also far away from the assholes who want to interrogate me in a more private space.
I move to the door and press my ear against the cool surface.
Voices rush past, sounding angry and a little panicked.
Someone shouts about sealing the exits. Another person warns security to check the maintenance hall.
I slide the door open a crack and find the hall temporarily empty.
I’m eager to find a way out of this building.
I move fast, my shoes silent against the polished floor.
My bruised muscles hurt with every step, but adrenaline and the desperate need to see Slate and my daughter again keep me moving.
A narrow corridor branches to the right, leading to the restricted wing.
I peek around the corner. It’s empty so I make a run for it.
That’s when I hear a loud shout. “She’s in the back hall! Move!”
I take off running, wanting to put as much distance between me and those voices as I possibly can.
Just as they catch up with me, everything explodes with shouting, boots pounding on the cement floor and the sound of stun guns being pulled out.
The guard nearest me curses. “What the hell is going on here?”
Then Slate storms through the door. He moves fast, rushing into the hallway with Onyx and a cop I don’t recognize flanking him.
Local officers come barreling through the entrance as well, turning the situation into some kind of free for all.
Slate’s eyes land on me and he instantly starts moving towards me.
“Christina!” he shouts to be heard above the ensuing chaos. I can see the relief on his face that he found me relatively unharmed.
A sound of relief comes out of my mouth, and I start moving towards him. I get about three steps before one of the guards locks his hand around my arm, bringing me up short. I try to twist out of his grip, but he’s bigger and stronger than I am.
Meanwhile, Slate doesn’t slow down one bit. His pace turns into that predatory stride I haven’t seen in years, the one he used in Afghanistan when things went bad. He puts on a burst of speed about the time I manage to get away from the guard.
“Step away from her!” he growls, pointing straight at him. Slate’s vicious command makes the guard take a staggering step back.
Another guard reaches for me and Slate doesn’t hesitate.
He runs forward and slams into the guard with his shoulder, taking him down without a second thought.
The man hits the cement floor with a sickening crunch.
Slate comes down on top of him, his fist punching into the man’s ribs with enough force to drive air from his lungs.
The second guard charges Slate from behind, clearly intent upon saving his friend. But Slate spins around and catches him with a roundhouse kick right across the face. He follows up with a solid punch to the jaw, causing the guard to stumble back into the wall before collapsing to his knees.
Slate turns to find the one he shoved to the ground getting up again, while holding one hand against his ribs.
Slate grabs him by the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall.
The man gasps, trying to recover enough to fight back, but Slate pins him with one forearm across his chest and grits out, “You should never have touched my old lady.” His voice is so low that I can barely make out the words.
Seeing him like this is enough to put the fear of God into any man
The guard tries to speak, but Slate pushes against his chest harder and the words never come out.
“Slate,” I whisper. “That’s enough.”
He turns his head towards me without releasing the guard.
His eyes hit mine, filled with relief, fear, and something deeper.
I realize it’s not just Slate and his club brothers, they’re accompanied by law enforcement.
He shoves the guard towards one of the cops, who immediately yanks the man’s arms behind his back and snaps cuffs around his wrists.
Onyx and Mica move through the room, clearing doors, shouting locations to the cops. Two officers help pin down another REACH security goon who crawled behind a desk.
When Slate steps towards me, I fling myself into his arms. After everything I’ve been through, all I want is to feel his arms around me.
When I turn my face up to get a kiss, his hand comes up but stops just short of touching my face. “Are you okay?” he asks. “What did those ignorant fucks do to you?”
“Not a lot,” I tell him. “I wanted to escape. They wanted to arrest me. Obviously, I didn’t win that battle, but it’s just a few bruises I got trying to get away. No one touched me.”
He tugs me closer, wrapping his arms around me with infinite care. His protective stance tells me he doesn’t want anything to happen to his baby mama. Before I get a chance to ask if we can get the hell out of here, his dad and brothers are standing around us.
Rock calls out to their cop friend, “Morgan, how close to done are we here?”
The officer steps close. Bringing his hand down from his earpiece he quietly gives them a report. “The building is secure. All company personnel are being detained, including the REACH security team they sent. Local officers are combing the offices now. This is looking like a good bust.”
Jasper digs a bag out of his pocket. I can see my flash drive inside it, and he hands it to the officer. “The shit you’ll find on this will make your hair stand on end. Seriously, this is the information that will bury REACH for the foreseeable future.”
The officer happily takes it from him, and they walk off talking about it. His family disperses.
This whole time, Slate’s attention stayed on me. “What were you thinking of, coming here alone?” he asks.