Page 32 of One Way Out

Unfortunately, I have no way to make any of that happen without McCabe.

I eventually give up, making my way back to the cafeteria. Since I’m inside the room, I assume I’d be safe to pull off the annoying mask, but there’s really no point. I intend to bring food back for Saylor, and I’ll eat with her to try to coax her into nibbling on something.

This place does nothing for my appetite either. Not knowing how everything is going to play out is giving me indigestion.

Normally, I’m good at rolling with the punches, but that doesn’t apply when Saylor is in the mix. Keeping her safe is my number one goal. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to make that happen… Even watch over a fully capable alpha who’s a motherfucking beast in his own right.

Working private security has trained me well for this mission.

Most of the time, it’s boring as shit.

You secure your client and watch over the crowd, exactly like I’m doing as I lean against the wall near the back of the cafeteria.

Valor stands next to the equally large red-haired man. They’re by the corridor that leads to the women’s rooms. If I were them, I’d have my back to the wall to ensure I could appraise any approaching threats, but they’re both turned toward each other, almost as if they’re in a heated debate about something.

A pair of men approach from my left. It’s the direction the basketball court is in. I’m still not sure if it’s open at all hours when we’re free of our cells or if it’s something that’s only accessible at certain times.

My head tilts as I study the two men. They’re interested in Valor or the guy he’s talking to, and that niggles at my instincts. Shoving off the wall, I weave through the tables, keeping my eyes on the men, but staying close to the side of the room that Valor is on.

The closer I get, the easier it is to see the newcomers look like shit. The shorter of the two has light blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a hell of a cut on his cheek. It’s closed, which indicates some level of healing, but it’s fresh—not more than a week old, if I had to guess. He also has bruising around his neck and one side of his forehead.

The taller man has darker blond hair and brown eyes. He’s in better shape than the other, but he’s rocking two shiners. Someone fucked him up, and based solely on his interest in Valor and the red-haired guy, I’m going to guess there’s a reason why they’re glaring.

The taller man drops to a crouch, like he’s about to tie his shoe, but I’ve seen that move a hundred times.

I’m too far away to be able to reach him, so I do a quick search for anything I can use as a weapon.

I’ve never felt as naked as I do in this shithole. Even the chairs are bolted to the table.

Two women sit at the table just in front of me. They have plastic utensils like we all use at meals, but those trays have some weight behind them.

I stride over, grabbing one of their trays and dumping the remnants on the table. It’s mostly trash, but the woman yelps, asking something in German that I can’t make out.

The man pops to his feet, partially concealing the blade in his hand.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss, pulling the tray up. “Valor!” I’d rather be needlessly cautious than to watch him take a knife to the kidney.

Why does he have to be in the middle of any problem to pop up in this place?

The man flings the blade at Valor’s side, and I chuck the tray directly into its path, hoping my timing is right.

Being able to gauge when and where a bullet will land with wind speed and direction is one thing. Stopping a flying knife is another completely.

The plastic tray collides with the knife handle, sending it flying at an angle.

The tip of the blade embeds in the plastic garbage can two feet away from Valor.

I nod, letting out a relievedwhooshwhen I see he spun and crouched at my warning.

Now I have to determine if either of those assailants have any other weapons.

I take off, jumping onto the chair of the next table and using it to propel me to the tabletop.

Valor growls. “Sergei, Vlad, I can’t lie. I hoped I’d killed you.” He’s at an angle behind me, making it impossible to know for sure what he’s doing. Based on sound alone, it seems he’s joining this fray, which is the opposite of what he’s supposed to be doing.

I hit the last table and hop down with a foot on each seat.

The taller man turns toward me, taking a swing, but I kick him in the ribs. He stumbles into his friend but quickly rights himself before tackling me onto the tabletop. The backs of my knees dig into the edge of the table, and the fucker wraps his hands around my throat, strangling me.

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