Page 105 of Redemption
My eyes widen.
Hold up.
Heartbeat screeching to a halt.
Wait a minute.
I know that voice.
I’d know it anywhere, even without the use of my ears. I’d feel it deep down in the black pit of my soul like a siren’s song, leading me straight to her.
That’s the voice of an angel.Myangel. My sweetheart. Aly. Holy shit, I’ve found her. She’s right outside this door, just on the other side. Maybe staying in one place all fucking damn day long isn’t such a bad thing. But who the hell is she talkingto? That’s not the deep, velvety timbre of Cole. And it’s definitely not Jax’s gravelly voice. This one’s smoother, like silk, chocolate.
Familiar... somehow....
Could I have possibly heard him during my captivity? Is he one of the ones... Visions of breaking his neck suddenly flood my mind.
He better not be.
I press my face closer to the floor, squinting and angling myself to try and catch a better look, but all I see are shoes. The smaller of which, presumably Aly’s, disappear behind the door opposite mine, leaving only brown boots.
Brown,military-issuedcombat boots.
I know those boots. I have the same fucking pair. I’m wearing them right the fuck now. Cole, thankfully, found and brought me some of the clothes those dick shits apparently stole from us during our abduction from Tryon. According to him, they have all our shit piled up in an office somewhere not far from here.
Greedy fuckers.
If this guy has the same boots, that means he either found them, stole them, or is the actual owner of them. If that’s the case, and if, God forbid, there are more like him, an escape as we originally intended might be more difficult than we thought. We wouldn’t be dealing with civilians holding guns. We’d be going up against a trained militia, former military with lethal tactics, and afuck around and find outattitude.
We’d be going up against ourselves, pretty much.
Fuck.
Shit.
She’s less than ten feet from me, separated by two walls, and I can’t even get to her because of this schmuck guarding the door. He could have an actual weapon at his disposal, a gun ready and waiting to fire and take my ass out in a millisecond, while all I have is a dinner utensil, a flimsy fucking piece of fabric, and a useless metal bucket. SON OF A BITCH!
My pulse quickens as more people race down the hallway, their footsteps heavier than Aly’s or the other guy’s. There’s no one else down this way since they released the only other patient on this floor besides me yesterday evening. The overnight security is still here, but they wouldn’t be trampling down the hallway like this unless something was up. And it’s, definitely, too early for a changeover. Which means the people stampeding towards my door aren’t here for a wellness check.
Time to ball up some fists and tighten those sphincters, boys.
I quickly lift myself from the ground and back away from the door. Then, without a single courtesy knock—as per the usual—they barge in, instantly meeting my wrath via a flying metal bucket racing straight to their heads. I must look like someone straight out of the cuckoo’s nest, all wide-eyed and paranoid with my crazy, unbrushed hair sticking up all over the place, but I don’t fucking care. It’s them or me at this point.
As if I was bowling for assholes, the bucket hits the first guy right in his face. Both he and the four teeth he just lost fall to the ground in a less than graceful heap right at the threshold.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” the next intruder yells as he steps over Mr. Unconscious and races towards me. Bending my knees, I duck down, taking the brunt of his weight with a shoulder check as I lift his legs out from under him and slam him onto his back. The maneuver leaves him dazed, stunnedinto submission. Using that to my advantage, I lift myself back up to my knees and slam my knife down, creating a nice, cozy home for my shiny, little friend. His eyebrows draw together, and blood gurgles from his mouth as he looks down, confused and horrified, the hilt of the blade sticking straight up from his chest as the steel becomes more acquainted with the heart that no longer beats within.
A war cry echoes around the room as the next one lunges for me, punching me square in the temple with a mean hook before grabbing me by the armpits and hauling me back, forcing me to leave my knife lodged in the dead man’s chest. My vision blurs momentarily, but it doesn’t stop the fight within. The guy throws me to the ground, intending to take me out, but I land on my back and, with a well-timed kick, my boot meets his throat, collapsing his trachea. He falls back onto the floor, hands clutching his throat and legs kicking out as his ability to breathe vanishes. I, on the other hand, rise to my feet, staggering like a drunken asshole as I try to shake his punch from my brain.
“Ooh, fuck a duck,” I moan, pointing down at him with a rare amount of respect as my vision comes back into focus. “You should teach your buddies in that dungeon how to throw a punch because WOOH! That was a fucking doozy. Good job, bud.” I dodge and redirect a punch from another guy who’s slow as fuck and obvious in his trajectory, landing the fist that was meant for me against the jaw of one of their own, before turning back to the man on the floor. His eyes go wide as he stares up at me, his face almost a delightful shade of periwinkle blue. “Oh, right... that’s not going to happen anytime soon. Sorry ‘bout that. But fucking hell! What did you expect, man?” I say on a rush of an exhale. “I didn’t ask for this less than hospitable wake-up call. You guys did this to yourselves.”
Unfortunately, I’m unable to spout any more taunts as the next poor, unfortunate soul charges directly towards me. I clutch the lone weapon left in my hand: the fucking pillowcase.Come on, Jackie Chan. Prove to me that I, too, can do all that cool shit I’ve seen in your movies.Thankfully, this fucker’s not holding a gun or a knife. Not even a taser. But the bastard is holding a fucking cattle prod and is eagerly trying to force it into my side.
Nope.
Not today.
Fuck you, Satan.
