Page 110 of Critical Mass
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Hudson threw his weight sideways.
The chair leg cracked. But not enough.
He did it again.
This time, the wood splintered.
One more time?—
He tried again, and the leg snapped completely.
Hudson crashed to the floor, only inches from falling in the water.
Pain shot through his shoulder where he’d landed, but he didn’t care. He rolled, used his feet against the broken chair leg to create leverage, and felt the back support crack.
Three more minutes of painful maneuvering, and he’d worked the broken chair pieces loose enough to slide the zip ties off. His wrists were bloody, his shoulders screaming from the unnatural position.
But he was free.
He stood on shaking legs, his body still trembling from the Taser’s aftereffects. His ribs screamed with every breath, but he’d deal with that later.
He moved to the door on unsteady feet, testing the handle even though he knew what he’d find.
Locked from the outside, of course. Heavy deadbolt, commercial grade. Not something he could kick through, especially not in his current condition.
Hudson turned, assessing the boathouse despite his addled state. Windows on three sides—large panes designed to showcase the view of the river. Expensive glass but glass, nonetheless.
And glass broke.
He grabbed a wooden boat hook from the wall—six feet of solid ash with a metal hook on the end. Perfect.
Hudson didn’t hesitate. He swung the boat hook like a baseball bat, putting all his remaining strength behind it.
The window exploded outward in a shower of glittering shards, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet afternoon.
So much for stealth.
Shouts erupted from the main house immediately—security guards responding to the noise, raised voices, running footsteps on the dock.
Hudson didn’t wait. He knocked out the remaining shards from the window frame with the boat hook, then climbed through, glass from the shards he’d missed cutting his hands.
He hit the dock on the other side and stumbled, his legs still not fully responding after the electric shock and being zip-tied.
“Stop!” The shout came from behind him, accompanied by the sound of multiple men running.
The car pulled through the gates of Norfolk International Terminals—not the passenger area but a private section Natalie had never seen before. She’d tried to refuse to go, but Dimitrihad personally escorted her out of her father’s house, his firm grip no doubt leaving a bruise on her arm.
Though she’d pleaded with her dad and told him she wanted to stay, he’d pretended not to hear.
She scanned the area. Above her, the October sky hung low. An autumn wind swept across the open expanse of pavement, tugging at the flags flying over the security booth and making the chain-link fences rattle against their posts.
Industrial warehouses lined the perimeter, massive, utilitarian structures of corrugated metal and concrete. Beyond them stretched container yards that seemed to go on forever, stacked shipping containers creating colorful canyons of red, blue, and green. Massive cranes loomed like skeletal giants against the cloudy sky, their arms extended over cargo ships docked at distant piers.
A few workers in reflective vests moved among the containers in the distance, operating forklifts, checking manifests, going about the normal business of one of the East Coast’s busiest ports.
But here, in this private section, everything felt isolated. Separate.
