I step out, gun pointed as I prowl toward them. “Hands up, motherfuckers, and take it nice and slow.”
And that’s when shit goes down.
BOXER
“Lincoln, are you awake?” My question is met with silence. We’ve been here too many days already.
I managed to use the cuff master key to undo the screws on the vent and retrieve the bottle of water for myself, and Lincoln had done the same with the one in his heel.
Always be prepared; it could save your life in this line of work, but in this case, I think it only prolonged it.
We have rationed our water intake out, but still, one bottle isn’t going to sustain us. I was hoping by now a miracle would have happened, and a rescue party would have arrived.
This is a deadly game I’m beginning to believe we will see to our demise. We aren’t getting out of here alive. We have been left to die, with nobody the wiser to our whereabouts.
The coward couldn’t even face us and shoot.
Fuck Grady, and fuck the arsehole who walked out, leaving us.
I’m fatigued and have a blistering headache—the joys of dehydration. I feel sad and pissed off the chances are diminishing every hour of seeing Whisper or Miss Catherine and Evelyn ever again.
MacGyver may have been able to make some mechanism to blow that fucking door off its hinges, but I have squat. The door is impenetrable from our end. It isn’t looking good for us, and I can’t help Whisper out of the trouble I know she is facing.
What must Miss Catherine be thinking?
What’s happening to Whisper?
I have failed them both.
Lincoln is in a bad way, but he makes light of his injury and I’m doing okay. Not being able to get to him angers me. There was no reason to have separated us other than for it to be a game, a mind fuck.
We’re totally screwed.
“Lincoln!” I shout out because I need to keep him awake, if only for my own sanity, my own selfish, lonely demise.
“Fuck off, Boxer.” I hear him chuckle softly. My boy is still here with me and he isn’t giving up.
“You out of water, buddy?” I pray he has been sipping like I have.
“Yeah.”
“How you holding up?” I know he’s in agonizing pain every time he moves. I hear the noises he makes.
“Same.” I know he lies. It would be worse.
It would appear we’re out of options. Not unless a fairy godmother comes and waves her wand and rescues us… we’re royally fucked.
Nobody has a clue where we are, and that is the sad truth, or they would have been here by now.
“Hey, Lincoln, when we get out of here, how about I buy you a top-notch juicy steak?” We are being slowly starved to death, and that’s not a pleasant thought.
“Sounds good to me.” I hear another sad chuckle. The kid knows the chances are next to none.
I’ve been sending out a prayer or two for Whisper and Miss Catherine, hoping somebody is out there helping them, doing what I can’t. I promised Whisper I would never let anybody hurt her again, and I have broken that promise.
“Hey, Boxer?”
“Yeah, mate.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to pray.”
“Been doing it for a while now, Linc.”
“Can you throw in a couple coldies with that steak?” The kid is keeping appearances up.
“Yeah, Linc, I think I can do that.” I can’t hide the stupid smile that has leaked onto my face because a steak and a cold beer sound pretty good about now.
We both fall silent, locked inside our minds.
We’ve made our peace.
We’ve said our prayers.
It’s just a matter of time.
EDGE
Concealed handguns come out in a blur, and the rednecks were all business.
Two bullets to maim.
Before they can even make a play for me, the muted sound of my gun goes off and I shoot the carrot top straight through his bare kneecap, blowing it out as blood spray paints the air, raining down. I’m instantly swinging my gun around toward the long-haired, dirty blond, ready to pump off another shot, but he’s already falling sideways, holding his hipbone, moaning, and cursing. Blood seeps out between his fingers as I note out of my peripheral vision Carrot Top has dropped like the wounded fucker he is, clutching at his knee from the agonizing pain.
What the fuck?
I hadn’t gotten my second shot off, and I was aiming for the blond fucker’s kneecap.
I risk a quick glance over my shoulder at Annie Oakley, who has her gun trained on the dirty blond, more than willing to invest another bullet in him from the look of sheer uncensored anger mixed with triumph on her face.
I gather she heard the gutter-assholes playing rock, paper, and scissors.
I kick the weapons out of their hands before they can rise above the pain and come to their senses. My trigger-happy finger is ready for any sudden movements from either of these boys. “Hands up, the both of you, and act like statues. Grab for a concealed weapon, and I’ll make the next bullet count.”
The fuckers probably still have more weapons on them and may just want to grow a hero complex and reach for them.
Thug 101: Always carry more than one weapon on your person.
Hunter 101: Always be prepared for the fucker to reach for it.
They’re your homegrown breed of redneck. They stink of cigarettes and moonshine, and they each have the makings of a genuine beer gut. They are clothed in open plaid shirts with cut-off sleeves and a wife beater underneath, and shorts that haven’t seen a washing machine in days. They have faces only a mother could love without fault. Their hair is long and scruffy, and their teeth… even a dentist would run from those fucked up chompers.
Miss Catherine drops the gun into her knitted jacket pocket and is now taking it upon herself to use Blondie’s head as a puck. She viciously hockey sticks one of my crutches into the side of his head, snapping it sideways, rendering him unconscious on an unladylike grunt.
I’m impressed. Eighty-plus years old and she didn’t hesitate to take him out.
Here I was thinking the old lady didn’t know the ass from the business end of a gun. I arch an eyebrow at her at what she’s just done.
“What? You be sayin’ to point and shoot, so I be doin’ as you say. I be a fast learner, although I be aimin’ for his penis.” She sounds annoyed she missed. I suppose it’s one less fucker to worry about.
I’m not used to being ignored, and I need to articulate I’m not impressed with her random, Annie-Oakley, gun-toting ways, even though I am. I won’t admit I’m feeling a little proud of Padawan.
“I told you to fucking stay inside the hangar until I came for you.” I grind my words out in a low voice. I need to be in control for her safety. “I had it under control. This isn’t my first rodeo.” If only she knew how talented I was, she would be running in the other direction.
I’m beginning to expect the unexpected with this old lady. She’s much tougher than she looks. She’s a fighter. Something… someone in her past has made her this way. It’s all hidden away until called upon. She’s definitely seen darker days.
“I didn’t listen.” Miss Catherine has sass.
“Obviously,” I say dryly out the corner of my mouth.
I watch on in slight amusement, as she gets ready to batter up again and take a swing at Carrot Top. I shake my head. Did she not hear what I just said?
I’m beginning to see she is a little unpredictable when push comes to shove. “Whoa there, Miss Catherine. I got this one. I need to be able to pry some information out of him, and if you knock them both out, then I have to go wasting time waking up one of these fucked up dickwads.” I take the crutch away from her just in case she decides to take a whack at him and use it instead to steady myself.