“You don’t need to do all that shit, Huntsman. Yeah, I know who you are,” he says, his voice strong. He glances at me with a sigh. “I had to try and protect her. She’s my queen, and the title deserves my loyalty even if the person doesn’t.” The bedroom door makes an ominous crack, and the shouting gets louder. They’re close to breaking down the reinforced door. We don’t have much time. And from Marshall’s rushed tone, I assume he guesses it, too. “There’s a hidden exit in the Mirror’s room. The third brickto the right in the second row above the mantel. It’s false. Push it in, and it’ll open a door in the wall next to the fireplace. Once you get inside, there’s another brick right next to the opening, smooth and larger than the others. Press it and it’ll close the wall back. Now hit me.”
Neither I nor Malachi needs an explanation about the why of his last request. Malachi draws his arm back and punches him so hard, Marshall crumples to the floor, knocked out.
“Shit.” I try to go to him. Try to kneel and see if the kid is still alive, but Malachi grips my arm, preventing me.
“He’s fine. He’ll wake up with one hell of a headache, but he’ll live. Let’s go. We don’t have a lot of time before they come through that door. And we still don’t know where Abena and her fuck boy are.”
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I got us into this shit, and I can’t further risk our lives. Guilt swims inside me, threatening to drown me from the inside out. We bolt across the room, locking the adjoining door and hopefully granting us precious few moments.
“Over here.” I race ahead of Malachi to the fireplace, reciting Marshall’s directions. I locate and push the brick just like he said, and I hold my breath. “Damn.” I expected it, but God, relief streams through me like a swollen spring flood when the section of the wall seamlessly, noiselessly parts. “Malachi.”
I wave for him, and he nods, but pauses to shove a huge dresser in front of the door to slow down the onslaught from the other room. And good thing, too, because a loud crash and rush of thunderous feet shake the floor just as he finishes. My heart pounds against my chest wall like Thor’s hammer, and with each strike, two thoughts ricochet against my skull:If he dies, it’s your fault. You will never be your precious Aisha.
“Eshe, close the wall,” Malachi barks. He doesn’t wait, reaching past me and slamming his hand against the brick. Then he jerks my mask down, covering my face. “Let’s go. You have to lead since you’re more familiar with this building than I am. So,whatever’s going on in your head, get over that shit until later. We need to get out of here.”
I nod, though I only pack down the weight of my guilt, my shame, and my self-directed disgust. They’re already seeping into my blood, bones, and tissue like waste, and there’s no rooting them out. But he’s right. It’s my responsibility to get us out.
The one thing I didn’t think to bring was a flashlight, but as we quickly move, dim lights built along the walls blink to life, illuminating the way. Silently, I send up a prayer to my ancestors because I know damn good and well Abena’s ass didn’t implement this shit. Though I’ve never been in this passageway, it’s going down, and we’re in the east wing. Which means we’re closer to the side of the compound that butts up against the Charles River.
And the side that’s farthest away from the woods and my bike.
Goddamn.
“I’m not exactly sure where we’re going to end up at, but I think we won’t be far from the river. We’ll need to make a run or swim for it.”
He doesn’t answer, and I ignore the plummeting of my stomach and keep moving. At least fifteen minutes later, we arrive at a door, secured from the inside with a steel bar.
I reach for the bar, and he sets his hand over mine, stopping me.
“Ready?”
Not needing him to elaborate, I nod. Ready for whatever we might face on the other side. Ready to fight our way out. Ready to die.
“Yeah.” I raise the bar and slowly push the door open just wide enough to slip out side by side into the darkness.
My hands go for my SIG and my Glock, and I grasp—no, desperately sink into—the calm and peace of having the weapons in my palms. It takes a few seconds, but my eyes adjust to the shadows, and I recognize where we stand.
“The road and the river are on the other side of the yard and the fence,” I murmur, pointing my Glock toward the barbwirefence about five hundred yards away. Five hundred well-lit, heavily guarded yards.
“Aye.” I tilt my head back and meet Malachi’s bright gaze. “See you on the other side.”
Despite the guilt still churning in my chest and gut, I grin and run for the first body and gun pointed toward me. Ducking, I wrap my arm around the back of his neck and yank down, pulling him off-balance and shooting the soldier behind him at the same time. Jerking my arm back, I let him up and pop him in the temple, then move on to the next person.
I shoot, punch, kick, and slash my way across the yard. Never pausing, never stopping. And they keep coming. I can’t allow myself to look across or behind me for Malachi, because one second, one mistake, could mean my life. And I trust the Huntsman to make it out of this alive.
He has to.
Because that’s one death I don’t think I could bear.
A soldier rushes toward me, his dagger glinting in the moonlight, and I pull the trigger on my Glock. Nothing.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Thinking fast, I hurl it at him, and the butt smashes into his forehead, and his feet fly out from under him. I run, bending down long enough to slash his throat, and then leap, hitting the fence. I scramble up, and bullets ping the wire next to me, but I keep going, not slowing down.
A huge body climbs next to me, and for a moment, I think it’s a soldier, but the ski mask, wide shoulders, and flash of blue as he glances at me clue me in to his identity.
Thank God.
