“If you are okay.”
“Tell him out loud that I am, but I’m still very drugged.”
The man said it. Rather, Peyton assumed what the man said meant what he’d ordered him to say. The other man didn’t look alarmed, so Peyton assumed the guy complied.
“Tell him I need to take a piss and you’re going to help me.”
The man repeated it.
“Act like you’re helping me stand.”
The man, who was now rightfully terrified, did. “What are you doing to me? How did you get free?”
“Never mind. Anyone else speak English here?”
“No.”
Peyton whispered now. “Do not speak. Help me over to the desk.” Where Peyton had left the garbage can was just out of view of the table, and with the dark room, it’d be impossible for the man at the table to see inside.
“Freeze.” Peyton took the man’s sidearm from his holster, a 9mm, and patted him down, not finding anything else. “Keys? Answer silently.”
“No. Petrov took the truck after he brought me and the food here.” The man struggled to break free of Peyton’s control, his terror exploding as he realized he couldn’t.
“Any vehicles outside?”
“No.”
Fuck. That meant he’d have to hoof it. “Cell phones?”
He shook his head. “In the truck. Security.”
“Round in the chamber?” Peyton whispered, holding up the gun.
The man looked close to shitting himself as he nodded.
“How many rounds in the mag?”
“Twelve.”
Once he marched out with the guy, he’d only have so long before the others started firing. And if one of them picked up one of the AR-style rifles they had, it didn’t matter how powerful a Prime he was, he’d lose a race against a bullet.
He switched the safety off. “Where’s the door to the outside? Is it locked from the inside?”
“To the right. Locked on the outside, opens from the inside without a key. Turn the knob.”
Taking a deep breath, with his free hand, Peyton grabbed the guy by the back of the neck and slowly marched him toward the open doorway. “Don’t make a sound,” Peyton whispered.
Apparently realizing he was about to be used as a human shield, the man started mentally babbling so loudly and begging for mercy that Peyton was tempted to put a bullet in the back of his brain right then, but that would fuck his plan.
They approached the office doorway. Peyton bent his knees and stooped to stay behind the man and waited until they both stood clear of the door to glance to his right. There lay the exit, about twenty-five feet away. This was some sort of agricultural barn, and now he spotted farm equipment on the other side that wasn’t visible before. The man at the table was still looking down at his cards, allowing Peyton to take several side steps toward the door with his hostage in front of him. Then the other man looked up, scowling, and asked a question.
Peyton reached around his hostage and shot the first guy in the shoulder while heading for the door. That man fell to the floor while other men awakened and dove for their weapons.
When Peyton and his hostage reached the exit, Peyton put the gun in the man’s hand. “Stop them from coming after me,” he ordered. “Kill them if you have to. And anyone else who tries to find me. Do not follow me. Once they’re dead, kill yourself.” He bolted outside while behind him more gunshots rang out and the men shouted.
Thick woods lay thirty yards directly in front of him, and Peyton raced toward them. In retrospect, he knew it would have been smarter to keep the gun, but it was more imperative that he put distance between himself and these men rather than attempt to kill them and risk dying in the process. Maybe if it’d only been two or three men, he could have come up with a ruse to overcome them. But not this many men, with what were likely automatic rifles and backup arriving soon. The bottleneck in the doorway would hopefully slow the others enough that he could make it into the woods without them pursuing him, and cost any survivors additional time to track him.
Being a Prime, Peyton knew that under these circumstances, killing these men himself might trigger a feeding rage. He couldn’t afford to lose control and be distracted looking for fresh meat or hunting a wild animal.
