More movement in the cell—the bed rocked back.
Ford grabbed Angel’s hand. Squeezedonce…twice…
The metal bed frame swung forward…
Three times.
Metal smacked into reinforced glass with a dull thud. The man startled and spun, half-rising from his seat.
As one, Angel and Ford went after the man.
Another crash of bed to window. The gun swung toward Angel.
Ford dove in front of her as a shot went off, the blast deafening. He went down.
The gun swung up again. Angel shoved it away and threw her elbow into the man’s pinched little face. The resulting crunch would have made her sick in another life, but in this one, it satisfied some bloodthirsty desire for revenge. “You bastard,” she yelled.
Crack!Spiderwebbed glass tinkled outward, raining onto the floor before the next quick swing, which blew the whole thing out into this room. Angel barely noticed as she used every bit of momentum to bash the man’s head on the desk.
She didn’t stop to protect her face from the flying glass, just thumped his head over and over again.
“Holy shit. Angel. Hon, stop it.”
Angel threw off the hands that got in her way.
“Come on. You’ll kill him and—”
“Needs to die.” She shoved at him, wishing he’d put up more of a fight.
“Stop!” One of the women grabbed ahold of Angel. “Finish this after we get the door codes.”
Angel’s arms dropped heavily to her sides and she sank to the floor, nodding, though she didn’t quite get what was happening.
Someone yelled. Another voice joined in.
“Put pressure on the wound.”
Wound?Dazed, Angel searched for Ford.
People were suddenly there: legs, sock-clad feet.
Feet.
“Ford?” She swallowed back the taste of blood. Or the smell. She swiped a battered hand to her face. Stared at the deep red staining her hand. “Ford?”
Her eyes scanned the room. Where was he? Slowly, her head dropped. What was Pam doing? Was she kissing someone?
Crimson everywhere. Splashes and smears.
Something thick and sour filled her stomach. Dread.
Ford lay in a pool of blood as Pam worked over him.
Angel threw off a hand that tried to grab her—no,oh no—fought to crawl to him, pushed against big, rough arms to get to his side. To hold him tight, keep the blood in his veins, the life in his body.
Finally, she got ahold of one cold hand, which she held in both of hers—and though they tried to pull her away, she wouldn’t let go.
She wouldn’t let Ford go.
