He leans in further, eager as a dog sniffing ass. “Tell me, bitch.”
I look up, meeting his eyes. “Right here, motherfucker.”
The knife flashes out, slicing across Spare Parts’ face. He reels back, howling, blood spraying from the gash.
“Fuck!” Ugly shouts, fumbling with the keys. The lock clicks and the cell door swings open with a rusty screech.
I’m already moving. Spare Parts is on his knees, clutching his face. I dive past him as Ugly raises his gun.
The shot cracks through the air, missing me by inches. My shoulder slams into Ugly’s gut, driving the air from his lungs. We hit the ground hard, the gun skittering across the floor.
Adrenaline’s pumping through my veins like rocket fuel. Ugly throws a wild punch, but I’m faster. My fist connects with his throat. He gags, eyes bulging.
I scramble to my feet, grabbing a fistful of his hair. His head meets the cell bars with a sickening crunch. Once. Twice. Three times.
He goes limp, sliding to the floor in a boneless heap.
Spare Parts is still conscious, moaning on the ground. I turn to him, knife glinting in the dim light.
“That was for my sister, you piece of shit,” I snarl, driving the blade into his gut. His eyes go wide, a choked gasp escaping his lips as I twist the knife.
I’m panting, covered in blood—some mine, mostly theirs. My hands are shaking, but I force them steady. No time for a fucking breakdown now.
I stumble out of the cell, my legs shaking like a newborn colt’s. The hallway stretches before me, a maze of shadows and flickering lights. The stench of piss and fear hangs thick in the air, making my stomach churn.
“Fuck,” I mutter, wiping blood from my face with the back of my hand. It smears across my skin, hot and sticky. “Get it together, Wren.”
My ears are ringing from the gunshot, but I strain to listen for any sign of movement. Nothing but the distant hum of machinery and my own ragged breathing. I grab Ugly’s gun from the floor, checking the clip. Three rounds left. Better than nothing.
I start moving, keeping low and close to the wall. Every step sends jolts of pain through my battered body, but I grit my teeth and push on. Alex needs me. Em, Lenny, even that sorry drunk John—they’re all counting on me.
The corridor seems endless, doors lining both sides like tombstones in a graveyard. I try each one, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure it’ll burst right out of my chest.
Locked. Locked. Fucking locked.
Then I hear it: a muffled sob. My breath catches in my throat. I know that sound. Em.
I press my ear against the next door, straining to hear. There it is again, followed by a low groan that could only be John.
“Em?” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Lenny? You in there?”
“Wren?” Em’s voice, thick with tears. “Oh God, Wren, help us!”
I jiggle the handle, but it’s locked tight. “Stand back from the door,” I growl, raising the gun.
The shot is deafening in the narrow hallway. The lock shatters, and I kick the door open, nearly falling into the room.
The stink of blood and sweat hits me like a truck. Em and Lenny are tied to chairs, their faces bruised and swollen. John’s on the floor, moaning, his leg bent at an angle that makes my stomach lurch.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathe, rushing to untie them. My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely work the knots. “What did they do to you?”
Em’s sobbing now, relief and fear mixing in her tears. “Wren, they took Alex. Elena has him.
Ice floods my veins. My vision narrows to a pinpoint, the edges going black. No. No, no, no.
“Where?” I demand, my voice a feral growl. “Where did that bitch take him?”
Lenny speaks up, his voice cracking. “I heard them say something about the main office. Up one floor, I think.”
