One second, Paltrow is a few steps away; the next, his fingers are digging into my arm hard enough to leave bruises. I gasp as the pain flares bright.
Garrett roars.
And I don’t think. I act.
I slam my forehead forward as Paltrow’s mouth approaches mine. Instead of the kiss he was expecting, there’s a crunch, and his startled jolt makes him loosen his grip.
Twisting my body, I wrench my arm free and stumble back into the mine wall with an impact that rattles my teeth.
Paltrow staggers, cursing, one hand flying to his face as blood pours between his fingers. “You bitch.”
He lunges for me, but this time, I drop. I don’t even know where the instinct comes from, just that, somehow, my body knows how to survive. I duck beneath his arm and slam my shoulder into his ribs. He grunts and stumbles back.
More importantly, his gun skitters across the dirt.
“Gun,” Garrett shouts.
But Paltrow is fast, his boot coming out and catching me hard in the knee. Pain explodes down my leg, and I cry out as the world tilts violently.
But just like I have my entire life, I stay on my feet, somehow.
I throw myself at Paltrow, wild and desperate. I go for his eyes, my bound hands clawing at his face until he backhands me, the blow snapping my head to one side. Stars burst behind my eyes, and the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth.
As Paltrow goes for the gun, I crawl in the other direction to Garrett. The ropes around his wrists are thick and old, and my nails rip and break as I untie the knot chaining him beneath the beam. The zip tie is tighter, cutting into his skin. I press my mouth to it, my teeth scraping the plastic and fibers from the rope.
“Get them off, Sunbeam. Hurry.”
I saw my teeth across them and can feel Garrett pulling his hands apart as hard as he can to help them snap.
My jaw protests, and the taste of dirt and old hemp and Garrett’s blood taint my mouth. I worry the zip tie until my gums ache, until I can feel it getting thinner, until I feel it start to give.
I don’t realize Paltrow is behind me until he grabs my hair, yanking me back so hard, my scalp burns. But I flail around and manage to get my hand to his balls and squeeze and wrench them with everything I have.
Paltrow lets out a wail, and he bends at the waist. He tries to raise the recovered weapon, but his hand shakes so violently, he can’t fire.
Yet.
“You can do it, Isla,” Garrett encourages when I return my teeth to the zip tie.
I clamp my teeth down again, knowing we only have seconds, if that. Maybe I’ll die in Garrett’s arms, or maybe we’ll figure something out.
When the tie snaps, I don’t stop. I go for the rope around Garrett’s ankles, but Paltrow slams into me, knocking me sideways. My shoulder hits the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. He looms over me, breathing hard, his face contorted with rage, the cold metal of the gun against my temple.
A tear spills over and runs down my cheek. I hate the idea that I’m giving Paltrow what he wants…my breakdown.
“You think you’re brave?” he snarls.
My laugh comes out broken and hysterical. “I think”—I wheeze—“you picked the wrong captives.”
Garrett surges behind him, having unbound his feet while I distracted Paltrow.
With free hands that are bloodied and furious, he grabs Paltrow from behind, locking an arm around his throat.
They crash into the wall together.
I scramble to my feet as Paltrow elbows Garrett so hard in the ribs, I swear, I hear one break. But Garrett doesn’t let go. It’s like his mind has overruled every other outcome.
“Isla, get back,” Garrett shouts.
