I need to act quickly because this standoff between Uncle Ollie and Blaed has to end somehow. And both guns are pointed directly at or very close to me. I give my uncle as subtle a nod as I can and hope he catches it.
With all the force I have, I pick up my right leg, my power leg, my starting leg for every race, and smash my bare foot down onto Blaed’s foot. Sure, if I had a steel-reinforced boot or my running spikes it might have more impact. But I’m working with what I have.
Blaed lists to one side for a second and I kick backwards, hoping to hit his most sensitive bits. Instead, Blaed releases my neck and grabs my ankle, stalling my momentum and causing me to faceplant. I expect the bruise to be gnarly.
Before I hit the ground, Uncle Ollie lunges.
Blaed fires off a shot but misses. The bullet hits the metal. The ricochet echoes around us. Another metal-on-metal whine.
“Declan . . .” My parched lips scratch out his name.
X.C., who was down on the ground, stands and runs down the dark passageway.Coward.
I don’t hear any more signs of Declan’s approach; I can no longer hear anything over the grunting between Blaed and Uncle Ollie.
Even with my arms tied, I find my way up to standing. The metal chair I was bound to is in front of me. I make a knee-jerk decision to kick it over. As Oliver and Blaed dance around each other, knowing someone has to shoot first. The sound of metal against concrete is loud and both Oliver and Blaed flinch, but Oliver clocks what I’m doing. The next motions happen too fast for Blaed to move out of the way.
Oliver takes a half-step forwards and Blaed steps back and topples over the chair. A bullet flies up to the ceiling. I duck and try to cover, hoping that if it ricochets back to the ground, it won’t hit me. Then, with Blaed on his back, I do the ugliest thing I’ve ever done as a human. I kick. My bare feet are taking a beating themselves because Blaed’s body is rock hard. But I know I land a few solid blows when he calls out in pain. Oliver grabs Blaed’s gun and pockets it. Quickly, before Blaed can stand, my uncle uses his pocketknife to cut my wrists free.
My shoulders are unforgiving as I bring my arms forwards. Oliver places a spare gun in my shaking hands as he stands over Blaed.
“Uncle Ollie,” I whisper, my head light. From the lack of food, heat, sudden and powerful movements, the fact that there is a gun in my hand. One of these factors, all of these factors. I’ve never felt this way before. Drained after a race, sure? I’ve gone numb and tingly with my episodes. But this is new, and whatever it is, it’s not good. But I need to help. Right now, we have Blaed outgunned. That could still change. In the distance, I hear the telltale whine of sirens.
Uncle Ollie gently guides my hand so I am pointing the gun at Blaed.Oh God, I hope I don’t have to use it.
While I stand over Blaed, my uncle uses the ropes that once tied me to bind him.
I keep telling myself I have to focus for just one more minute. Just one more.
“This is not the kind of dynamic work environment I was looking for, Uncle Ollie,” I pant with less conviction than I intend. My voice is whisper thin, but it still merits a smirk from my boss.
The sirens are getting louder. Closer.
Quick footsteps behind me are a reminder that they aren’t here yet.
I turn toward the sound. Declan is running along the narrow pathway that X.C. escaped down. Bright white spots dot my vision, and I am so light but also so heavy at the same time.
I hit the floor before I can even touch Declan. Before he can reach me.
49
DECLAN
My eyes beg for sleep. My head announces a headache will arrive soon if I don’t rest. Still, I get back to work. A few more emails and then I can stop. I tap out the necessary messages and shut down the screen I’ve been staring at for two hours.
Today has been relentless. Even though the authorities arrived to take Blaed into custody earlier today, Oliver and I stayed on site to respond to every question they had for us. We gave answers. Some more forthcoming than others.
They were also dispatched to apprehend a trespasser in a company-owned property. The cavalry went to the safehouse to take Ian in. Neither Oliver nor I wanted to see him. I’ve spent the past hour ensuring his access to any FIRE systems was thoroughly revoked.
Oliver was able to back up everything he said with security footage. Ian went to the property and pointed a gun at Charlie. She escaped, only to be taken by Xander Caruso and Blaed Johannson. They’re now involving the federal authorities to track down X.C., who fled like a little bitch. No mention of their motive, though.
And Charlie. My breath catches and I tell myself to push it aside. The fear, the self-loathing. I don’t have the luxury of letting that crash over me. Not yet. It feels like a week has passed since I woke up next to Charlie in the safehouse this morning. How blissful the day began is a cruel reminder of how quickly it devolved.
I close my laptop and set it on the coffee table before standing.
Being in Charlie’s apartment is like we’re in stasis; we’re in a cocoon of safety. Within this home, I can forget everything outside. We can stay here and nothing can get to us. But that’s not reality.
I make my way down the hallway to her room. Charlie is asleep on her bed, where I tucked her into her pink frilly duvet.
