The door handle starts to turn and adrenaline floods my system, helping me push past my exhaustion. It’s been about a year since Lucien asked me to take care of anything like this for him, the sort of issues he wants kept off the books, but muscle memory kicks in.
Stepping to the side of the door, I wait for the man to show his face before throwing my arms over his head and drawing back, using the chain on the handcuffs to cut off his air supply. He slams backwards and I hook my foot on the door, forcing it shut, and grunt as my head collides with the steel.
He claws at his throat, panicking and trying to pry the chain away. When he realizes the effort’s futile, he fumbles for the gun on his hip. Kicking the back of his knee, I shove forward, sending him into the cement. Catching himself before bashing his face, he’s forced to stop trying for his gun.
He flails his hand back at me, but there isn’t much force behind it. His wheezing gasps are coming fewer and farther between as his face turns a reddish purple. I yank harder and he finally stops struggling. Still, I don’t let go, know better than to risk it. I couldn’t even tell you how long I kneel on his back, keeping his makeshift noose drawn tight to make sure I won’t be blindsided by him playing possum.
“Fuck,” I huff, heart hammering a mile a minute.
Gradually, I lessen my death grip on his throat, hypervigilant of his form for any twitch of muscle. Nothing happens over the course of several minutes, and I have to shift his head to get my hands back. Quickly, I take his gun and tuck it in the pocket of my jeans, making sure it’s out of reach as I start patting him down for a set of keys.
The one for the handcuffs is so much smaller compared to the rest that it’s easy to find, though tricky to contort my hands enough to unlock them. Rather than just tossing them to the side, I crouch above the corpse and bind his wrists behind his back. Call me a paranoid bastard if you will, but there’s a small enough chance of getting us out of here as it is, that I’m not about to sabotage myself by being sloppy.
I check the clip in the gun to ensure it’s mostly full before attempting trying the keys in the door. The tenth one finally yields results, and I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, knowing things are going to get a hell of a lot worse before they get better, if they even do.
Keeping my head down, I step from the room and shut the door behind me. The door to my left has a deadbolt engaged, and I waste no time flipping it and slipping into the room. With as coated in blood as I am and the fact everyone in this place likely got an eyeful, I have no hope of passing off as a nameless guard. I only counted ten stranger’s voices, so they would all recognize one another.
Dorian’s unconscious, the concrete around him stained with blood. “Shit.” Crossing the room quickly, I free his hands and rip the blindfold off, gently smacking his cheek hastily. “Come on, D. No time for a nap.” Reluctantly, I smack him harder, because we just don’t have the time to waste.
He groans, blinking a few times as he struggles awake, eyes bleary and dazed. He’s in worse shape than I am, his back a tattered, bloody mess, but he’ll live. If we can get out of here without being shot, that is.
“Atlas?” He groans, shutting his eyes as he starts to sit up too quickly.
“I have a plan, but I can’t pull it off without you,” I jump right in, no time to play catch up. “You’ve got to get up though.”
He hisses in a sharp breath, but uses the wall as leverage to get to his feet. “Shit,” he manages between pants, looking pale.
“I know. But fingers crossed as soon as the adrenaline kicks in, you’ll feel steadier.” He nods, and I withdraw my stolen gun, fitting the key in the lock, but not opening the door yet.
“I’ll get you a gun, but you’re going to have to hold your own. You get Cambria and I’ll find Luce. Get back to the room to the right of this one and wait for me, alright?”
He nods, but I can see the fear and doubt in his eyes. “How are we getting out?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I mutter, opening the door with a false sense of confidence. “Wait here.”
Stepping out, I look down either side of the hallway, but it’s empty save for a man walking out of an open door a little ways to my right. He slams it shut behind him the same time he draws his weapon, but I’m already pulling the trigger. He crumples in a heap, blood spatter coating the door he was protecting.
Yanking the gun from his grip, I jog back to Dorian and pass it over. “If I’m right, it sounds like she’s being kept that way.” I gesture with the barrel of my gun in the direction opposite the dead guard.
“Why aren’t you getting her?” He double checks that the safety is off and tries to school his features to hide his self-deprecation.
It isn’t the first time he’s fired a gun, and with the way he kicked my ass in axe throwing, I have more confidence in him than he does. He can do this, he just needs to shake off the doubt. And we don’t have time to be second guessing ourselves when there’s so much on the line.
“Because if all of this has been a show for Lucien, I have no idea what I’ll be walking into. They’ll have made sure he isn’t going anywhere, and I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to get him out in one piece. But if I get killed trying and you have Cambria, the two of you can still make it out of here.”
I don’t bother explaining further, because we’ve wasted enough time as it is. Another couple of men are rounding the corner, drawn by the gunshot, and we fire in tandem. Dorian’s goes a bit wide, but he corrects himself quickly and the man falls on the second shot.
“I’m a little out of practice,” he defends, but I’m already heading for the door with a corpse guard.
“Pocket whatever weapons you can on the way if you get the chance.”
He nods, speed walking down the hall in the opposite direction and trying not to limp. I take a steadying breath before pushing open the door beside the corpse, not sure if I’m prepared for whatever’s on the other side.
I use the dead man’s foot to keep the door propped open since I sent the keys with Dorian, stepping into the room with my gun drawn. Ignoring the screaming as my shoulder protests, I do a quick sweep, but there’s only two other men in the room. Victor, red faced and chest heaving, and Lucien, strapped to a chair.
“How di-“ His words are cut off by my next shot, because honestly, I don’t give a fuck.
I’ve seen this movie before. The kidnapper monologues, someone gets caught up in a tragic story, and doesn’t hear the person sneaking up behind them until it’s too late. I couldn’t give two shits what comes out of Victor’s mouth on the best of days, and my screaming muscles have my patience at an all-time low.
