Oath Bound
Page 118

“You saw my family?” I said the minute the door closed behind Julia.
Mitch tightened the knot in his shoelaces, then set his foot on the floor and rested his elbows on his knees. “Just Kori. But her boyfriend and your girlfriend were with her.”
Through the window, on the edge of my vision, I saw Julia step into Kenley’s room. Lincoln stepped back to make room for her, and when Julia gave him an order I couldn’t hear, he pulled the blindfold from Kenni’s head.
Her eyes widened when she saw him, and fear glistened like tears in her eyes.
Mitch stood and stalked toward me with an arrogant swagger born of the fact that I was tied up, but he was free—an irony, if I’d ever seen one, considering that he was bound to Julia and I was, at least for the moment, in charge of my own decisions. “You’re still bleeding. I’m not going to pass up an opportunity like that.”
In the other room, Julia was still talking. She held up the oath she’d drafted, and Kenley glanced at it, then shook her head. Julia gestured angrily at me through the glass, and Kenley responded with what could only be a Kori-inspired string of expletives.
Mitch leaned closer, drawing my attention as he pulled a wadded-up tissue from his pocket. He leaned in to mop up the blood on my neck, and I lurched upright as hard and fast as I could, sacrificing balance for power. My forehead smashed into his and he stumbled backward stunned.
I wobbled on my feet, still tied to the legs of the chair.
The guard by the wall drew his gun as Mitch tripped over his own feet and hit the ground on his ass. “Don’t shoot! Julia wants him alive.”
The guard hesitated, and I took advantage of that moment to throw my full weight at the ground, using Mitch to cushion my fall. I twisted at the last second, driving my shoulder into his torso. I felt something crack, and Mitch howled over at least two fractured ribs.
When I looked up, the guard was almost on us, his gun in hand, but unaimed. I shoved my legs out straight as hard as I could, and was rewarded when the ties around my ankles slipped over the ends of the chair legs.
Now free from the chair, my hands still tied at my back, I waited until the guard was almost on me, then rolled off of Mitch and twisted to the side. When the guard hesitated to shoot me a second time, I wrapped my feet around his left ankle and bent my knees, pulling as hard as I could. His leg slipped out from under him and he went down on his right hip on the concrete. Hard.
The guard groaned, and I sat up, then spun on my ass. In position, I leaned back and brought both heels of my boots crashing down into his skull. Blood burst from his nose and his eyes closed. His hand went limp and his gun clattered onto the concrete. I slammed my heels into his throat, crushing his windpipe. He gurgled and choked, but did not regain consciousness.
He’d be dead in minutes. I couldn’t afford to leave a trained fighter alive at my back.
Mitch backed away from me on his ass, one arm pressed to his side, struggling to get to his feet. He seemed to have forgotten he had a gun, which supported my theory that he’d been a glorified taxi service for Jake Tower, rather than hired muscle. No one with any real training would have forgotten he was armed, even with a couple of broken ribs and a bruised ego.
I couldn’t see the window from the floor, but the fact that Julia hadn’t sent in more guards said that she and Lincoln hadn’t yet noticed what was happening, and my stomach churned over the thought of what would be horrible enough to hold their attention for so long.
My pulse whooshing in my ears, I rolled onto my knees, then stood—a challenge in equilibrium for sure. But the next part was an even bigger challenge. Balancing on one foot, I bent in half and tucked one leg to my chest, then slid my bound wrists beneath my own backside and slid that leg through the loop formed by my arms. I repeated with the other legs and my hands were in front of me, still bound, but now much easier to use.
Bending, I snatched the dead guard’s gun and aimed at Mitch, who’d finally made it to his feet. “Lift your gun from your holster with two fingers and drop it on the ground.”
“Fuck you.”
I took aim at his chest, and he swallowed visibly, then reached for his gun.
“Slowly.”
Mitch lifted his gun from his holster with his thumb and forefinger, then bent to set it on the ground.
“Kick it to me.”
He did, and I bent to catch it with my foot. “Does Julia have a Jammer?”
He answered without hesitation. “She did. You just kicked him in the face until he quit breathing.”
I wanted to shoot him. I wanted to shoot him so badly. But he was unarmed. That would be murder.
Julia was a murderer, if by proxy. I was not.
Instead, I crossed the space between us in four steps aiming at his heart. “You don’t have to—” he said when I got close enough to see the fear in his eyes, and I slammed the grip of his own gun into his right temple. Hard.
Mitch crumpled to the ground, and I kicked him in the head for good measure. Then I dropped his gun into my holster and knelt to dig his phone from his pocket. I dialed Kori from memory, but my finger froze on the last number when I turned toward the window to find Kenley’s room empty.
You can’t see the whole room, I reminded myself as I pressed that last button. She’s fine.
I hadn’t fired the guard’s gun, so the chances of them having heard the fight were slim.
I held Mitch’s phone to my ear, and Kori answered on the third ring. “Who the hell is this?”
“It’s me.”