Now I knew the answer. Because, in the minds of the villains, the heroes didn't deserve to die quickly. They would rather risk the heroes escaping, than end their suffering prematurely. If they did manage to get away, they could always be recaptured and tortured some more. Since escaping from Target Island almost three years ago, I had been living on borrowed time. I thought I'd managed to survive through a bit of skill and a lot of extraordinarily good luck, but now I saw that part of that was because Adrian had wanted us to survive; he wanted us to survive — and suffer.
He was killing us only because the threat we posed to his accomplishments now outweighed any pleasure prolonging our suffering might bring him.
I wondered what terrible secret lurked behind the silo's deceptively innocuous moniker. An image of a looming, mechanized tower popped into my head unbidden: a modernized version of the iron maiden, its concrete bowels were studded with spikes.
I clenched my shoulders, repressing a shudder. This wasn't helping. Maybe if I knew what Adrian was planning, I wouldn't feel quite so afraid. But the faces of the guards were grim and one of them had already cuffed me for walking too slowly, despite my injuries. I didn't dare tempt fate by speaking.
Michael walked beside me, as silent as the dead. Adrian had ordered our handcuffs removed, but the guards had left Michael's on. His steps were jerky, reminding me of one of those wind-up toy soldiers. He looked very badly hurt. Had they ever removed his handcuffs? Or had he been in chains since we had both been taken in that car? Poor Michael.
We stopped, and I looked from Michael to the guards. The one in front was standing before a metal door, whose surface was dulled by splotches of blood-colored rust. It opened with a screech that had me wincing, and wondering: why was it so rusted if the facility was allegedly new? What happened here?
Do I even want to know?
I scanned the room quickly, looking for dangers. It was a small chamber, but very high, with a domed roof that gave it the shape of a bell jar. There were metal grates on the walls spaced evenly at vertical intervals, although they, too, were rusted over like the door. Streaks of rust bled from the grates, dripping down the white walls in feathery streaks that went all the way to the floor. There was a curious smell here as well. Pungent. Achingly familiar.
I frowned. Why is this familiar?
“Quit stalling.” The guard behind me shoved me roughly, knocking me off balance. I was dizzy, weak, sore, and I went down like a sack of flour, scraping both my knees on the rough concrete. Beads of blood welled up like small garnets.
I lifted my head. Michael had stepped into the room without prompting, and now the guards were trying to edge away without looking intimidated. The size of the space between them was telling, though.
“Wait! Aren't you going to unlock his cuffs?”
The guards looked at me, and then Michael. He stared them down, and his eyes frightened me because of how empty they were. “Yeah,” he said. “Wouldn't want to upset your boss.”
They were too well schooled to flinch, but I knew what they were thinking. We were a prime example of what happened when Adrian got “upset.”
The one woman in the group swore. “You,” she said, directing the guard nearest to him. “Hold his shoulders.” She walked in front of Michael, pulling a key from her pocket as she grabbed his wrists with what looked to me like excessive force. “It won't make any difference,” she added. “Just so you know.”
There was a click. She caught the cuffs before they could fall, slipping them into a pocket. Michael tensed, like a large cat about to pounce, and the woman took a step back at the same time two guards took a step forward.
“Thank you,” he said. “Now get out.”
For a moment, he was the man in the body armor who had single-handedly taken out a whole squadron of men before collapsing. He could still be terrifying. It was an act, but for a moment, I forgot that.
And so did the guards.
Looking at their faces, they realized that, too — and hated him for it. “You deserve everything you get,” the female guard said. “And then some.”
She slipped out the door before he could respond, and the other guards followed in her wake, with one bringing up the rear with a loaded gun, pointed in our direction in case we tried anything.
The echo of the steel door slamming closed reverberated in the chamber as we were plunged into darkness. I hadn't been expecting the darkness, but then, there were no windows in here. The only source of light came from somewhere near the ceiling.
“Brings back memories, doesn't it?”
Michael's voice came from somewhere to my left. I turned in that direction. “We were lucky last time. On Target Island they still had some motivation to keep us alive — well,” I added, “Adrian did.”
“Because he wanted a scapegoat, a traitor.” He laughed humorlessly. “That became a self-fulfilling prophecy. As far as the men out there are concerned, I'm now exactly what he says I am.”
The walls hummed. The resulting vibration shook the floors beneath my feet, and rattled around in my bones. My foot collided with something soft and I heard a curse. “Sorry,” I whispered.
Michael sighed. It did not sound forgiving.
“It sounds like the walls are moving.”
“You've watched too many movies.”
“Maybe you haven't seen enough,” I shot back. “For all you know, he's going to crush us.”
“He's not a Bond villain. Do you have any idea how much it would cost to build a room like that?”
Michael didn't sound too sure, though. Adrian was building new facilities left and right. He had tried to dip his fingers into telecommunications and human trafficking, and now had money coming in from both. Certainly money hadn't been any object so far, and when it came to human misery, Adrian Callaghan had never spared any expense.
Crushing us did seem extravagant, even for him. And not nearly painful enough. If he were going to go big, it would be something slow and agonizing and gruesome. I thought again of the spikes, and had to kneel down. Eventually, the dizziness passed and I no longer felt quite as faint, although the throbbing in my eyes had yet to subside. I hadn't had much water, and my stomach was close to empty. The chill of the concrete permeated my thin clothing, draining away my heat, and my wounds ached in its absence.
What felt like a hand brushed against my arm. It was a light touch — he was trying to ascertain where I was, what part of me was facing him — and then his arm went around me. I had to choke back tears.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“What do you think?” His voice wasn't biting, just matter-of-fact. That hurt worse than sarcasm.
I bowed my head, even though he couldn't see it. He was only a faint outline, highlighted in gold from the wavering light above. “I'm so sorry.”
“It's not your fault.” He sounded angry now. Did he think it was his?
“It's not yours, either.”
Michael didn't bother responding, but his arm pulled me closer. The heat radiating from his bare skin was welcome; it helped mitigate some of the chill. I shivered again, and imagined my breath rising up towards the air in a frozen plume.
“It's so cold in here.”
“Maybe he's planning on freezing us.” Michael's voice was too loud in the darkness. Unlike me, he hadn't bothered with whispering.
“Do you really think so?”
“No. But he's planning something. Those doors were nearly rusted shut — ” so he'd noticed that, too “ — and this facility isn't that old.”
“Michael, what are you thinking?”
“I don't know. He might be planning to poison us. The rust could be a result of chemical corrosion from exposure to toxic fumes.” I felt him make a gesture. “This could be a giant gas chamber.”
I swallowed hard. “But there's a vent.”
“Could be for decontamination. That vent might lead into an air-locked filtration system to keep the toxins from getting into the rest of the bu
ilding.”
“I don't think so.” It looked like sunlight.
“It's one possibility, anyway,” said Michael.
The humming continued ominously.
“I guess we'll find out soon.”
Michael made a sound too hopeless to be a laugh. “How fatalistic.”
“Well, what other choice do we have?”
“I don't know.” He sounded frustrated.
My eyes went to the blazing light again. “If only we could reach that vent….”
“Tough shit. Unless you've got a twenty-foot ladder shoved up your ass, that's not gonna happen.”
I stared at the vent until my field of vision was filled with a constellation of violet afterimages. It occurred to me that this could be why moths were so drawn to the light: maybe in it, they saw freedom.
A liquid chill came over me, icy and unpleasant. Not just a chill, I realized suddenly, with burning humiliation and horror. My skirt was soaked.
Did I pee myself?
No — there was simply too much of it. My feet, my thighs, my hands were all partially submerged, and where they made contact, it burned. I jumped to a squat that had my muscles screaming as fire licked between my legs. My movements caused a series of sloshing sounds to echo shallowly, and elicited a metallic, briny smell that reminded me of blood.
“What's happening?” I yelped. “What is this?”
“It's water.” There was a larger splash beside me, and a curse. “Salt water. Fuck, it burns.”
It all came together in my head, with immediate clarity that struck like an arrow to the heart. The large door — the grates — the rust on the walls — even the smell. It was the ocean that smell had reminded me of, though I never would have made the connection here. Adrian was having salt water flooding in to the room through the grates. Lots of it. Gallons of it.
Which meant —
Oh my God.
I sucked in a breath.
“He's going to drown us.”
Panic clawed at me from the inside like a beast trapped in a cage. I hobbled towards the walls, running my hands over the surface half-blindly. The humming was louder here, I could feel the vibrations through the concrete. During my exploration, my fingertip caught and tore on the edge of one of the metal grates, slick now with the water that was flooding through the slats. I was right, horribly right.
I pulled at the grate, cursing at it, using all the horrible words I knew in Spanish and in English. But the slats were fixed in place, and the metal frame was bolted firmly into the concrete wall. Water continued to pour from it, smugly. I gave a final tug before releasing my aching fingers and slamming my fist against the wall. “We're going to die,” I said hollowly.
“No we're not,” Michael growled.
“Unless you've got a twenty-foot ladder…”
“Look.” His movements were furious enough to send water splashing in my direction. “We've gotten out of worse situations. Nobody expected us to survive then, either. But we're still alive.”
I was not consoled in the slightest. Michael always sounded angriest when he was most afraid.
“Just…hold it together. We'll think of something.”
“I am holding it together,” I said. “If I wasn't, I'd be screaming. The water level is rising and it's cold and it's dark, like something out of my nightmares, and it burns like a million tiny insects are burrowing under my skin trying to eat me alive, and if we don't think of something soon, I'll be drowning.” I let out a shaky breath. “But I'm not screaming, because I'm holding it together — and do you know why?”
“Because you're brave.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Because it would only be giving him what he wants. More suffering. More misery. I refuse to die according to his expectations.”
“Sometimes living can be the best revenge.”
The water was up to my waist. I was burning. I was on fire. I was dying. My self-control had been completely submerged by dark waves of panic. Now, soon, so would I.
Unless you think of something. Quickly.
“Do you have a plan?” I asked.
“I'm thinking.”
He didn't have a plan. We were doomed.
“Do you?”
“No.”
The water lapped against my breasts.
No, I thought. No, no, no.
“Tell me something,” I said desperately.
“What?”
“Something about you. Anything. Distract me.”
“I ate cat food once.”
I laughed shakily. “Why?”
“I was trapped in a cabin, in the middle of nowhere. They hadn't stocked up on human food, just food for their pets. It was all I had, so I ate it.”
“How did it taste?”
“It kept me alive.”
“When did this happen? Before me?”
“It was one of the first jobs I'd had that involved murder. It's true what they say, you know. First fuck. First love. First kill. You never forget your first.”
He made a sound.
“Come here.”
I felt his hand slide clumsily through my hair. No, I thought. He wouldn't want to…not now. I grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing?”
“Just like before. Clever girl.”
He'd pulled something out of my hair. I ran my own fingers through it and came into contact with something hard. My face creased in disgust. Dried blood? An insect? But then I remembered —
Una horquilla.
I'd bought them at the mall to pin my hair back from my face. The pack was lost, along with my purse and everything else that had been inside, but a couple stragglers remained that they'd missed in the pat-down. Bobby pins had gotten us out of our handcuffs before, back on Target Island. Maybe they would come to our aid once more. I breathed out quickly.
“Are you going to use them on the vents?”
“We'll see. I'm not sure we'll clear it.”
We were both treading water now. Michael was about 6'2,” which meant the level had passed six feet.
Eighteen inches to go, I thought. Will we make it?
“You tell me something,” Michael said.
“Why did you do it?”
“That's a question, not a fact.”
“I know.”
Part of me expected one of his usual non-answers: a sarcastic retort, outright evasion, or a crude sexual remark. But he surprised me.
“I told you before that I would do anything to keep you safe. I meant it.”
A sob escaped me. “You idiot.”
“Is it idiotic to want to keep the person you love safe?” he asked me sharply. “You were quick enough to tell me otherwise. You threw yourself into danger left and right to save your shit-for-brains parents. You essentially sold yourself to me just to save A. And I seem to recall you turning down a very appealing bargain from Adrian just because you couldn't stand to see me hurt. Me, the man who would have had you tortured and killed for a few scraps of information.”
The grate was almost in reach. Maybe an arm's length away. How cruel it would be if the water halted now, leaving our hopes for freedom dangling over our head like the grapes of Tantalus.
Don't think those thoughts. You're tempting fate.
The water continued to rise, and I breathed out in relief. Satisfied that we were no longer in imminent peril, my brain circled back to what Michael had said.
“That was different.”
“Yes. I'm not worth saving.”
He took the bobby pin and wedged it into something I could not see. I could hear the pinging sound as metal came into contact with metal. Would it work? I imagined the screws were rusted in place, just like the hinges of the door. What if the pin snapped? So many dangerous questions….
The grate slid free with a rusty screech before falling into the water with a splash. Michael hoisted himself up into the grate, and I heard him gasp. Then he clasped my hands in his to pull me up with him. The tug made my arms feel as if they were bein
g pulled out of my sockets.
“Come on,” he said, when I cried out in pain, “you're almost there.”
His words swirled around in my head, along with the fear, and the hurt, and the darkness. I felt myself slipping and my body braced itself for the impact, but then I felt Michael's strength surge, briefly, providing just enough force to propel us both inside the grate.
I landed on top of him, and through his water-chilled clothes, I could feel the warmth of his skin. I placed my hand on his chest, taking care to avoid any wounds. “You put so little value on your own life.”
“It's a hazard of the job.”
“No,” I said. “You've sold yourself a lie: you think you're a terrible person, and you do your best to make sure everyone around you believes that lie. Including me. That's why you push me away whenever I get too close, isn't it? Because I might realize that your well-crafted lie is just that — a lie.”
“You seem to think I'm worth saving. I'm not.”
“You have goodness inside of you. Everyone does.” My face twisted, and I bit down on my lip for a moment, trying to compose myself. “Well, almost everyone does.” I looked at him, and his eyes softened. “I love you. It took me so long to realize that, but I do. You're brave. You're smart. You're funny. Sometimes, you can even be kind.”
His laugh broke my heart. “Sweetheart, I am anything but.”
“You risked your life to save mine. What is that, if not selfless?”
“It's selfishness, pure and simple. I told you before, a life without you isn't worth living. Maybe I'm just not brave enough to stick it out, and prove myself wrong.”
“Prove us both wrong,” I said. “Save us. Live.”
I held out my hand. After a pause, he took it.
Sometimes living was the best revenge.
Michael
We were soaking and it was cold as a mother. The vent led out into a maintenance platform. It was cold in here, too. The only way out was back down, on a metal ladder. I would have rather dealt with a ladder that didn't have rungs in our states. We were weak and exhausted, and the water from our feet and hands had made the metal slick and slippery. But beggars couldn't be choosers.
Cease and Desist (The IMA Book 4) Page 27