Harsh words, for sure, but when Micki looked at him, her idiot brother’s lips quirked.
“He’s a dumbass,” Grif said.
Micki smacked Reid’s arm. “We love him anyway.” She faced front and nodded. “Jonah can go in with me, but I’m doing the talking. No matter what he says, I’m talking. And that’s the end of it.”
A vicious stab sliced through Gage’s shoulders as Tomas hoisted him up to the crossbeam for the third time. Jesus. His arms might come right out of the sockets.
This was their game. Hang him, let him down long enough to get the feeling back in his hands and arms—and keep him from passing out—and then reel him back up again. Whatever their plan for Micki was, they obviously wanted Gage at least somewhat coherent. And hanging a man by his wrists for more than twenty minutes wouldn’t give them that.
In the world of a good mind fuck, these guys weren’t amateurs.
Lucky for him, neither was he. Exactly why he’d let them haul him to that crossbeam, while he raised enough of a protest to make it legit, yet not get shot for his efforts.
Even with the short breaks, his body was breaking down, his arms and fingers becoming too fatigued to be of much use.
And the pain. He could deal with it, but the longer he waited to make a move, the more he’d have to endure and eventually he’d wind up with nerve damage or some other godforsaken injury.
Go time. Had to be.
Tomas finished his task and left, closing the door behind him. Gage let his head dip back. Above him, the end of the rope had been tied off around his wrist, leaving him roughly twenty inches of space between his hands and the beam. If he could get some slack…
Fifteen minutes. That’s how much time he had. Gage knew this because he’d been counting the seconds between each check, and the last three had been between fifteen and twenty minutes.
Not a lot of time, but enough. Already, his fingers were tingling and a bead of sweat trickled down his face. Get to work.
The only light spilling into the room came from the crack under the door, but he’d worked in worse conditions. This beat a sweltering cave or rat-infested underground tunnel any day.
Three feet away, the workbench held that vise. If he could get there, he might have a shot. He arched his back, snapped his legs forward and started a swinging motion. Not nearly high enough. Momentum was his friend, and he needed enough force to create slack on his wrists when he reached the highest point of his swing.
Goddammit.
Try again. The strain on his arms, that feeling that another inch of movement would rip them right from the sockets, couldn’t be denied. Staying like this though? Not an option.
He gripped the rope, visualized what he needed to do and—here we go—propelled his legs forward, picking up much-needed height to move the slackened rope, little by little, down the beam. Seven, maybe eight more swings and he’d be close enough to stand on the corner of the workbench.
Swing. Swing. Swing. Fatigue burned like a hot poker in his shoulders, and more sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes. Ignore it. The post-drugging fog continued to dissipate and his mind ticked through his next steps. Next steps? Hell, if he didn’t get to that bench quick it wouldn’t matter. Tomas would walk in and bust his ass.
Swing. Swing. Swing. He kept at it, gradually moving closer and closer. Sweat poured off him now, and he rubbed the side of his face against his upper sleeve.
Slowly, he gained a rhythm, the small success powering him through the agony in his shoulders. Scoot, swing, scoot, swing, scoot.
The workbench was right there. Focus. His arms shook, the muscles angry and overused from hanging so long, but the bench. Right there. If it wouldn’t blow the whole thing, he’d let out a fortifying yell, get himself pumped up for one last attempt to get this shit done.
Swing, swing, swing.
Observe, analyze, act. He pictured his feet, solid on that table, then mentally worked backward, analyzing each tiny detail of what had to happen to achieve his goal. More force. That's what he needed.
One, two, three. He swung back, snapped his legs hard, and his body sailed. A burst of adrenaline drowned the pain in his shoulders and he jerked his arms, sliding the rope directly overhead, his body swinging just above the workbench. The sudden tension release in his upper body sent a burst of air exploding from his lungs. Tomorrow, his arms would be toast.
Today? Halfway there.
He set his feet flat on the workbench and took a break. A small minute to get his head straight. He glanced down at his feet and the vise beside them. Rust lined the edges and part of the handle had broken off and now sat on the table. If Flynn had intended to put that vise to use, it wouldn’t do much good. Gage tilted his head up at the crossbeam.
Too high.
Little more. More, more, more. He gripped the rope, slid it a few inches until directly overhead. He held his breath, tightened his core and—now—pulled, drawing his legs up and toeing the vise, checking its stability. When it didn’t crumble, he set one foot on it, his ankle wobbling slightly as he boosted himself up, closer to the overhead beam.
He stayed there for a second, his ankles still bound and his mouth level with the rope at his wrists. He let out a quiet laugh. When he saw Reid again, he’d thank him for all the miserable workouts he’d put him through. Without them, he’d have been cooked.
His body trembled. His core sending a warning that the break was over. Time to get this done. Sweat beads dripped into his eyes, and he swiped his head against his shirtsleeve. Pain is weakness leaving the body.
His energy roared back. How much time did he have? He’d lost count. Too much going on. He bit down on the rope, chewing and tearing at it like an enraged animal. Seven, maybe eight minutes, barring any interruptions, he’d gnaw through the rope, untie his ankles, and kick some ass.
Micki ran her teeth over her bottom lip while Reid cruised along the back of the strip mall. Headlights off, they used the swath of dripping wet trees between the road and building as cover. Not that it mattered. The spotlights on the building were either off or burned out and darkness shrouded the southern portion of the parking area.
The streetlamp from the main road threw light on two vehicles parked behind an end unit on the north side of the building.
“That’s Flynn’s rental,” Reid said. “I put the GPS on that one.”
Micki poked her finger against the windshield. “Park down there. Around the side so they can’t see the truck. Phil is paranoid. He’s probably checking both entrances every ten minutes.”
Reid drove to the south entrance and parked parallel to the building, leaving the truck hidden from anyone standing in front or behind the mall.
“I’ll leave the truck here. Britt, Grif, and I will hit the back entrance. You and Jonah take the front. Keep them occupied until we bust Suds out. Then get the fuck out of there. Mags can deal with the rest.”
Jonah made a buzzing noise. “Mags is mobilizing SWAT. She said to stand down.”
Micki met Reid’s eye. If she knew her older brother at all, he wouldn’t like that idea any more than she did.
“No,” she said. “Tomas said Phil is unhinged and I agree. At this point, I have no idea what he’ll do and I’m not risking it. I’d sooner trade places with Gage than have him hurt. Or worse.”
“Relax.” Grif opened his door. “It’s not the first time we’ve defied Mags. She’ll forgive us. It’ll be painful and might include the silent treatment for a while, but she loves us.”
Reid hopped out of the truck, lowered the tailgate, and started grabbing weapons from the polymer cases that kept them dry in wet weather. “Let’s do this, boys. I brought some C-4 in case we need to blow the door.”
“C-4?” Britt said. “Shit, Reid.”
“Hey, if we can’t get the door open, how are we supposed to get in? It’s not like I haven’t done it a few thousand times.”
Her brothers. Total PITAs.
In this instance, Mi
cki sided with Britt. Adding explosions to this insane mix could get someone hurt. “Please be careful. With the glass storefronts, Gage is probably hidden in a back room. Don’t blow him up.”
Reid turned to Grif and shoved a rifle, a handgun, and a holster at him. “All of a sudden everyone’s an expert. Everyone grab a vest. We don't know what we're walking into.”
“No,” Micki said. “You guys wear them. If Phil sees me in a vest, he'll know we're planning something.”
“Mikayla, don't fuck with me.”
Jonah waggled his fingers. “Give me the nine millimeter. She's got a point. We'll be fine.”
Reid handed over the weapon. “I don't like it.”
“None of us do, bro.”
“Give me a rifle,” Britt said.
The Steele brothers. A four-man cavalry. This was what she’d missed in Vegas. The family loyalty, the binding ties, the willingness to risk everything. For each other.
“Guys,” she said, “thank you.”
The responses were as varied as the men.
Reid: “Whatever.”
Grif: “Don’t get mushy on us now.”
Brit: “We’ll take care of this, Mikayla.”
Jonah: “No. Thank you.”
Her brothers in all their glory.
“Once we get Suds loose,” Grif said, “we need to bug out fast. We don’t know what kind of shape he’ll be in, so I’ll hop in the truck bed for the ride back.”
Britt slid the strap of the rifle over his head. “If we have to blow the door, Phil will hear it.”
“I’ve got him,” Jonah said. “One of you take the other guy.”
“Not a problem,” Britt added. “Reid and Grif can get Suds out while I’m on Tomas.”
Too many intangibles meant too many things going wrong. The only thing in Micki's control was her emotions and she owed it to Gage to stay calm and alert and focused. Plus, she couldn’t think about this any longer.
“Let’s do this. The idea of him in there, because of me, is making me insane.”
Ready to free him, she started walking, her feet smacking against the wet pavement. At least the rain had passed. She'd take that as a good sign.
Hands in pockets, she drew a breath of cool air and let the oxygen sharpen her senses.
Jonah caught up, slinging his arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “We’ve got this. Trust me.”
They made the turn at the front of the building and were met with intermittent overhead lights. It should have been comforting, but somehow total darkness would have been better. In total darkness she wouldn’t have seen the disrepair, the abandonment of a once decent building.
But that was Phil’s logic, wasn’t it? Take something a little damaged and use it. Manipulate it until it works.
Just like her.
Now it was time to change all that. Finally.
They took the last few steps to unit 227, the one Phil’s car had been parked behind, and Micki grabbed the door handle. Locked.
Whoopsie. Hadn’t anticipated that.
“Shit,” Jonah said.
“That’s all right.”
Her foot crunched over shattered glass and she glanced up at the overhead light where half of a bulb remained. More than likely, Phil had used something to break the bulb. Given the other nonworking lamps, anyone driving along wouldn’t think twice about it.
All the angles covered. Good old Phil.
She cupped her hands against the storefront’s window and peered inside just as an interior door opened and spilled soft light into a narrow hallway. Phil stepped out and, as if sensing something, halted. Tomas plowed into the back of him, but Phil ignored him, did a half-turn and stopped.
Here we are…
Tomas straightened up and followed Phil’s gaze, his mouth moving at the sight of Micki at the door.
Then the two of them smiled. Smiled.
These twisted fuckers had Gage tied up, hopefully here and not some other unknown spot, and they were smiling?
“I’m totally frying them,” she said before banging on the door and putting a little mean into it. “Open up.”
Phil strode to the door while Tomas kept watch from inside.
“We’re alone,” she said.
He flipped the lock on the door and pushed it open. “I’m only half surprised to see you. With your skills, I anticipated you’d do something. And look, you brought the rapist with you.”
Micki met Jonah’s eye, silently pleading with him not to take the bait. Her brother, knowing Tessa had agreed to clear him, only smirked.
“Tell me,” Tomas said, “you sent that malware in the e-mail, didn’t you?”
She wouldn’t admit to that. Let them keep guessing. “Where’s Gage?”
Phil waved one of his manicured hands. “I wanted to meet in town for this, but since you’re here, why not? Let’s finish it. He’s fine. He’ll stay that way as long as we come to an agreement.”
Once she and Jonah were inside, Phil made a production of locking the door again.
“What agreement?”
“I’ve taken care of you all these years, haven’t I? I’m the one you trust. Why you’re suddenly doubting that, I can’t fathom. But it is what it is.”
Taken care of her? That was one way to put it.
“Micki, don’t—”
Before Jonah could finish, she slapped her hand up, silencing him.
Phil clapped his hands together. “That’s my girl. You know me. I wouldn’t hurt you. I need you. Now that you're here, I'm going to reconsider. Call it a soft spot for you. With that in mind, I'm prepared to forgive all this nonsense.”
Forgive it? The man was beyond unhinged. Truly psychotic.
“Come back to Vegas,” he continued, “keep your mouth shut, and I’ll let your boyfriend go. I’ll even bury the evidence against your brother. I think that’s more than fair, don’t you?”
“Dude,” Jonah said, “your evidence is bullshit.”
What happened to her doing the talking?
Phil slid his gaze to Jonah, eyeing him up and down. “Do you really want to test me?”
Before Jonah did his I-am-a-Steele routine, Micki touched his arm, keeping her gaze on Phil. “No one is testing anything. Let Gage go and I’ll come back to Vegas.”
A lie, but Phil didn’t know that. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was Gage and his freedom.
Jonah swung his head, gawking at her.
“I’m sorry, Jonah. If it gets Gage out of this, I’ll do it. I’ll go back to Vegas.”
Micki’s voice. Coming from the front room.
What the fuck?
From what Gage could tell, there was a bathroom and another room outside the one where he was being held. So far he’d heard a toilet flush. On the left. From the right, muffled voices. Phil and Tomas talking. Kudos to the builder, because Gage couldn’t make out what they were saying, and they’d obviously not heard him shuffling along that beam. Now, suddenly, Micki—and one of her brothers, Jonah maybe—added to the voices.
Dammit. Work faster. Gage had managed to chew the rope thin enough to rub it against the rough edge of the beam and snap the last bit of twine. Still on top of the workbench, he started on his ankle restraints, thanking whatever merciful angel had thrown him the bone of an easy knot.
Ten seconds and he’d be free.
Boom!
The door on the backside of the building exploded off its hinges, the sound loud enough to rattle the workbench. Way too much C-4. Friggin' Reid, always wanting the big bang. The door toppled over, landing with a crash in front of the open doorway as Reid burst into the room, weapon raised, his facial features like cut granite and carrying the intensity, the absolute no-fail determination he’d worn during missions. Britt and Grif shuffled in behind, the three of them wearing body armor and moving in perfect sync.
The other door flew open, the smack of the wood echoing off the walls as Tomas rushed in and lifted his weapon, pointing it straight ahead.
At Reid. And then everything seemed to slow down and shouts were muffled as Gage’s brain fired conflicting orders, all of them battling for his attention.
Every nerve ending fired, igniting that primal urge for war, and his vision tunneled. Right to Tomas and that man-stopper of a gun about to decimate Reid. Oblivious to Gage, Tomas didn’t bother checking his right side, so Gage did the simplest thing.
He snatched up the hunk of vise that sat on the table and whipped it at Tomas. It wouldn’t do much damage, but the distraction would buy Reid time.
The handle connected with Tomas’s shoulder and he swiveled in Gage’s direction, the gun moving with him.
“Drop it,” Reid shouted. “Drop it, drop it, drop it!”
Reid moved fast, barreling into Tomas, knocking him to the ground and stomping on his hand, crushing all those tiny bones under his giant foot. Tomas howled while Britt closed in, using his boot to sweep the weapon across the floor.
With Britt on their prisoner, Reid looked up at Gage on the workbench. “What the hell? What are you standing around for?”
Riding the adrenaline high, Gage hopped down, sticking the landing and hauling ass into the hallway.
To Micki.
The explosion rocked the building. Even prepared for it—somewhat, anyway—Micki was shocked by the intensity as a mix of yelling voices collided with her ringing ears.
Phil reached under his jacket, revealing a holster and pulling a gun. “Move and I’ll kill you both.”
Gage appeared in the doorway, momentum bouncing his body off the far wall.
“Micki!”
Phil whipped sideways, the gun now on Gage, and Jonah leaped, flying straight at him. But Phil had his finger locked on that trigger and…squeezed.
“No!” she roared.
Being the operator he was, Gage ducked left and the shot whizzed by him as Jonah plowed into Phil. Gun. Micki moved closer, her mind hyper-focused. Waiting.
Whap, whap, whap. Jonah slammed Phil’s wrist against the wall and the gun fell free.
Get it.
In a move she’d seen Phil and Tomas practice, he got an elbow up, clocking Jonah on the forehead, sending his head snapping back. Micki lunged for the gun, her body bouncing against the hard tile and sending pain shooting up her ribs. She scooped the weapon up as she moved, and the warmth of the grip made her palm sweat, but she held on. Her mind tripped back to her father teaching her to shoot.
Breaking Free (Steele Ridge Book 5) Page 26