Green Fields (Book 10): Uprising:

by Lecter, Adrienne

  “Where?”

  “Vegas, for the most part.” Since that was the only scavenger base I knew, I had to go for it—and if anyone had already asked around, they’d suspect as much. “That’s where we were last before coming here, too. You can ask at the gate, I’m sure someone must remember me. Well, maybe not me, but our cars are taking up a good third of the space you got there, so that’s something. We can go there right now, if you don’t believe me. I can show you my pack and gear. Or track down someone who can vouch for me.”

  Again, Cortez didn’t really listen to most of what I said. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned to the loser of the betting fight. “You can go now.”

  He looked sorely disappointed but didn’t protest. “A small reward, maybe?” Cortez just stared at him, and after a few moments the guy turned around and left through the door they’d entered through before. Cortez waited until it fell shut behind him before he turned back to me, for the most part disregarding Richards.

  “You see, you’re putting me in quite the dilemma here,” he mused.

  “I really don’t see why,” I answered, pretty much interrupting him. He didn’t look pleased but let me talk. “Look, we haven’t done anything wrong, right? I beat that sore loser in a fight, fair and square. My marks were out in the open, he was just too stupid to check and take me seriously. And maybe I got a little bit carried away in the end but hell, he could have tapped out sooner. Or not been that keen on planting his fist in my mouth. How’s any of that my fault? We’re not here to cause trouble. We just want to relax and have fun. It’s never been an issue before. So, what’s with the interrogation shit?”

  Cortez pursed his lips as if to consider my words. I was pretty sure he’d already made up his mind. “You still think this is about that fight? It’s not.”

  “Then what?” I asked, not having to feign the hint of exasperation that leaked into my voice. “We’ve barely been here for more than three hours. We paid our tab at the bar, we didn’t molest or kill anyone, I won the fight, and we had fun watching the spectacle in the arena. I can’t think how we could have possibly broken any other rules.” I would have loved to strike a musing pose but moving at all seemed unwise, gun and all that considered. “Unless we should have molested or killed someone by now. My bad if it’s that. Tell that fella to put away his gun and I’ll make up for it in no time. Pinkie swear.” To underscore that, I wriggled my right hand—the one pointedly lacking a pinkie, but since I was still wearing my gloves, nobody was the wiser of that. I at least found myself very funny. Fucking drugs!

  Cortez considered briefly, then turned to another goon. “Get him up here.”

  Very cryptic, no explanation—and still, I wasn’t surprised when, maybe twenty seconds later, the goon returned with two more who hauled in Nate, forcing him into a similar position to ours next to Cortez, facing us. They’d also bound his hands, and someone had passingly washed some of the blood—but not all—off him. The gash across his torso was scabbed over but still leaking fluids, and in the flickering light of the flames I could see fresh bruises forming where the fight had left more marks. From up close, he looked even more emaciated, and I could see a lot of scars I wasn’t familiar with. He also wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, which was disconcerting for so many reasons.

  Because none of us was an imbecile, we didn’t trade glances. Nate only looked at me until he recognized me, not even halfway through the door yet, and ignored Richards as steadfastly. With no more hooks available, one of the goons was forced to hold up his bound arms, and Nate did a good job slouching in on himself with the slack that left his body, becoming a lot of passive weight.

  I knew I should have kept my trap shut—and I didn’t feel much like talking since the track record for confirming my worst guesses was stellar so far—but Eden wouldn’t have, and changing my demeanor now was the best confirmation Cortez could get for anything short of me telling him I was indeed Nate’s wife and here to spring him.

  Thank fuck, the drugs were making gushing uselessly very easy.

  “Big fan of yours,” I practically cooed in Nate’s direction. He didn’t react, which worked just as well—he hardly would have at a random, drugged-up bitch chatting him up. “Loved the move with the heart. That was awesome! Hey, can I get an autograph, maybe? You I’d even offer my boobs for that.” One of the goons cleared his throat in what I figured was a suppressed laugh. Nobody else reacted. A shame, really. Cortez was watching both me and Nate like a hawk, not missing anything—only that there wasn’t anything to catch besides my manic ramble.

  Since I got no response, it made sense to turn to Cortez again. “Look, I really appreciate the meet and greet but this is getting weird. Just ask what you wanna know. Promise, I’ll tell you.”

  Cortez considered, and his attention was on Nate when he uttered his next order. “Give them both another hit. Maybe that will get better results.”

  That didn’t sound good—and felt even less so when, seconds later, the harsh chemical burn of an injection hit the side of my neck where it wasn’t protected by my elevated arms. “Not this again,” I heard myself grumble—but rather than feel myself go slack with some kind of paralytic or other, I felt liquid euphoria hit my body. It took me a few seconds to realize that the weird sound I was hearing was my own laughter, quite exhileratingly so.

  Ah, fuck. Just what I needed.

  “How much did you give her?” That came from Cortez, I thought. I couldn’t be quite sure. Damn, but focusing on anything was hard!

  “One normal dose,” one of the goons responded. “Not even a large one since she clearly already had one.”

  Ha, that was something I could give my two cents to. “Two!” I called out before more laughter forced me to stop. “Three if you count last night. We knew we would be crashing here and Amos got driving duty so I figured, fuck it, I’m gonna have some fun!”

  Someone behind me cursed, and I didn’t catch what else he muttered. Looking around, I found Richards grinning stupidly at the ground between his knees but he seemed to have an easier time keeping his trap shut. Nate was still stoically ignoring everything going around him but I noticed that the tension was back in his body. He couldn’t actually expect to be able to fight anyone, right? I sure as fuck was in no condition to.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I heard Cortez declare, then louder, “Check if she has any other ink elsewhere.”

  Like before, they didn’t offer me the choice of taking my clothes off myself but cut them away instead, until all I was wearing were the gloves as they were too lazy to undo the ropes. My toes and thigh got some less appreciative comments, but it was only when Cortez stepped behind me to check on my ass himself that I managed to get a grip on my weird mind once more.

  “Interesting,” I heard him muse as he straightened once more, his attention on Nate now. “So you do have a name after all.”

  “That’s not his name,” I heard myself blather, followed by more chuckling. At least it wasn’t full-on laughter—yet.

  Cortez, no longer that relaxed and easygoing, grabbed my hair and forced my head back until I was staring straight up into his face. It didn’t get much prettier upside down, but I noticed a scar along the underside of his chin, as if someone had tried to ram a knife into his skull from there.

  “Explain,” he repeated, increasing the strain on my hair until I winced.

  “Told you before, they’re just stupid tats!” I cried out, adding a little more desperation to my tone than I felt—and was quite surprised that it actually worked. “What, you can’t be that fucking stupid and believe this shit, right? Man, come on! Seriously?” Laughing in this position wasn’t easy, and I only did it to prove a very small point. He really didn’t look happy with me, but there was no going back now, since I’d already insulted him. “The names? Yeah, sure, I’m Bree Lewis and he’s Nate Miller, and I’m here to spring him from prison! My army of five thousand people is waiting just outside your walls! Just how fucking stupid d
o you need to be to think that?”

  I fully expected some painful repercussions for that, but he only let go of me as he stepped away, making me laugh in actual relief. Not sure this had been enough, I forced myself to keep going.

  “It was a fun idea at the time. At least ten people I know got the tats. I have no fucking clue who that guy is. He wasn’t there that night. Probably picked up the idea from one of the others. Or what do I know, maybe people are that weird independent of each other? Could be all the rage from what I know? I don’t go around checking people’s asses for tats. I mean, who does that?” Exhaling forcefully, I did my best to draw myself up into as dignified a position as I could manage, kneeling there, buck-ass naked, and too fucked up in the head to care, much. “You can’t punish people for being stupid like that, or else you won’t have any customers left here for your sick little games.” Damnit! “And sick they are,” I tried to backtrack. “I mean, sick, as in awesome! Never thought I’d see a guy eat another’s heart, but here we are! Just let us go, okay? And thanks for the hit because this shit’s amazing! But you’re kind of killing my buzz with all that glowering and shit.”

  Cortez listened to me with the same relaxed patience as before but didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over to Nate, looking down at him. “As usual, I won’t be getting anything out of you, huh? We’ll see.” I really didn’t like the nasty grin crossing his features as he turned to his men next. “Throw all three of them in his cell. I need those two more sober to be of any use. If I’m right, that should give them enough time to share stories and be in the right mindset to be more open to a certain kind of persuasion. If I’m wrong, maybe our nameless champion here gets to have some fun—or food. That little bit of muscle can’t have been that filling, right?”

  I tried to speak up—with what, I had no clue, but it didn’t matter since someone hit me hard in the back of the head, and by the time I could think straight again, I was already being carried off, slung over a goon’s shoulder.

  Well, that could have gone better—but also so much worse.

  Judging from Cortez’s remark, worse would happen once the drugs wore off once more. Oh, what a lovely prospect to look forward to.

  Chapter 22

  I didn’t struggle, which came with the small mercy of being treated like a sack of flour, meaning once we reached our destination I was unceremoniously dumped on the cold, hard ground, but without any extra kicks or shit like that. Light disappeared as a heavy door fell shut, the sound of several bolts being engaged following. I counted to ten in my head, then started working my wrists and hands, hell-bent on getting the gloves off. Tying my hands behind my back must have seemed so smart to them.

  Fucking incompetent assholes!

  At the count of seven, my right hand slid free, and then it was easy since that created enough slack in the ropes to get the other out as well. “Ha!” I called out in triumph, wriggling my fingers, then rubbing my wrists to help circulation normalize again. I was still seeing spots but my eyes were already getting accustomed to the darkness, not quite complete as it was thanks to some light coming in from somewhere above.

  “Congrats on what must be the most disastrous rescue mission in the history of mankind,” I heard Nate gripe from somewhere close by—the lump to my right, I realized. That must be Red closer to the door then.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I murmured, then scooted over to Nate and reached for the ropes on his wrists. A little more finger wriggling and waiting for my vision to clear up was required, but I soon set to work. “It took us all of three hours to get in here, find you, and be in a position to escape together. That’s three to four days ahead of the most positive estimations.” The ropes fell away, Nate already turning around.

  I grabbed his face and kissed him as deeply as soon as I could, which was easily facilitated by cutting off the, without a doubt, snide response he was ready to deliver. I was met with zero resistance and some hefty, immediate response that made me want to crawl right on top of him and—

  “Uh, guys? I can’t get out of the ties myself, and if you absolutely must be getting it on now, at least free me first so I can hold my hands over my ears.”

  I was very reluctant to stop but Nate was already pushing me away, although I could feel his visceral regret in the way his hands continued to linger on my upper arms. I gave him a small smile—which was likely a huge grin, judging from how weird it made my face feel—before I pulled away to help Richards.

  “Spoilsport,” I muttered as I pulled on the knots, these ones just as easily undone as the others. Did no one know how to tie people up properly?

  “You’ve already had your revenge on me today,” he retorted, rubbing his wrists after the last rope fell away. It was obvious that he couldn’t see as well as Nate and me in the almost darkness, which gave me a few ideas—that I promptly dismissed when I caught the serious look on Nate’s face.

  “Maybe you think that travesty of a plan of yours is working, but that ends here.” I really didn’t like his tone—it was way too dejected and desperate for it to be good news. Before I could object, his scrutiny of my face cut me off again. “Exactly how drugged up are you?”

  “Very,” I explained with way too much enthusiasm. “I might benefit from a punch or two in the gut. Any volunteers?”

  Before Richards could even think about responding, Nate already growled, “If you even think about hitting my wife, I’ll fucking end you!”

  Red’s hands shot up, the man wise beyond his years. “Not sure I could hit her right now. Hit, as in not miss. But I wouldn’t. Besides, I don’t think it works that way. Didn’t work when she was in a fight earlier.”

  “Spoilsport,” I told him again, then turned back to Nate. “I may blather like I’m drunk to the gills but my motor control is at ninety percent. Maybe eighty-five,” I amended when I needed some extra balance to remain leaning against the cold, cut stone of the wall—not polished, but cut as in hewn. “Doesn’t matter. You’re alive. That matters. And we’re now getting out of here.”

  I thought I caught the hint of a smile on Nate’s face but it was gone when I blinked to further focus my eyes. He was way too serious for this to be any fun. I didn’t care for how he was looking at Richards as if asking for help—with me—from him. Nothing came as I was starting to suspect that Red’s reaction to drugs was to turn into a vegetable, while I got weird and hyperactive.

  “There may be a way, but it’s a slim chance,” Nate muttered, more to himself than us. “But since it’s our only chance, no sense in not trying. See that opening up there? I’ve managed to weaken the foundations the two middle bars are set in. Richards, you can maybe pry them the rest of the way out.”

  Craning my neck, I stared up at the window, for lack of a better word. I was seeing well enough to be able to make out the extent of our confines. The room wasn’t very long—just so that we could stand next to each other without touching—and narrow enough that I could see how someone with longer legs and extra inches in height could have climbed up there pushing against the opposite walls. But what it lacked in both length and breadth, it made up in height, the opening sitting at a good fifteen feet above my head.

  “Sure, I’ll try,” Richards offered after staring at the opening a little too long. “How do I get up there?”

  “Hands on either side of the walls,” Nate offered, validating my guess. “But since it’s three of us now, it’s probably faster if we try to build some kind of human pyramid. That way you won’t fall right down if one of the bars gives.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” I asked, feeling a little stupid. “You know your cell quite well, from what it sounds like.” That guess was also supported by the smell.

  Nate gave me a sardonic look. “I would, but both my shoulders are shot to hell. Dislocated one too many times without getting properly set and enough time to fully heal.”

  That irritated me for so many reasons, none of them empathy-driven—again, damn drugs! “Just an hour ago, I
saw you pick up a guy and throw him several feet through the air.”

  “And now my shoulders are killing me to the point where I could hardly boost you up if I had to,” he bit out, the venom in his tone clearly borne of hatred of his shortcomings, not because I’d asked.

  “Well, that explains it!” I answered in the same heated tone, but lost it as I drew up short. “Anything we can do about it now?”

  He shook his head. “It’s set as much as it will go. Give me two weeks of rest, and I’ll be good as new. Since we have maybe two hours, get the fuck up there and do something!”

  Yeah, so much for tearful, emotional reunions. I hadn’t expected one of those, but ending up pressed against the wall, standing on Nate’s shoulders, somehow trying not to allow my knees to buckle under what felt like a ton of stone but was likely only part of Red’s weight on my shoulders in turn was not what I’d envisioned. Richards did his best to cling to the more secure bars of the window, but there was only so much that he could do while he pulled with all of his strength. It sure made for interesting views—which I was hard-pressed not to comment on, and would take to my grave.

  I was relieved when Nate broke the relative silence. Red’s grunts weren’t helping, really. “Let me guess—you don’t have five thousand people ready to attack?”

  “More like fifty,” I offered.

  “Sixty-three,” Red corrected me from up above. “But not sure about all our spies, or how quickly we can activate them.”

  I felt Nate nod against my ankle. It got very distracting when he briefly—maybe even accidentally—brushed his cheek against my skin.

  “How soon can you get them here?”