Jailbreak

Rumi

This cell had a bed and a tiny window that painted a small square of light on the floor right beside the plate of food they had given her.

All in all, not bad as far as prison experiences go.

The ache in her head had lessened and the room had stopped spinning.

But the metal cuffs around her wrists were already chafing, the heat making her sweaty skin stick to the inside edge.

Still mildly dizzy from whatever had been in her food, she was crafting her escape.

Cal might trust the people of Chirston, but she certainly did not.

Especially not with Sullivan here.

Powerless as she had found herself since her kidnapping, Rumi was determined to take control of the situation without help.

Her Ti’la danced proudly beneath her skin, so whatever they had given her was not the same as before.

“The pretty bird is back in a cage,”

Sullivan’s voice came from around the corner before he walked into view, peering in at her from outside the bars.

“I wonder if you’ll sing for me this time.”

Rumi pressed her lips together and remained seated proudly on the bed.

She mentally covered her face with a shroud, shielding her expression from him, refusing to give him anything.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear than the last time you were locked up.

Feathers a bit ruffled.”

He peeked through the bars, his cold eyes roving over her in a way that managed to make her feel small while simultaneously kindling a bright spark of anger.

Frigid silence settled between them.

“Have it your way.

Once the paperwork is finished, you’re returning with me.

Then I’ll have all the time I need to pull out your secrets.”

Each footfall as he walked away sent a spear of doubt into her belly.

There were so many people here.

Escaping without notice would be nearly impossible.

Her eyes dropped to the bed she sat on and her smile grew wide with victory.

A cot.

She eagerly gripped the material, feeling the fibrous stalks grate against her palms, almost like tiny spikes.

It reminded her of the large cacti Cal had introduced her to.

Lefiin.

The thought of his face lodged a rock in her throat that she could not swallow. Surely he had not meant to leave her to these brutes. He had not purposefully given her poisoned food and drink. He would not do that. Would he?

Betrayal hissed warnings in her ear as she recalled their first encounter.

He had been no better than Sullivan, forcing her compliance, drugging her as Sullivan had.

He had just gotten smarter about it.

Had learned from his mistake of treating her like some feral beast.

This time he had befriended her, lowered her guard like Fynten’s chickens—trusting him with their safety until he came with a butcher’s blade.

She lowered to her knees, and focused on the leg of the bed, whispering to the Ti’la until it bent to her will.

It took several moments, but she had a knife and tools to unlock her cuffs by the end.

She settled back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged while she stuck the newly crafted straight pins into the hole of the cuff.

Rumi listened intently for any outside noises while she nudged the pins into place and held them with the second slender rod.

Same as the last time.

A victorious smirk teased her mouth when she felt the metal click open.

Locks did not differ much from region to region, it seemed.

The cuff of her right hand unlocked with a snap and she nearly crowed with her triumph.

She would escape.

And she would do it without anyone’s help.

When Rumi defeated the other cuff she moved to the bars, relentlessly tampering with the deadbolt.

It seemed a tad too easy, but who was she to judge? The prisons in her homeland were under constant supervision so those in confinement could not have the space to use their Ti’la.

Here there seemed to be no such safeguards.

Sweat beaded on her brow as she worked.

Rumi broke the slender rods twice and had to repair them before she heard the satisfying “click”

and was then able to push the door open.

Her ears twitched as she listened for the guards.

Nothing.

A prisoner a few cells over coughed.

Did he know what she was doing? Would he call for help? She slipped out and softly closed the cell behind her.

Perhaps she should have planned better, but at least she was out and unbound, so now she could—

“Hey! What are you doing?”

A guard rounded the corner and barreled toward her.

She had spoken too soon.

Without thinking, she bolted, her feet carrying her swifter than the wind.

She had the gods on her side.

Unfortunately, the ruckus drew the attention of other guards and they poured in from all sides, their shouts adding to the panicked racing of her pulse.

Out.

She needed to get out.

Once she was in the open, she knew she could make it away.

Something whizzed by her face and her hair fluttered.

She ducked on reflex and twisted away to the right.

The corridor made a sharp turn and her feet skidded along the floor as she gripped the corner with her fingertips, using the momentum to fling her forward.

They were right on her heels, shouting, demanding her to stop in the name of the law.

What law? There were no just laws here, she knew that now.

She would not wait another second for another unjust man to steal her peace and judge her innocence.

The hallway came to a split.

She hesitated only briefly before choosing the one to the right, where she was met with immediate regret.

There, at the end of the hall was Sullivan, his head dipped in discussion with another uniformed man.

She swore and backed away, but the other guards filed in behind her.

There was nothing else to be done.

Her brows lowered and she dashed straight at the two men, her knife brandished boldly.

Sullivan’s lips curled into a chilling smile and he met her head-on.

There was something wicked in those eyes.

In the grin he wielded like a weapon.

It made her insides knot and memories of torture began to swell behind her own eyes, temporarily blinding her.

Her palms turned sweaty and her breath stalled.

Was that triumph on his face?

She slashed, but her hesitation was just enough for him to dodge and lash out with his hand.

He gripped her wrist and pulled her into him, tossing her off balance as he twisted her arm behind her.

But she kept going, using her momentum to swing and bend and avoid being locked in his arms.

The move cost her.

Her shoulder screamed in pain, but at least she was out of his reach.

Tossing the knife to her other hand, she dropped to the ground and kicked his kneecap, earning a screech of pain as he stumbled and she jumped back to her feet.

The other man was shouting at the guards, calling for reinforcements.

Sullivan growled wordlessly, hands held out in front of him.

He was close enough that she could see the determination in his eyes.

He would not lose, not with his men watching.

His resolve settled into the lines on his face.

The shouts from the guards had dulled into a roar behind her and all she focused on was the man before her.

The man who had hurt her.

The calls of tradition, of her people, would not deter her from claiming her justice.

Rumi slashed again, her knife leading her arm toward his neck, but he tipped backward and narrowly avoided her blade.

Still, she felt the spray of blood on her face.

Then, a flash of dead eyes and a body landed solidly before her.

She looked at her hands, drenched in blood—so much blood.

Her head swam with images of the soldier she had killed, the open-mouthed surprise frozen on the face of his corpse.

Her Ti’la wobbled within her heart.

She had killed a man.

She was a monster.

She could not do it again.

Even if it was him.

Rumi fell back, wheezing as she trembled, unable to catch her breath.

She saw no scarlet pool on the floor or corpse before her, but still, she hesitated.

Sullivan took advantage of her unsteady knees and lurched, grabbing her wrist.

This time, he swept his foot out and swiped her ankle, then wrenched her into his chest.

Pain sliced through her as he buried her own blade into her belly, her fingers still wrapped around it.

“Oh, that looks like it hurt,”

he rasped in her ear, making her hair puff with each word.

“Would be a shame for it to happen again,”

he said, spittle flecking her cheeks as he jerked her hand out swiftly and slid it in once more, just below her rib.

“These things do happen in self-defense.”

He tutted at her, then twisted her wrist hard so she dropped the bloodied blade to the stone floor.

He looked up at the guards who had watched the whole ordeal.

They seemed not to have seen him stab her.

He had been too subtle, too crafty—a man used to stabbing others in the back.

Wetness seeped through her shirt and her breath rattled in her lungs.

Rumi cursed herself for hesitating. But she could not bring herself to slay another person. The other man was saying something. What was he saying? She could not think past the searing pain. Infirmary? Is that what he said?

“Just sign the papers and I’ll have her out of your hair in no time at all.”

Sullivan’s voice rumbled against her back and she forced down a shudder.

“You are all dismissed.

See to the other prisoners and discover how this one escaped,”

the taller man said, eyeing her with curiosity.

“Put her back in the cell, Captain.

Keep things quiet,”

he said to Sullivan.

The guards filed out of the hall, quietly whispering among themselves.

“With all due respect, sir, I intend to keep her with me.

At least until they unearth how she managed to get out.”

Hot blood was sliding down her belly.

Her hips.

Her shirt was sticking to her skin.

“I did not ask what you wanted.

If you’d prefer, we can put her in a holding room with a doctor and guards, but I will not have the prisoner bleed out on our floors in front of everyone.

This is my jurisdiction.”

Sullivan stiffened against Rumi and his grip on her arms tightened, bruising her skin.

She knew without a doubt that if she was alone with Sullivan, he would take this shame and embarrassment out on her.

“Sir—”

The higher-ranking man leveled Sullivan with a stare that had Rumi shrinking too.

Submissively, Sullivan dipped his chin, his jaw clenched so tightly Rumi heard his teeth grinding together.

With a grumble, Sullivan led Rumi to the doorway that the man gestured to.

“Guards and the doctor will be sent in imminently.”

The door to the left burst open and two men in uniform crashed through in a blaze of dust.

Callum.

She would recognize those emerald eyes anywhere.

He took one look at her, at Sullivan’s hands wrapped around her arms, drew his knife, and launched at the man with a guttural roar, blade swinging.

Sullivan dropped her to defend himself and Rumi collapsed to the floor, her blood seeping into the cracks between the stones.

Tendrils of tiny green plants pushed their way up through the ground beneath the floor.

Flowers and grass bloomed beneath her body, cradling her.

Her vision blackened at the edges as the pain stole all rational thought.

She imagined for a moment that she saw smokey shadows surrounding Callum, like a dark angel of death come to take her to Behiba.

The sound of fists connecting with skin and the snap of bones breaking carved tunnels in her ears.

Jameson fought with the taller man, the one in charge, while Cal grappled with Sullivan.

Cracking sounds from their piercers rained and echoed in a tumultuous harmony as the two cut their way through the remaining guards.

By the sound of it, the guards never reached the rogues, and Rumi noted that it was an impressive display of multitasking on the part of Cal and Jameson.

Though struggling to remain conscious, she felt a sense of pride at their heroism.

They had come for her. He had come for her. More shouts burned her ears and she felt the thuds of bodies hitting the ground.

“I should kill you,”

she heard Callum snarl above her, sweat and sand creating a cloud of chaos.

“Do not,”

she rasped.

Not on her account.

She could not bear it.

She laboriously propped herself up on her elbow as she looked up at Callum, at where he had Sullivan in a headlock with a knife at his throat.

Cal held his piercer tightly in his other hand as he angled it, too, toward Sullivan’s head.

Cal’s eyes were murderous, justly, she thought. And he looked every bit like the green-eyed devil she had named him for. Still, when those leaf-green eyes met hers, they softened. Rumi shook her head and mouthed the word “please.”

The blade made the smallest imprint into Sullivan’s flesh before Callum finally gave a terse nod and bashed the man’s head against the stone wall.

Sullivan’s eyes rolled up and he fell limp to the ground.

“Come on,”

Cal said, scooping Rumi into his arms and cradling her to him.

“I’ve got you.”

His scent, warm and a bit like cinnamon, filled her nose and eased her frantic mind.

“Keep pressure on the wound.

We just gotta make it out.”

Rumi nodded and pressed her face into his chest.

Safe.

Something about him felt like…home.

“There’s no fixing this,”

she heard Jameson say.

The protest of another soldier was cut off by a resounding thump, followed by the heavy crash of a body hitting the floor.

“They’ll be after us both now.”

“I know.

You with me?”

Cal asked, his voice rumbling through Rumi’s limp body.

He continued forward, unfazed, carrying her along the hall above the men groaning on the floor, some a little too still.

His body tense and on high alert.

“Always,”

came the stalwart reply.

Jameson was a good person, Rumi decided then.

Loyal.

If she survived, she decided she would work on forgiving him.

“Weston’s man is meeting us out back.

We just gotta make it to him.”

Together, they made their way through the building and out the side door, where they were met by a third man with a carriage.

“This was not the plan,”

the man hissed, his heavy brows drawn down over his eyes as he glanced around the empty alley.

Rumi’s eyelids were heavy as she blinked them open to see what was happening.

“You were supposed to be discreet!”

“Plans change,”

Cal said, laying Rumi down on the seat in the carriage and sliding in beside her, supporting her head.

Jameson entered quickly behind, sitting on the opposite side.

Was Jameson limping? He seemed to be favoring his left leg as he climbed in.

Rumi gritted her teeth against the pain in her abdomen, her hand pressed to her wound.

“Weston won’t be happy to hear about this.

You’ve made some trouble for us if they find out.”

“Then don’t let them find out,”

Cal snapped, his smirk belying the dangerous edge in his voice.

The man clearly heard it too, because his lips tightened and he nodded his head.

He closed the door, and a moment later the carriage lurched as they rode away from the prison as swiftly as they could without drawing undue attention.

Cal turned to Rumi and reached for her face, cradling her cheeks in his hand.

He swiped the hair from her face, his eyes lingering on her lips.

For a moment, they burned, his gaze scorching.

“Just hang in there, okay? I have a place we can stay for a night or two.”

She did not ask the question that lingered on her tongue.

Instead, she said, “Why did you come?”

He seemed surprised.

“You think I would leave you with him?”

His brows furrowed and he shook his head.

“I think you care to follow your laws and rules.”

Why did the statement make her heart sink?

“Fuck the rules,”

he said with such fervor that her skin vibrated with the intensity of his voice.

She stared at him and he stared right back, as if willing her to see the inner machinations of his mind.

“Ahem,”

Jameson said, leaning forward.

“Sorry to interrupt…whatever this is, but I’m going to hop out at the next block and make sure we weren’t tailed.

I’ll meet you at the safehouse with your tickets and travel papers.”

Cal nodded, his hand still resting on her head.

“How long will it take you to get those together?”

Jameson didn’t speak for a moment, and Rumi closed her eyes, feeling the carriage bump and sway.

She opened them again when he spoke.

“I’d figure about two days, give or take.”

Callum gave a nod and the two shared a look before Jameson opened the door and jumped out of the moving carriage, rolling to his feet a short distance away.

He went on whistling, walking, like nothing had happened.

Though he definitely had a limp.