Page 24

Chapter 24

Jay

“ W hat’d we do to you?” I asked. I wanted to gauge his emotional reaction. If Roman was calm, he’d probably take things slow. We’d be in for a world of hurt, but it’d give SSI time to find us. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was emotional.

He tsked. “They say the youngest is always the dumbest.”

I glared at him, ignoring Maxwell’s silent plea to keep my mouth shut.

“Perhaps he wasn’t there,” Franks said with a laugh.

I was there, not in the house but in my sniper’s nest, and I’d added a few tallies to my kill sheet. Keeping a tally was a sniper thing; all the special operation team snipers did it. Not that I took pleasure in killing people, but some people deserved it. Like the idiots Roman hired to kidnap my sister-in-law and Blake .

Roman looked at Maxwell before looking back at me. “Oh, he was there when SSI killed twenty-three of my men and robbed me of the hundreds of thousands Davenport owes me.”

Owes? He still plans to collect? Not for the first time in my life, I found myself wishing telepathy was real. We needed to tell the team what happened to Wendy, and that Roman still wanted to collect Davenport’s debt.

“Blake’s an innocent,” Maxwell said.

“She is,” he agreed. “But paying her father’s debts, and the accruing interest, is the least she can do after all the trouble you caused me.”

Roman’s phone pinged, distracting him for a moment while he replied to a text.

“Surely, Mr. Sheppard,” he annunciated my name, “you can see why I’ll take great pleasure exacting my revenge against one of the sons of Sheppard the sound worse than nails on a chalkboard. I gritted my teeth, rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck to the right and left. But I didn’t turn around.

This time, I flinched when I heard the click of the lock sliding into place; the sound was far worse the second time around.

I didn’t turn around .

I listened carefully as footsteps sounded, counting at least five people walking away. The sound of boots on the wood stairs echoed through the cold room.

Still, I didn’t turn around.

The door opened, the light lessening the effects of the strobe. Eerie shadows danced across the wall as those exiting blocked the ray of light.

“You can move now,” someone said two seconds before the door slammed shut. I waited for the telltale sign of a door locking and wasn’t disappointed.

I turned to Maxwell, asking, “You hurt?”

“No,” she said, using one hand to shield her eyes. “You?”

“Just my ego.” My laugh felt out of place as it echoed back at me. “And I’m not loving the mood lighting here.”

“Ha! Be sure to mention it in your review.”

I didn’t like the fear in her voice so I egged her on. “Did you just crack a joke?”

The subtle shake of her head in the strobe looked weird.

“We should check out the accommodations,” I said.

Neither of us had turned yet, but I’d used my peripheral vision to notice the blackedout windows.

No doubt, Maxwell had too.

I walked to the bars first and tested their strength.

I crouched. Every bar of the cage was anchored in the cement.

Imagines of old time prison breaks filled my mind. We won’t be using a spoon to dig our way out .

I walked to the window. It was painted black. The only reason I knew it was a window was because of the bars covering it. I tested the them; just as solid as the others.

“They’ve been doing this for a while,” Maxwell said.

“You think?” I hadn’t intended on sounding snarky but that’s how it came out. When I turned, I noticed the second cage.

Thankfully, it was empty.

The fucking strobe was making it hard to gauge anything with our eyes.

Walking from the wall to the dividing bars, I estimated our cell to be ten feet. The depth was about the same. “Ten by ten. And look, a piss pot.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” She sounded as thrilled about it as I felt.

I leaned against the back wall, with my eyes closed to shut out the strobe while Maxwell paced in the cell.

Her mumbling doing nothing for my already foul mood.

Tired of the bullshit she was spewing, I opened my eyes so I could watch her reaction when I asked, “What the fuck, Maxwell? How is this my fault?”

She lost her balance when she turned to face me.

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours. You’re the one who overreacted and blew our cover,” I spat at her.

“Don’t you dare blame me,” she yelled. “That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t kissed me without warning.”

“Well, forgive me for trying to make sure our cover didn’t get blown.”

From what Roman said, it was luck—good for him, but bad for us—that he’d ID’d us on the video feed after Adam mentioned my interest in gambling. Neither of us was at fault, but we blamed each other anyway.

It’s easier to be angry than afraid .

“You can blame me all you want, but it won’t help us get out of this mess.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” I huffed out.

“Holding up the wall,” she said, taking a step forward.

I pushed myself off said wall and took one step forward.

“You’re wrong. I was thinking of ways to break out while conserving my energy.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Wasting your energy by pacing. We could be here a while and the strobes will give you a headache if you don’t give your eyes a break.”

My helpful advice came out sounding like a reprimand, but I didn’t care as long as she listened.

We’ll need every ounce of energy we have to get through this.