Page 19 of Lash

His sigh is one of extreme annoyance. "This won't work."

I shrug. “That is my problem. Hands behind your head. On the floor on your belly."

I make swift work of binding and gagging him as I did his comrades and then leave the room yet again.

Here is where I encounter a problem: my keycard does not unlock the door to Sol's cell.

Back to the security room. Ungag one man. "Whose key unlocks that door?" I ask.

He grimaces, spitting to get the taste of his sock out of his mouth. "Stjepan and Igor."

"Where is Igor?"

"Gone for the day."

Fuck.

I re-gag the man and go back to the door, examining it, hoping for inspiration.

Ah!

Since this was, at one point, nothing more than an apartment building, the doors themselves, despite the fancy locks, are simple doors with standard hinges on the outside.

Back to the security room.

"Flathead screwdriver," I demand. “Where?"

One man looks pointedly at a drawer—I open it and find a haphazard assortment of tools—screwdrivers, a hammer, mismatched wrenches, a socket wrench, and an assortment of sockets. I select a flathead screwdriver and the hammer—it'sa matter of moments to remove the door, bypassing the lock entirely.

Idiots.

Solomon lays on his back on the floor, one arm over his eyes. The woman—roughly my height, hard-bodied and beautiful—is next to him; they are holding hands, a surprising development.

The other man is an operator—I see it in the way he cracks an eye at me, assessing me with the calm confidence of a man who is sure of his abilities. He is tall, six-four, if I had to guess, and powerfully built with black hair and handsome features.

"Took you long enough," Sol says, grinning at me.

I shrug. "Between Stjepan's men and Mercado's, I have been busy."

None of them are zip-tied—another laughable oversight. Regular prisoners, perhaps, can be left unattended and unbound, but operators like these? Foolishness.

Stjepan, you have grown lax. Did you think I would not come for my brother?

Solomon and the others rise and precede me out of the cell; I put the door back on its hinges, hoping the mystery of their escape will buy us time.

"I assume you know the way out?" Sol asks me.

"Of course." I turn to the woman. "I am Lash."

She nods, shakes my hand. "I know. I'm Scarlett."

I look from her to Sol. "Later there will be time for stories, and I think you have an interesting one to tell."

He nods. "I do. We have to get out of here first, though—out of Zagreb, and fast.”

I frown at him. "Why are you here?"

He rolls his eyes. "For you, of course."