CHAPTER 18

This Cage Was Once Just Fine

I wake up to a very insistent beeping noise behind me, one I recognize as Beth's pump. This beep goes off if her pump is out of insulin or it's been shut off for too long. With one peek over my shoulder, I can tell it's the former. Beth gives me a groan, her eyebrows knit in dramatic despair.

"I don't want to get out of bed." She frowns down at her pump, her nostrils flaring when it goes off again.

BEEBEEBEEP BEEBEEBEEP

I kiss her cheek, nodding towards the door. "I need to check and see if I missed any calls from Ian, anyways."

She reluctantly pushes herself out of bed, and I'm greeted with her nearly naked body. She's wearing a bra so she has something to attach her pump to, but other than that…

She smirks at me over her shoulder. "See something you like?"

I roll over on the bed, now lying on my stomach, facing her. "If you didn't need to refill your pump, I would keep you in bed all day."

She grins, giving me a seductive shake of her hips as she walks into her closet. "So, no training today?"

"I think you and I have gotten in a pretty good workout already."

She cackles, poking her head out of the closet to tell me, "All it took for you to make a joke was to get laid."

I tilt my head back, confused by her statement. "I make jokes all the time."

She lifts a brow my way.

"What?"

She lifts both brows.

I roll my eyes. "You didn't fall in love with me for my sense of humor."

She smiles, happy that I relented. "True. I like my guy's brooding, mysterious, and loving with a lot of emotional baggage."

Oddly specific. "Know many guys like that, do you?"

She walks out of her closet, wearing a pair of leggings and a hot pink long sleeve shirt that says, "boss bitches wear pink." "Only fictional ones. And the personas crafted by the media for members of boy bands. Like Zayn Malik."

"Who?"

She shuts her eyes, holding up her hand. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Let's get going before this fucking thing beeps again. I'm about two seconds away from throwing it at the concrete wall."

I quickly put on a pair of sweatpants, then I follow her out into the living room, where we both halt abruptly, meeting the gazes of two people sitting on the couch. One is Ian, the other is a man I don't recognize.

"How the fuck did you get in here?" I demand, pushing Beth behind me.

Ian opens his mouth to speak, but the other guy beats him to it. "That was me. Your system here is impressive—took me about twenty minutes to get through it."

He looks around Beth's age, and his accent tells me he's from the southeast of the US, maybe Florida or Louisiana. He's Black, with small brown eyes, a temple-fade cut to his hair, and a beard. He's wearing jeans, a long sleeve orange shirt that's only buttoned up halfway, and a necklace around his neck with some kind of tag on it. I think I see a nose piercing as well, and a small hoop in his right nostril.

"Who the fuck are you?" I ask, not sure what to make of his presence here. The bunker's security system is so advanced it would take the greatest hackers in the world to crack, and even then, it would take hours, maybe days. He managed to override it in twenty minutes.

He smiles, standing up to greet the two of us. "Of course. Where are my manners? Ambrose Jones, though I'm professionally known as AJ."

I glance at Ian, who promptly explains, "You said to make friends, so I did. Ambrose works down here as a smuggler; he knows the area well. He's also a hacker, which is how he got into your security system and let us in."

"It's also how I've managed to track John Harrison and his teammates," Ambrose adds, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I checked on them this morning and they're searching the islands nearby. They should be here in a day or so."

I narrow my eyes, still not sure what to make of him. "What's in it for you? Why help Ian? Why come here to help us?"

"I'm not a coldhearted asshole, first of all," he says a little indignantly. "Second, I owe Ian, so helping you is my way of paying my debt. And third, I was told your assistant would make a great client of mine, and I protect my investments, Mr. Cai."

I'm about to ask for more information, but Beth walks around me and points to the necklace he's wearing. "Is that a medical ID tag?"

Ambrose nods, holding it up so we see the medical insignia. "Type one diabetic since '06."

Her jaw drops, and a wave of excitement overtakes her. "I was diagnosed in 2007!"

He grins, sharing in her excitement. "Pump or pens?"

She taps the pump under her shirt. "T:slim. I've had it for about three years now; before, I used pens. You?"

"Still on pens. Pumps are fucking expensive."

She rolls her eyes. "Tell me about it. Only reason I got one was because this one gave me kickass health insurance." She points her thumb at me.

Of course, Beth would befriend the guy who broke into our bunker .

"What exactly do you smuggle? Alcohol? Weapons? Drugs?" I ask, crossing my arms over my bare chest.

He smirks, rocking back and forth on his feet, feigning humility. "A little bit of all three, but not the kind you are thinking of. I smuggle medical supplies. Rubbing alcohol, needles, medicine of the physical and psychiatric persuasion."

"Insulin?" Beth guesses.

He winks at her. "You bet. We give supplies to the Caribbean and the coasts of South America and Africa. Ian said you would be willing to take me on as a supplier since you plan on staying here long-term."

"Yes! That's incredible," Beth gushes, her voice filled with admiration and awe.

I roll my eyes, looking to Ian. "How did you get past the traps?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch cushions. "My dad was in Vietnam too, Henry. I grew up with the same stories that you did."

Right. I forgot that. "If Harrison is going be here any day now, we need to make sure we have everything prepped and ready. Do you know how to fight, Ambrose?"

He shrugs. "Basics, but nothing advanced. I'm of more use to you behind a screen than behind a gun."

"That's fine; there are traps I have set that require someone to operate them—you can be in charge of that. If Harrison and his group have any tech that they're using, I want you to hack them. Any communication links they have, jam them. I want them going into this blind."

Ambrose gives a little salute. "Gotcha covered."

I look next to me at Beth, but before I get a word out, she speaks my thoughts. "I'll stay with Ambrose in the office. I'll be your eyes in the sky."

I place a kiss on her temple, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, then I nod to Ian. "You and I will be on the ground above, keeping up high in the trees. Whoever the traps fail to take out, we'll snipe from above."

"Do you have a map of the island?" Ian asks, standing up, wiping his palms on his pants. "And a map of where all the booby traps are?"

I give a brief smile, shaking my head. "I'm insulted you would ask."

"You go get those," Beth says, keeping her attention on our guests. "We'll be in the kitchen. I still need to refill my pump cartridge and I'm sure these boys are thirsty. It's hot as fuck on this island."

"A drink would be great," Ambrose agrees, extending his elbow towards Beth. "I could use some candy or juice if you have any to spare as well. Living in such a warm climate makes me prone to lows. I usually keep a backpack full of candy, but I'm fresh out."

Beth takes his arm and all but squeals. "I think you're my new best friend."

Christ almighty. "Yes, yes he's a god among men, but can we refocus on the task at hand, please?" I ask, my voice clipped.

Beth pouts, giving me a knowing look. "Is someone feeling jealous?"

"No. I just don't trust him, and neither should you," I say pointedly towards our new friend, who finds my skepticism amusing somehow. He hasn't stopped smiling since he got here. It's like he's on vacation.

Beth shakes her head, squeezing Ambrose's arm. "I've never had a diabetic friend before, H. T1Ds are like unicorns, and when you find one, there's a kinship there that you don't understand. So yes, I trust him. So does Ian. Take a leap of faith, babe."

I feel my cheeks heat at that pet name, but I try my best to ignore it. Turning my attention back to Ambrose, I close the distance between us, pointing a finger in his face. "Fine, but I swear on every angel and saint in the heavens that if you betray us and jeopardize Beth's safety, I will rip you apart in ways that would make medieval executioners quake in their shit-stained boots."

With wide eyes, Ambrose leans down towards Beth's ear and murmurs, "Is he always this intense?"

Beth nods, gazing at me lovingly. "Yep. He's a scary motherfucker, but he's my scary motherfucker. You should heed his warning though; I got roofied at a bar one time and managed to call him before I passed out. When I woke up, I was in Henry's apartment, where the guy who roofied me was hung from the ceiling fan by his own intestines."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Ambrose curses, looking a bit queasy, his charming grin now gone.

"I know, he's romantic like that," she says, with a smile, completely serious in the face of Ambrose's and Ian's disapproval and horror.

I smile, mouthing that I love her. She mouths it right back.

"Come on, boys," she says, addressing us all. "Let's go eat candy and plan how to kick those fuckers right in the ass."

The four of us stand around the kitchen table, both maps spread out on the surface, and Henry pointing to different geographical points. When Henry made these maps, he made the one showing where the booby traps are on a translucent paper, so when you overlap the two, you can see every marking from both. It's kind of jumbled when together, so I'm glad that we can look at them separately as well.

"You said that Harrison and his team are on two yachts, split into two groups of four and five, and their current location is the island closest to ours, about twenty nautical miles away. Correct?" H glances up at Ian, who is holding a mug of tea that's comically small for a man his size.

He nods once. "We just checked the tracker we attached to one of their boats about ten minutes ago. They just got there, and if we assume that they'll spend the day searching the island and then sleep through the night, they should be here before noon tomorrow."

Ambrose, who is munching on a bag of skittles, sends a questioning look to all of us. "What the hell did you do to this guy?"

"I killed his twin brother," Henry deadpans, looking back down at the map.

Ambrose pauses mid-chew and takes a moment to process this information, then he says, "Did it ever cross your mind that killing the twin of an ex-SAS agent-turned-mercenary leader was a bad idea?"

"We weren't supposed to get caught," I explain before Henry has time to comment. "So, what kind of booby traps do you have set? You never told me."

Henry begins listing the traps, pointing to where each one is on the map. "Here around the perimeter are pit traps where jagged branches hide under mesh; in the north around this section of trees are three trip wire traps that ignite grenades; a few yards away from that trap and inside the east perimeter, are more trip wires that trigger automatic machine guns camouflaged into the foliage; on the inside of the west and south perimeter are spiked maces and tree logs attached to a chain that will swing into the person that triggers the trip wire, and then there's some bear traps scattered around there too; once you get to the inner part of the island around the bunker's entrance, that's where the landmines are."

"Oh, my fucking God, Henry." I can't believe I walked through that jungle and made it in one piece.

He shrugs. "Harrison and his team were trained like we were, so if we want to take them off guard, we need to use methods they aren't prepared for. No one today teaches you how to handle swinging maces or pit traps."

Ian confirms this with a nod. "True."

"We'll be in these trees." H points to one tree in the north and the other in the south. "That's where the beaches are largest, so the chances of the mercs docking there are high. Whoever survives the traps will get taken down by us from above."

"And we'll be down here helping you wherever we can," I add, nerves starting to kick in. We've spent the past few weeks mentally and physically preparing for this fight, for the day that we kill the people hunting us down on our own turf, on our own terms.

But now that day is here, and I'm not ready. I'm not ready for our little safe haven to become a battleground, for the possibility that Henry might die tomorrow.

H must see the shift in my mood, because he suddenly tells Ian and Ambrose, "Go to the office and acquaint yourselves with our equipment. I need to talk to Beth alone."

Knowing that there's no room for questions or arguments, the two men flee the kitchen, and once the doors slide closed, Henry steps forward and cups my cheeks, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"What is it?" he whispers.

Tears are welling up in my eyes rapidly, clouding my vision. "It's stupid."

"Nothing that makes you upset is stupid," he counters.

God why does he have to be so sweet? "I'm worried about tomorrow," I admit.

His jaw tightens, anger and passion filling his features. "Nothing will happen to you tomorrow," he vows.

I try to blink back my tears, but it only succeeds in shedding them. "Not for me. For you. I know how skilled you are at what you do, and I know you've been in probably more dangerous situations, but this is the first time since I've known you that you're going into a fight outnumbered and evenly matched. I'm terrified that I'm going to sit at a desk and watch you die tomorrow."

He leans forward until his forehead touches mine, and I watch through blurred vision as he breathes me in, holding on to me like I'm the most precious thing in the world to him. "I won't die tomorrow. Wanna know why?"

I nod, another tear slipping down my cheek.

"I've been fighting every single day since I was twelve because I wanted to save my mother, and when I couldn't, vengeance became what drove me, what fueled me. I didn't have anything to live for other than the memory of her, and it's hard to live for something that is already gone. But then you came into my life, with your joyous attitude, your awful taste in music, and your obsession with fanfiction, and my life found meaning again. I found a purpose outside of revenge. I have something to live for now: you and the future we're going to build together, and I'll be damned if I am going to let Harrison take that away from me."

I laugh, but the sound is strained and weak. "I don't have an awful taste in music."

He kisses my forehead, smiling against my skin. "Agree to disagree."

I pull back from him a smidge, wiping my eyes with my fingers. "We should go join the others. We'll have plenty of time together tonight, but for now we have guests."

H rolls his eyes. "Uninvited guests."

"But guests nonetheless, who are helping us, by the way, so the least we can do is make their stay enjoyable."

The look he gives me is skeptical. "What are you planning?"

I reply to his skepticism with a mischievous grin. "A game."