Chapter Thirty-Five

Natasha

"You owe me." Bastian grabs Sapier's arm, and the Colonel stiffens like he's about to swat away a fly. "For eight years, you promised you'd get me out—get all of us out."

Sapier whirls around, the tip of the knife nicking Bastian's jaw. "If it weren't for her, I'd have made Brigadier General at least two years ago. You're lucky I got you out at all. The bribes alone cost me half a million. If we hadn't found her, you'd still be languishing in Leavenworth."

"Sapier?" If nothing else, I have to tell West who this asshole is. The name is familiar, though his face isn't. Then again, eight years can do a lot to a person. "Have we ever met before?"

The Colonel shoves Bastian away from him and advances on me. "This is the first time you've had the pleasure. Trust me, Winters. You'd remember." The knife kisses my cheek with a feather light touch, trails down my neck, and stops at the top button on my orange shirt.

"Get the fuck away from her!" Doc grits out.

Sutton shocks him again, while Sapier ignores everything but me. I keep my gaze pinned to Doc's face, tears in my eyes, as the Colonel slices through one button at a time until the shirt falls open.

"Maybe we will try it your way, Montgomery," he says, leaning closer and sniffing me. "But I get to be the one to have her."

"Sir…" Bastian's whining now that Doc's screams have faded away.

Sapier smells like cheap cologne and desperation. If my arms were free, I'd claw his eyes out. But all I can do is focus on Doc so I don't have to meet his hungry gaze.

All the words we haven't been able to say pass between us in the silence. His cheeks are wet with his own tears. I love him with everything I am. But that won't be enough to save us.

"Do whatever you want to the doctor," Sapier says, retreating so he can lean against the wall of dryers and peer down at his watch. "You have ten minutes. The prison administrator needs us out of here by eleven. The third shift starts at midnight."

"I don't have a shot," Inara says in my ear. "Not with the bars and the glass and those two assholes between Doc and the window. Get them to move. The cavalry is on the way. Two, three minutes, tops."

Bastian swipes a homemade shiv from one of the long tables on the right side of the room. "Not the most effective weapon," he says, turning the plastic over in his hands. "Not long enough or strong enough to do real damage. But it hurts like a son of a bitch."

He jabs the weapon into Doc's bicep. Blood coats the plastic, and Doc lets out a strangled groan.

"Stop!" I stomp down on Doherty's foot. He bites out an oath, then backhands me hard enough, I fall to my knees. Collins has to let me go, thank God, and I cup my throbbing cheek. "I did everything you asked. Confessed to every crime. I want to tell him…what I didn't get to say on the phone. Let me hold him and tell him… You owe me that!"

Bastian rolls his eyes. "Try anything, and I'll cut his dick off before I kill him."

I keep my gaze on Doc as I stagger to my feet. Sweat dots his brow, and there's too much blood running down his arm. His eyes crinkle with pain, but when I wrap my arms around his waist, he dips his head to whisper in my ear. "I love you, baby."

Pushing up onto my toes, I seal my lips to his.

Home.

This man is my home. I break off the kiss, then pretend to lose my balance so I can pull him a single step away from Sutton.

Glass shatters, and over Doc's shoulder, Sutton's head caves in.

"Fuck!" Bastian shouts. He grabs me by the hair, dragging me away from Doc and pressing his KA-BAR to my throat.

"Natasha! No!" Doc strains against the rope, but he doesn't have any leverage.

Bastian puts his back to one of the dryers between the room's two windows, while Sapier crawls into the far corner and shoves a laundry cart away from a metal door.

The knife is so tight against my windpipe, I'm scared to swallow. Talking is out of the question.

"Who the fuck is shooting at us?" Doherty shouts. He and Collins are only steps away from Doc, guns drawn. If West doesn't do something soon, they'll shoot him. Bastian will slit my throat, and Sapier will get away.

The main door bangs open, and a round canister bounces into the room. "Fire in the hole," West says over comms.

Light and sound explode all around us. Bastian slams me face first into the metal dryer. The pain consumes me. I can't see. Can't hear. Can't move. Doc. Where is Doc?

The explosion deafens me, but Natasha turned me enough before it happened, squeezing my eyes shut let me keep most of my vision.

Collins stumbles only feet away from me, disoriented as fuck and waving a pistol around like a goddamn flag at a Formula 1 Race.

I grab on to the rope between my wrists, pull myself up, and scissor my legs around the man's neck. His gun hits the floor. Locking my ankles together, I squeeze. He's heavy as fuck. But there's no way I'm letting go.

Collins weaves back and forth. He can't take more than a step in any direction. He claws at my legs, desperate. But he's getting weaker. Slower.

Through the hazy smoke, Doherty takes aim. A bullet whizzes by my ear. Too close. As he draws down on me again, I twist. The second shot hits Collins in the chest. He starts to wheeze. It's a fatal wound, but I don't care. I jerk my legs as hard as I can. His neck snaps with a satisfying crunch.

"Stay high, Doc!" Raelynn shouts. I drop Collins, swing my legs, and use my momentum to hook my feet around the water pipe. My ribs ache. The smoke burns my lungs. I can't hold this position for long.

Half a dozen shots later, Doherty's body is shredded. I drop back down. My arm throbs. I can't see Natasha anymore.

Raelynn grabs her knife, snaps the flexi-cuffs, and shoves a comms unit into my ear. "Where's Natasha?" I ask the second it beeps at me.

"Sapier's running for the kitchen," an unfamiliar voice says. "Whiskey, hurry the fuck up. Golf's about to be in over his head."

"Where. Is. Natasha?"

Raelynn tries to pull me down behind one of the long tables. I shake her off. "No fucking way. I'm going after her. That asswipe doesn't get to take her from me again."

"You're bleedin'."

"Of course, I'm bleeding. He stabbed me with a shiv. Do you think I care? Give me a fucking gun."

Raelynn passes me a Glock. "I'm on your six, Doc. All the way. Tango, you have eyes on the package?"

Tango. Trevor.

"There's an access panel behind the dryers. Leads to a service tunnel used for maintenance. It runs all the way to the kitchens. Eventually. He dragged her in there. But Doc? She wasn't moving. And the signal from her comms unit is dead. She can't hear us."

Fuck. My ass hits the ground. Did we get this far only to lose now? The laundry looks like a slaughterhouse. Collins, Sutton, Doherty, Bowen. They're all dead. Outside the door, two other guards lie prone. Blood glistens on Raelynn's cheek. Down her arm. Splatters her shoes.

"Get a move on, Doc. Sittin' here ain't doin' us a lick of good."

Raelynn shoves a laundry cart aside to find the access panel next to the last dryer. Along with Natasha's crushed earbud.

Blood smears the wall. It's a tight fit, and my shoulders ache as I maneuver myself through the opening. I can barely stand up straight inside.

"I fuckin' hate confined spaces," Raelynn mutters. "At least it ain't dark."

If anything, it's like the surface of the sun in here. Fluorescent lights run along the ceiling, so close to my eyes the brightness hurts. All those hours in a dark bathroom didn't help.

Natasha whimpers from up ahead. The sound bounces off the concrete walls and the metal dryer housings. "Please…I can't… Let me…go."

"You're my fucking insurance policy, bitch," Bastian snaps. "Move!"

Her choked cry is too much for me to bear. I take off at a run, ducking every few feet so I don't bash my head on the lights. At the corner, I skid to a stop, then risk a quick glance.

They're thirty feet ahead of us. Natasha stumbles, crashing to the ground despite Bastian's iron grip on her arm. He almost goes down too, but at the last second, slams her back into the wall. "You're trying to slow us down!"

"Just…figured that…out?" she manages. Her hand slips into her pocket. This is my chance. I take the corner, pistol aimed at that fucker's head. But before I can fire, Natasha punches him in the face.

He roars, hauls her against him, and presses the knife to her throat.

Fuck. I don't have a shot.

"Stop right there, Reynolds. Or I end her."

"Keep him talkin'," Raelynn whispers from around the corner. "Graham is comin' from the kitchen. Two minutes."

Natasha doesn't have two minutes. Not with the look in that bastard's eyes.

Blood wells around the edge of the blade. He's only a fraction of an inch from her carotid. A bright red goose egg swells on her forehead. Blood drips from her nose.

I raise my hands, the Glock pointed at the ceiling. "There's no way out for you. Let her go, and you'll live."

Bastian shakes his head. He's pinned one of Natasha's arms to her body. Her free hand claws at his wrist, desperately trying to pull the knife away.

She swallows, and more blood drips down her neck. Pain tightens her lips.

"Drop the gun," he orders. "And turn around."

I don't have a choice. Slowly, I set the pistol on the concrete.

"Now kick it to me and back the fuck up." Again, I obey, keeping my eyes on Natasha the entire time.

"Sorry," she mouths. "Love…"

Bastian tightens his grip on the knife, and she whimpers softly.

Sorry? The single word chills me to the bone. Whatever she's planning, I can't let her do it.

I take a single step back so I'm even with the corner. Another step, and the left side of my body is hidden from Bastian's view.

"That's far enough," he growls.

"Natasha, we're going home. Together. Back to Seattle. Or Blakely. Where everything felt…right."

Please, God let her understand me. All we need—all I need—is a few inches.

Raelynn presses her pistol into my hand. "Golf, you better be close," she murmurs over comms.

"I don't have a shot. His hand could jerk. Or the bullet goes through him and takes out Doc too."

"Don't do it," I say, hoping Graham understands I'm talking to him as much as Bastian. "You're mine, shitstain. The Colonel can't protect you anymore. We know who he is." I need an opening. Need him to waver for one second. Maybe two.

Bastian laughs. "He has more influence than you could ever dream of."

"You're a naive little prick, you know that? Your friends may have been powerful—and clearly they were since you managed to break into a prison, get Natasha out of her cell, and gather enough witnesses to make your plans for her death believable. But they're dead now. My friends stopped this entire place from going on lockdown after that firefight. What does that tell you?"

Fear flashes in his dark eyes.

Natasha's grip on his wrist goes slack. Her hand presses to her chest. Over the white tank top now stained with blood. "Can't…breathe," she whispers. "Please…"

He can't see her face. But I can. She balls her hand into a fist. Metal glints in the fluorescent lights.

The knife wavers. The edge lifts from her skin.

She slams her fist into his thigh. Bastian screams. His tight hold loosens. Natasha twists free.

I shoot him square in the chest. He stumbles, but doesn't go down. Fuck. I should have known he'd be wearing body armor.

He lunges for Natasha. She lands a punch to his crotch. His howl is music to my ears. He sinks to his knees, but grabs her wrist, twisting until she cries out in pain.

I take off at a run.

Bastian swings the knife up, barely missing Natasha's face. She plants her foot in the center of his chest to push him away. He slashes wildly. The blade glances off her calf. The KA-BAR arcs toward her thigh.

My shot makes a neat hole in his forehead. He's dead. He just doesn't know it yet.

His hand goes slack. Natasha grabs the knife before it can fall, and drives it into his neck.

He can't fight anymore. His final sound is nothing more than a weak gurgle.

"Natasha!" I catch her as her knees buckle and crush her against me. She wraps her arms around my neck, sobbing.

"I couldn't…I tried to get away, but…"

"Shhh. You're safe now, baby. I've got you. Always."

Graham jogs up to us, checks Bastian's pulse, and wipes his bloody fingers on his pants. "We need to move. Tango and Foxtrot are going to deal with the cops, but Natasha's technically an escaped prisoner until we can make her paperwork disappear."

"Tango and…Foxtrot?" Natasha asks, her voice weak enough, I ease her back so I can make sure the asshole's knife didn't nick her carotid. She winces when I lift the hem of her orange prison shirt and dab at her neck. The wounds are superficial, but if he'd pressed any harder…

"Trevor and Ford." Raelynn offers us a tight smile. "We only use code names in the field, darlin'. But Golf—Graham—is right. We need to get gone. Can you walk?"

"M-maybe?" She sways when she tries to stand on her own, and I slip my arm around her waist. The passageway is so narrow, we shuffle sideways all the way to the kitchen. By then, Natasha's right eyelid is almost swollen shut.

"Fuck, baby. What did he do to you?" I cup her cheek, and she winces. Her nose could be broken. Hell, she could have a skull fracture.

"Worry about that later," West says, jogging up to us. "We're headed to the loading dock. Cops are five minutes out. Doc, no offense, but let Graham take Natasha. You don't look so good."

I don't want to let her go. But the former SEAL is right. I'm in no condition to carry her. The nerve block wore off hours ago, and every breath sends sparks of pain wrapping around my ribs. My arm throbs, and with all the electricity my body absorbed, my heart feels like I've had a couple gallons of coffee. Every few minutes, my muscles spasm hard enough I worry I won't be upright much longer.

Graham takes Natasha's arm and drapes it over his shoulders. Raelynn sticks close to me, and we follow West at a slow, awkward run through the stacks of pallets and out the same rollup door I was dragged through an hour ago.

Fucking hell. Was it really only an hour? It felt more like days.

A black van idles next to the stairs, its side door open. The woman behind the wheel doesn't turn around when Inara and Ripper help us inside. She's solely focused on the parking lot and the street.

The second the door slams shut, she floors it.

"Dammit, Ella. A little warning?" West says. The man's head slammed into the back wall, and he rubs it gingerly as he sits up.

"Um, you'd prefer we get arrested?" She points to the right, and though I can't see shit back here, the sirens are getting louder by the second. "You're welcome."

I crawl to the other side of the space and ease Natasha into my arms. She buries her face in the crook of my neck. "Doc…I should have…I wanted…"

"I know, baby. But we have all the time in the world now. Rest. We're going to be okay."