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But he’d lost consciousness and slumped back to the floor. And of course, his cell door was locked.
She tried her key, even though she guessed it wouldn’t work. It wasn’t even the right size.
“Jake,” she whispered. “I’m going to go get you some help.”
A moan from the next cell had her squinting. She took a hesitant step toward the sound, stopping short when she realized Underhill was the next prisoner. He’d been beaten, too, though not as badly nor as recently as Jake. Beyond him, in yet another cell, she saw what appeared to be an extremely emaciated woman.
Micheline, she thought, battling back a flash of fury. Micheline had done all this. Maybe not personally, but no one in the AAG center acted without her orders.
She pulled out her cell phone, intending to call Holden. No signal. Of course. But she could still use the camera. Photographic evidence would go a long way. She snapped pictures of everything—the setup, the cells and the prisoners themselves. Twice she tried to text them, but with no signal, they wouldn’t go through.
Jake still hadn’t moved, though she thought she could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed. “Please stay alive,” she murmured and spun around to go.
Hands shaking, she unlocked the first door, barely remembering to lock it again before rushing up the stairs. She fumbled with the key and dropped it. Telling herself to breathe, to stay calm, she bent over and picked it up. As she straightened, the dead bolt turned and someone on the other side shoved the door open, right into her. Unprepared, she stumbled backward and grabbed for the handrail, barely stopping herself from falling down the stairs.
Bart came slamming through the door, expression hard. The instant he saw Fiona, he pulled his pistol. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” he ordered.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. But she was too worried about Jake to care a whole hell of a lot what Bart thought. “Go get Micheline,” she demanded. “Or Leigh. Or both of them. Right now.”
His upper lip curled in a sneer. “I don’t take orders from you. And with you sneaking around in places where you don’t belong, you don’t have a lot of bargaining power.”
“I don’t care.” With a pistol pointed at her, she didn’t want to make any sudden moves. Especially since she didn’t know what kind of training Bart might have had.
“Does Micheline know Jake is in here?” she asked, softening her tone somewhat. “He’s been badly beaten. He needs to get immediate medical care.”
“You don’t say,” Bart drawled. “I’ll get right on that.” He gestured with his gun. “Now you, move back down the stairs. Keep your hands where I can see them at all times.”
Would he shoot her? For the first time, she wondered if Bart and Randall were running their own little shop of horrors down here without Micheline’s blessing.
Somehow, knowing what she did about Micheline, she doubted that. “You can’t hurt me,” she said, infusing her voice with way more confidence than she felt. “Micheline needs me too much to lose me.”
“Does she now?” Judging from his snide smirk, he doubted that.
“Call her and see.” Fiona decided to brazen this out. “Call her right now. I’ve had just about enough of this. Jake is hurt and—”
Moving so swiftly she didn’t have time to react, he shoved her hard, sending her tumbling down the metal stairs. It happened so fast, a split second in which one moment she’d been whole and the next, her entire body screamed with pain.
She’d broken her ankle, she thought, though since she could still move her legs, she hadn’t broken her neck. Though she could have. Or her back. Bart had pushed her, knowing full well she’d be badly hurt, maybe even paralyzed, and he hadn’t cared.
Calling on her own inner strength, she grabbed the handrail at the bottom of the stairs and hauled herself to her feet. Excruciating pain sliced through her when she tried to put her weight on her right ankle, which meant definitely broken.
“You tried to kill me.” She didn’t have to feign disbelief. “What the actual hell?”
“No,” he drawled, coming about halfway down, his weapon still aimed at her. “If I wanted to kill you, I would just shoot. But...” He took another step, bringing him closer. “I know Micheline will likely want you alive, just like your boyfriend. Though she won’t give a rat’s ass what kind of condition either of you are in.”
“But she will,” she informed him. “She needs the baby I’m carrying to leverage what influence she has.”
“Baby?” Momentarily fazed, he eyed her. “Right.”
“I’m serious,” she protested.
He ignored her. One more step, then another, until only a matter of feet separated them. He waved the gun in a way that made her consider snatching it away from him. If she’d been able to stand on both her feet, she might have tried. As it was, all she could do was glare at him and hope he didn’t pistol-whip her.
“She won’t care if I have some...” He licked his lips, pupils darkening. “Fun.”
Horrified, she realized what he meant. He planned to rape her. “Not in this lifetime,” she snarled, catching him by surprise. “I promise I will fight you,” she said, letting him see the steely resolve in her eyes. “And you might be bigger than me and stronger than me, but I will hurt you. In more ways than one.” She bared her teeth in a savage smile. “In fact, you’re probably going to end up having to kill me before I’ll let you lay one hand on me.”
He took an inadvertent step back before he caught himself. “Move,” he ordered. “There’s a cell down there calling your name.”
