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Rio is sprawled out in front of me, his neck twisted at a horrible angle. When I try to sit up and look for my gun in the debris, pain splinters through my leg. I glance down, yanking a huge piece of glass from my thigh.
Movement outside the busted window catches my attention just before Tom pushes to his feet, his hands somehow freed as he jogs away.
Tom. That motherfucker is not getting away.
I find my gun then drag myself through the crushed door, tripping as I go to stand. I catch myself on the ground, and my hands brush a piece of rope lying beside the doorway. Tom must have cut the rope on broken glass.
I catch his silhouette duck into the woods and chase after him. With each step pain radiates down my leg, but I keep going until I reach a small clearing. There's a break in the trees allowing a trickle of moonlight to filter through, but I can’t see Tom.
I take another step, gripping my pistol in my hand, and then a thick arm wraps around my throat, crushing my Adam's apple before my gun is knocked out of my hand.
"I didn't underestimate a thing, Jude Pearson.” Tom’s hold tightens.
I choke for air, elbowing him in the stomach. His grip loosens enough that I'm able to twist out of his hold. I swing my fist in his direction, hitting him in the side of the face. When he stumbles, I reach for my gun, but before I can grab it, Joe's kicks it away. There's a soft thud as it lands in the brush behind me.
"No." Tom pants. "Fight like a man so I can kill you with my bare hands."
I lay into him, throwing punch after punch which he meets. I've never fought a man as strong as him. I go to take a swing, but Tom punches me hard in the face, knocking me to the ground. When I stand back up, he grabs me by the throat again, but this time, I latch onto his. We stand face to face, our gazes locked as we choke one another. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as I squeeze harder. His fingers dig into my neck, his thumbs pressing beneath my chin. I can feel everything draining from my body, and my hold on him grows weak. I think of Tor and my clutch on him tightens. His eyes flutter as my vision blurs. His hands drop from my neck, then he falls to the ground.
“Fuck you,” I pant, bending over my knees to catch my breath. I glance at his motionless body before I head toward the brush to search for my gun.
The moonlight glints of the metal nestled amongst dead leaves. I reach down, relief washing over me as my hand wraps around the handle. And just as I turn to put a bullet in that worthless fucker’s head, something collides with my temple.
The force knocks me sideways. I land on my knees and lose my grip on the gun just before I feel the hard press of a barrel to the back of my skull.
Tom laughs behind me. "Really, I am sorry this has to end.”
Tor
I drum my fingers on my knee. Marney blows a stream of smoke through the small gap of the driver’s side window. His gun rests on his thigh, his free hand casually resting on the steering wheel. I wish I could be as calm as he is. Marney has done this so long; nothing phases him.
Sofia sits in the front beside him, her hands bound together. I removed the duct tape from her mouth, but she remains silent. Normally that would bother me, and I would be trying to console her about her current situation, but I can't. The only thing I can think about is Jude.
"He should be here by now," I mumble.
Marney turns to look at me. "You just calm yourself there, sweetheart, Jude'll get here when he gets here."
I huff an exasperated breath. What if he doesn't get here though? What if something went wrong? What if Tom killed him? I feel sick.
Minutes tick by, and still nothing. "They should be here," I repeat, more to myself than anything.
Marney nods, blowing out another stream of smoke. "Yep." Why isn't he panicking? He pulls out his phone and taps the screen. "Hmm…”
"What?" I snap. I'm so on edge, I feel like I might explode.
"They stopped."
He turns the phone toward me, showing me a map. And in the middle is a green blinking dot, just sitting there.
"What's that?"
"Jude's cell. He should be in that car. And that damn dot should be moving." A sense of dread creeps through me. Something is wrong. I know it is. Where Tom Campbell is involved, it's extremely likely.
He turns the ignition. My heart races as we drive along the interstate, back in the direction of the airport. I keep my gaze trained on the opposite side of the road, looking for a black limo, in case they pass us. But I don't see one.
