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“Ah, there’s the man of the hour,” Leonidas practically purred. Wyatt lifted his head, seeing Roman standing there, flanked by two other gruff-looking men, both of them holding guns in their hands.
“You know, I thought I handled the Rainbow’s Seven when I framed you all for blowing up a museum, but I should have known you’d figure some way to weasel out of that.” Leonidas took out a wicked-looking blade from a hilt hanging underneath his long tropical shirt. He looked like a tourist lost in Hawaii, not like the bloodthirsty leader of a hungry mob. He went over to Mimic, telling the man holding her to step back. He took his place, lifting her up to her feet and placing the point of the curved blade against her chest, directly above her heart.
Oh no. No, no, no.
Wyatt dove headfirst into panic mode. He tried—futilely—to switch into problem-solving mode. His brain was mush, any idea or plan dissolving in a vat of pure and unadulterated terror.
“I saw it all over the news. Chaos in the prison, people unsure if hundreds of criminals were about to be unleashed on the community. It took up the prime-time slot—you guys should be proud. No one died, interestingly. They also kept quiet about two of their prisoners escaping, the higher-ups likely trying to keep face with the public.”
“Not what you were planning, huh?” Roman took a step forward, and the blade pushed deeper against Mimic’s chest. Her eyes widened, but her face remained blank. If she felt any of the same fear that currently chewed away at the lining of Wyatt’s stomach, then she wasn’t showing it.
“Every inch you move is an inch deeper that my blade sinks in.”
Wyatt looked around, trying to spot anything that could help them out of this. It was a typical rich person’s backyard, with lounge chairs set up around the pool, a waterfall spilling over a rocky outcropping and into the pool, creating an almost relaxing soundscape at odds with the extremely dire situation. There were large black fences on either side of the yard leading up to the dock, blocking the neighbors from viewing any of the illicit activities going on right next door.
They were outnumbered and outsmarted, with no one around to call for help or backup.
The fear shredded through Wyatt, nearly turning his stomach over and causing him to spill all of his lunch and breakfast onto the floor.
“What do you want, Leonidas?” Roman didn’t move toward them, staying planted at the edge of the pool.
“I want the pages, and I want you all taken care of. You and your fucking group are a thorn in my paw. From the moment I started the hunt for this tome, you’ve somehow been there every step of the way, fucking shit up for us. I don’t like it. I don’t like you or any of your friends.” Leonidas trailed the dagger up Mimic’s chest, over her bare neck, creating a light pink line dragging up her skin. Her pupils were blown, her lower lip trembling.
The fear was beginning to show, and that only fed Wyatt’s. He felt helpless. There wasn’t an app or a technical hack he could use in a Hail Mary to get them out of here. His strengths were behind a computer, not in front of a gun.
Roman never should have brought me along.
“I’m not letting you get any of those things,” Roman said. His hand fluttered over his hip. Was he carrying a gun? He must be, but Wyatt couldn’t tell underneath the untucked cleaner’s uniform.
“Ah, ah, ah, where is that hand going?” Leonidas narrowed his eyes, the curved blade now resting against Mimic’s neck, as if the cold metal were made to follow the exact curves of her throat. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Roman froze. Wyatt looked to Mimic, who seemed to be mouthing something at Roman.
Do it. She’s telling him to do it.
Wyatt braced himself. He wished he could read Roman’s mind. With how connected the two were, he felt as if he should have been able to. It would have made this all so much easier.
“Put whatever guns you’re carrying down on the ground,” Leonidas said, head cocked, sinister sneer plastered across it. Wyatt had never hated someone’s smile as much as he hated Leonidas’. It was a visceral twist inside his chest, pushing away some of the fear and replacing it with red-hot rage.
Roman moved slowly, reaching under the baggy shirt and taking out a gun. He raised it in the air, fingers stretched up toward the sky. He bent down, slow as before, and placed the gun down on the ground in front of him.
“Perfect,” Leonidas said. He then looked at one of his lackeys and pointed the dagger toward Wyatt. “Bring him to me.”
The skinny man, dressed in all black with a lion’s claw hanging off a rope necklace, came over and yanked Wyatt up to his feet. He held Wyatt’s hands behind his back and pushed him to Leonidas’ side. There, he was dropped back down to his knees. He looked to his side, into Mimic’s eyes, and he saw the fear there, unable to hide any longer.
