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Instead, he got a message that made his blood instantly turn to ice. His stomach twisted into a pretzel, his breakfast being forced back up his esophagus. He almost couldn’t comprehend the photo that filled the bottom portion of his screen.
Wyatt must have noticed the sudden shift, likely clocking the way Roman’s face had drained of all color, his eyes glued to his phone screen. “What? What is it?”
Roman pried his eyes away from the message, shock melting away with the ice in his veins, leaving room for rage and determination.
“It’s a message from Leonidas. We don’t have much time.”
Chapter 26
Wyatt Hernandez
Wyatt saw the thick curtain of dread drop over Roman’s face as he looked at whatever message landed on his phone. It created a pit in the center of Wyatt’s gut. The dread quickly spread to him. He straightened his back, trying to set his expression in stone in preparation for whatever he was about to see.
Roman handed him the phone. No amount of preparation would have prepared him. His back slunk inwards like a broken accordion. His eyebrows snapped together, his lower lip adopting the same tremble that entered his shoulders.
A picture filled the screen. It showed Mimic, arms and ankles tied together so tight that blood dripped from the bonds in bright red rivers. She had a bruise developing on her cheek and cuts across her forearms. They were self-defense wounds. Mimic had been fighting, and judging by the seething look in her eyes as she stared directly down the barrel of the lens, her fight hadn’t diminished. The room she was in appeared nondescript, almost like a police station’s interrogation room. No windows or doors in the frame. Only Mimic sitting on the floor, tied up like she was about to be placed above a fire and roasted like a pig.
Underneath the photo was a message. “You have two hours to send me the pages. Every minute over the deadline and Mimic loses another finger.”
Wyatt handed the phone back to Roman, his hands now shaking. “Jesus Christ, this is bad.”
Mustang looked over her shoulder, eyes pinning them down to the couch.
“What happened?” she asked.
Roman explained but didn’t hand her the phone, no matter how much she asked. It wouldn’t have helped the situation, not at all. Mustang didn’t need to see Mimic like that. Wyatt himself wasn’t sure how he’d ever get that image of a hurt and vulnerable Mimic out of his head.
Roman stood and went over to the bin that held a few backpacks and water bottles. He grabbed the bag that was his and took it out, coming back to the couch. Wyatt was trying to comfort an increasingly distraught Mustang when he realized what Roman was doing, a folder in his hand.
“You’re sending him the pages?” Wyatt asked. “Isn’t that our only leverage?”
“It is, which is why I’m not sending them.”
Roman took out the blueprints instead, the ones showing the different rooms inside of the Pride’s hideout. He looked at his phone, eyes darting over the image of Mimic and then back to the blueprints. Wyatt tried to figure out what Roman was doing but was distracted by a sniffling sound coming from the normally stoic Mustang.
He stood up and went to her side, giving her a hug, her curls falling onto his face as he rested his head on her shoulder. “She’s going to be okay. We’re going to get her out of there.”
Mustang didn’t answer. She just nodded and wiped away the silent tears that dripped down her cheeks.
“I know where they’re holding her.”
All attention went back to Roman. Doc and Bang Bang had come over from their corner of the boat, along with Phantom and Tor. The ocean around them started to fill with more and more boats of all kinds: fishing boats, Jet Skis, mini yachts. Key West began to appear to their left, with colorful pastel buildings and homes built to kiss up right against the water.
“In the photo he just sent me, there’s a curve in the wall. A very interesting curve that is likely some kind of function of them building a base underwater. This blueprint here shows that exact curve in a room farthest from our entry point. It’s the only room with that layout. He has to have her there.”
Wyatt could have kissed Roman if he wasn’t already so damn anxious.
“How far are we?” Roman asked Mustang. She looked down at the navigation on the screen.
“Ten minutes,” she answered, a slight tremble in her words.
“Get us there in five.”
She answered with a nod and sat back on the chair, reaching for the throttle and pushing it forward. The boat raced forward, the momentum pushing Wyatt down onto his seat. Wind whipped around them, the boat bouncing along the wake created by the other larger boats around them.
