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“I didn’t mean that literally. I meant that’s what they intend to do to us. But Langston will come for us.” She looked at Cynthia. “If he comes for no one else, he’s definitely coming for you.”
“How did they get you?” Cynthia asked.
It hit Lisa then.
They shot Langston.
By the time they pulled off, Langston was lying on the side of the road bleeding to death. Pain hit her in the chest, and she dissolved in tears.
“Lisa?” Shocked, Cynthia drew her in for a hug as Lisa cried uncontrollably. The fear and the reality of the situation weighed heavily on her.
“We have to get out of here. We have to fight,” Lisa said, wiping the tears from her face.
“How?” Cynthia asked, desperation in her voice.
Lisa’s eyes scanned the room again, seeing a small windowsill with a vase on it and a wooden chair in the corner. In another corner, a stack of bricks leaned against the concrete wall. That was all they had to work with.
“I have an idea,” Lisa said, her voice determined. “We need to create a distraction.”
“What kind of distraction?” Cynthia asked, confusion lacing her tone.
“A loud one. Something…”
“No!” Destiny shouted. “You need to sit your ass down and stay there before you get us all killed!”
Lisa glared at Destiny. “Or maybe I’ll knock your ass out and leave you here to deal with them alone.”
Destiny’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t.”
“Maybe I would.” She shrugged. “You’re a headache and a real bitch.”
Destiny’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t speak another word.
Cynthia interrupted them. “Ladies, please calm down. It’s okay to have a plan, but it can’t be one that takes us beyond that door at this very moment. Whatever it is has to come once we know for sure someone is here to save us. I think that’s the best chance we have for survival. I’m all for joining in on the fight, but those men outside have the advantage right now.”
Lisa sucked in a breath. She knew Cynthia was right, but waiting for someone to rescue them made her feel helpless. It was difficult to sit and wait for their fate to be determined by their captors.
However, she had to trust Langston and their other allies to rescue them. They had to stay alive and buy time until then, and she prayed that his team made it to him in time to save his life.
Twenty-Three
Langston
Two days later
Langston Jamal Clark slowly opened his eyes to the sterile white walls of the hospital room and immediately knew something was wrong.
His eyelids felt heavy, and his body felt as if it had been submerged in a thick, suffocating paste. He tried to open his eyes wider, struggling to clear his focus. He strained to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his chest, causing him to stay still. That’s when he looked down to see that his torso was covered in bandages.
Fighting through the fog, Langston felt himself becoming aware of his surroundings, the beeping of the medical equipment, and the faint smell of antiseptic in the room, but he was unable to move any part of his body.
The door to the room swung open and in walked his brother, Tristan Neil Clark. Seeing Langston awake, Tristan rushed to his brother’s bedside.
“Langston!”
Langston’s vision slowly cleared, and he could make out the face of his brother. Langston blinked and squinted to get a better look at Tristan. He wore a white T-shirt, blue jeans, and his face was set in a worrisome mask.
“Tristan,” Langston croaked, his voice dry, sore, hoarse, and unfamiliar. “What happened?”
