Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (25 page)

“Let him go! He’s just a boy!” The cotton slithered through her fingers. “No.” Thickness gathered in her throat, new, frantic tears burned her eyes. “Don’t take him. I’ll do anything. Please.”

“Don’t hurt the kid.” Keith’s command rippled across the tension that hung in the room.

He sprung to the side and his booted foot connected with Tom’s kneecap. The man hit the ground and his pistol skidded across the floor.

The hem broke away from the rest of Ryker’s shirt and Grace lost the last thread of her hold on her son. “No!”

Keith stopped mid-lunge for the pistol, turned and froze, his arms raised in a gesture of surrender.

Shorty dragged Ryker backwards a few feet. “This is all very touching, but if you don’t deliver the uncorrupted codes now I’m going to be forced to pull the trigger.”

Over her dead body
.
She leapt to her feet and lunged for Ryker. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you with my bare hands if you so much as harm one hair on his head.”

With each word, she shredded at Shorty’s hold on Ryker. She kicked at the man’s knees, his legs, desperate to get him to loosen his hold on her son. He swung his pistol in her face.

Shorty wrapped his arm around Ryker’s throat. “You’re coming with me, kid.”

Ryker’s glasses clattered to the floor, his lips trembled, his eyes overflowed with massive tears. “Mom.”

His one word whispered plea spiked her heart into overdrive. “Oh, God, you bastard. Just let him go.” She lifted her chin and stared deep into the black abyss of the gun’s barrel. “You’ll have to kill me first, before I let you leave this room with him.”

“Oh, come on, what do you want with the kid?” Keith’s hardened voice pierced her tough armor.

They couldn’t take Ryker. Not her baby. Not again. Her hands started to shake and she curled them into tight fists as she turned her head just enough to put Keith into view.

The Tom Cruise look alike recovered to pull the gun on Keith once more. Keith’s stance radiated disinterest; only the muscle in his jaw indicated his tension. “He can’t get you what you want. He’s useless to you.”

Tom’s feral eyes narrowed on Keith and uttered a single sharp word that sent a rush of cold down her spine. “Leverage.”

Her knees buckled. “No. You can’t...” Her legs wobbled. She wouldn’t crumble. Couldn’t lose it. Ryker needed her.

She fixed her tear-blurred vision on Ryker and blinked away the wetness to reveal the clarity of her son’s own terror stricken face. Heat burned through her veins, anger and strength wove around her like a windstorm and gathered to tornado force. She struck out at Shorty again, tightened her fist and nailed him right in the nose.

Shocked, Shorty loosened his hold on Ryker long enough for Grace to yank him behind her. But the victory was short lived.

Shorty snagged her hair and gave it a vicious tug. “You bitch.” He spat, blood from his nose joined the saliva that dribbled on the cement. “I should just blow a hole through you and the kid right now. Forget the codes. You’ve caused me too much grief as it is. I’m not getting paid nearly enough for this gig.”

“Don’t hurt my mom!” Ryker’s scream throbbed with protective fear and he lashed out with his fists.

“Ryker, no! What are you doing?”

Shorty wrenched on her hair. Spots flashed in front of her vision, her head snapped back and she met Keith’s eyes that burned with quiet fury.

Tom grabbed Ryker and squeezed his fist in a punishing grip. Sobs wracked his small frame. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” spilled from his lips in a frantic chant.

“Please.” She smashed her lips together to keep from crying out.

“Enough!” Keith’s rough command echoed in the small room.

She flinched, Ryker’s eyes widened, his mouth froze mid-chant.

“Not you, buddy.” Keith’s voice softened and he gestured to Ryker with a slight downward motion of his hand. “You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

A muscle jumped in Keith’s jaw. “Haven’t you had enough of scaring the shit out of an eight-year-old kid?” His icy glare carved into both Shorty and Tom. “Who’s paying you? Is he too much of a coward to show his face. Let’s settle this man to man. You can have me. Hell, you can kill me, swift and efficient or slow and painful, I don’t much give a damn. I’ll get you the codes. But leave the kid and Grace alone. Let them go.” The plea scraped from his throat on a ragged breath.

Her heart hitched painfully in her chest. What was Keith doing? They’d kill him, and though he’d broken her trust by corrupting the drive, she suddenly understood that ever since that day he’d beaten Colby Longenbow, he’d taken on a strict code of honor. To protect people. Giving these sick bastards security secrets would’ve put so many more people in jeopardy. How could she fault him for doing the right thing?

And now he was willing to take his honor one step further, to die for her and Ryker. She couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat, a constant companion since it had lodged there upon awakening. Keith had deceived them and spared them all at the same time. She didn’t know what to think—what to feel. She just knew the thought of never seeing him again made her ache with desperation.

“Keith, you can’t...”

He turned to her, his features open in surrender. “I can, Gracie. Let me do this.”

Shorty shoved Grace. “Oh, shut up.”

Her knees hit concrete, her palms scraped across the rough cement as she braced her fall. Tom tossed Ryker in much the same manner and she crawled to him, clutched at his hands, his arms, until she could wrap her own arms around his slim shoulders.

“What...what about Keith?” His question was so soft she almost missed it. But the concerned quaver in his voice came through loud and clear.

She lifted her head from Ryker’s hair and looked at Keith. Streaks of dry blood marred his face making him seem tough and deadly, his tight jaw hinted at the ruthlessness she knew he possessed, and his tense, lean body stood proud, a testament to his strength. Yet, he let Tom drag his arms behind his back and secure them with some sort of cuffs without so much as a word of protest.

The two men shoved Keith toward the door. The heavy metal screeched open on its hinges and Shorty pulled him across the threshold. For a moment Keith’s features became vulnerable and he struggled against his bonds.

“Grace!” His shout echoed off the walls, almost as if he wanted to make sure he had her attention, while he struggled to gain some ground back into the room.

He needn’t have worried. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Keith...” She stood, bringing Ryker with her, his face pressed into her leg.

“Grace, I...,” Keith winced, his body jerked, but somehow he managed to hold his ground where he straddled the threshold.

“Keith.” She breathed his name. The constriction in her throat wouldn’t allow more than that.

“I...” His eyes darkened, a swirl of emotions he’d never allowed her to see. He swallowed, the muscles in his neck standing out in sharp relief. “I’m...sorry.”

He grimaced as he was torn from the room.

“Keith!”

The door slammed, mingling with her voice. And then silence engulfed her and Ryker.

A silence that spoke louder than any words ever could.

Chapter Fifteen

The thick rope chafed at Keith’s wrist, his hands tingled with numbness from their position behind his back. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth, grazing his bottom lip.

God, he could still taste Grace there, a combination of sweetness and desperation. He swallowed. His eyes slid closed involuntarily despite the blindfold that obscured his vision.

Sometimes duty sucked.

He tugged at the rope. What had Grace expected? He jerked harder on the thick cable, a burn flared across his wrists. What had she really expected? He couldn’t hand over armament secrets. He’d sworn an oath. To the Army. To his Country.

And likely lost all of Grace’s trust in the process.

What about the oath you swore to her?
He dropped his head forward, the muscles in his neck tightened in protest. It wasn’t the same thing. National security didn’t rest on his promise.

No. Just her heart.

He rocked the metal chair back on two legs and drew a deep breath. The blindfold itched across the bridge of his nose, but he stifled the discomfort.
Listen. Be Prepared.

He held his body taut, ready, and tuned into his surroundings. Nothing. Complete and utter silence.

“Come on, you coward.” His shout reverberated in the empty room and snapped back to sting his ears. “You and me. Let’s settle this.”

From behind him, metal screeched on metal, footsteps drew near. Finally, he’d meet The Keeper face to face.

“If there’s any settling to be done in this matter,” the man said, “rest assured, I’ll be the one doing it.”

Keith tensed, The Keeper’s accent vaguely familiar. Not a full-blown twang, but a subtle ebb and flow he’d heard somewhere before. He’d bet on it.

The Keeper laughed. “I trust you’ve been every bit as comfortable here as at Monthan?”

Keith frowned, his suspicions confirmed. The Keeper had locked Keith in rehab. Which meant he had the authority—the rank—to sign the order. “The accommodations have been five star.”

A grunt. “You always did have a sense of humor.”

“Yeah? Then you must’ve always been one twisted son of a bitch.”

The Keeper let out another sharp bark of laughter. “Twisted is for serial killers. Twisted is mutilating animals. No. I’m far from twisted. I prefer to call myself an entrepreneur.”

“Is that what it’s classified as these days? And here I thought you were just a traitorous bastard.”

“Treason is such a subjective term these days. But I’m not here to debate patriotism with you. You know what I want.”

“Are they safe? Grace and Ryker?”

“Who?”

Keith strained against his bonds. “What about our deal?”

“Interesting. So the great King has a weakness after all.”

His stomach squirmed. “We had a deal.”

The Keeper leaned close. So close the jerk’s hot breath breezed against his cheek. “I. Don’t. Make. Deals.”

“What have you done with them? I’ll kill you. If either of them have so much as a scratch…”

Frantic anger clawed its way up his throat. He struck out with his foot. The mercenaries had made a mistake in not binding his legs. He hooked his leg around his captor’s shin and jerked. The man went down, striking the concrete with a surprised grunt.

“Son of a...” The razor sharp hiss melded with the click from the cock of a gun’s hammer. Cold steel pressed against Keith’s temple. “Don’t fuck with me, King. I’m out of patience and my finger’s feeling mighty twitchy on this damn trigger. I want the security codes. Now.”

Sweat trickled down Keith’s forehead and dripped between the blindfold. His eyes stung from the salty droplets.

He didn’t have the codes. They were with Cam. “Not until I know if Grace and Ryker are safe.”

The man snorted and dug the barrel of the gun deeper into Keith’s skin. “The way I see it, you don’t have the luxury of calling the shots. For all you know, the woman and her brat could be dining at a five star restaurant by now. Or they could be lying on the cold concrete with a knife pressed to their throat. You want to gamble?”

Keith grit his teeth. “I want to kill you.”

“I’m surprised at you, Keith. You’re turning into a regular comedian.”

“Listen, Dickhead—”

The gun trembled against Keith’s head. “Shut up and give me the codes.”

“Go to hell.”

“You want me to go to hell? You’re telling
me
to go to hell?”

The gun left Keith’s temple. The man’s heavy boot connected with his body. Pain burned across his left shoulder and set the tendons on fire. The chair toppled backward, his feet uselessly scraped the floor. His head struck the concrete, bright flashes floated in front of his eyes.

Don’t lose consciousness. Don’t—

Pressure slammed across his windpipe. The bastard’s foot crushed the air from his lungs. A spasm twisted in his gut.

He gagged on the saliva pooling in his mouth. “You...suck...”

Yeah, lame comeback, King
.
His head swam, the cheap metal chair dug into his hands from his weight, his legs felt sluggish.
Do...something.

“Time’s up, King. Once more, where are my codes?”

Kiss...My...Ass.
Keith pushed a low growl through the pain in his throat and swung his legs upward in a burst of renewed strength. He hooked his feet around the asshole’s legs and threw his body sideways, knocking the shitbag to the ground. The pistol skittered across the ground with a dull rattle.

Blessed air flooded down his esophagus. He gulped for it, choked on it. Victory was short lived.

Hands circled his throat. “Give me the codes! I need those codes!” The traitor’s desperate words shot saliva against Keith’s cheek.