Exit Strategy (18 page)

The Jackal laughed again. The whip cracked down.

Pain and rage burst past Mason’s lips in a guttural roar at the dark sky above.

S
A
BRINA JERKED HER
head toward the archway that led to the tunnels, the animalistic cry sending goose bumps across her skin.

What are they doing to you, Mason?

She sawed the tiny pocketknife harder on the thick rope tying her right wrist to the chair. How much time did she have left before Cyprian returned? Where were his men? Had they remained in the tunnel with Mason? Or left to perform some other chore their boss had given them?

The last of the rope broke and fell to the carpet.
Yes!
She closed the knife and shoved it in her pocket as she jumped up and ran to the pile of Mason’s clothes and vest on the floor beside the desk. She gathered them up in her arms, then searched the desk drawers as quietly as possible, looking for a set of keys. Cyprian had mentioned chaining Mason. And she didn’t think her pocketknife would be much use against a chain.

Yes! A ring of keys was in the middle drawer. She grabbed them and ran to the tunnel. The door was closed, but she focused on the picture in her mind of Stryker and the others as they’d left. Then she put her hands on the wall in the exact place where they had. A button clicked. The door slid open and lights flickered on overhead.

Another guttural yell sounded from below.

I’m coming. Hold on.

She ran down the sloping floor, clutching Mason’s belongings. It would have been perfect if Cyprian had left their guns, but of course, he hadn’t. She’d worry about that later, after she found Mason. They’d just have to hope that they didn’t run into any of Cyprian’s thugs.

She rounded a curve in the tunnel and stopped. Although the tunnel continued on to some unknown destination, there were three doors in the wall to her left. They were solid steel and each of them was secured with a heavy-­duty padlock. She fumbled with the key ring, looking for a key that might fit. Without knowing where Mason was, she had no choice but to search each of the rooms.

She glanced around, although she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she saw anyone. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. After trying several of the keys on the first door without success, she finally found a key that fit snugly into the lock. She was about to turn it when she heard Mason’s anguished shout again.

From behind the farthest door.

She yanked the key out of the lock and ran to the last door. “Hold on,” she whispered. “I’ll get you out, Mason.” Luck was with her for a change. The first key she tried was the right one. She turned it, cringing at the loud click that echoed against the concrete walls. She pulled the lock off and tossed it onto the floor.

Clutching the keys and Mason’s clothing in one hand, she yanked the door open, flipped on the light, and ran inside. Her shoes squeaked on the concrete as she stopped inches from his outstretched hand. Silver handcuffs circled his wrists connecting to a long, thick chain which looped around his back and chest. The length went all the way to the wall to a large metal loop embedded in the concrete.

Mason was breathing heavily, his dark hair matted with blood, his eyes wild as he stared up at her.

“My God, Mason.” She palmed the ring of keys from Cyprian’s desk and threw everything else down as she dropped to her knees beside him. “Here, let me—­ooof!”

He clamped his hand over her mouth and grabbed her, throwing her to the floor. Her head slammed against the concrete and she cried out against his hand. He covered her body with his, and leaned down close to her face.

“I’ve got you now, Jackal,” he spat, his white teeth bared menacingly. “You’ll never hurt anyone else again.”

The insane light glinting in his eyes had her stomach sinking. He didn’t really see her. He thought she was his enemy.

He shoved his hand against her ribs as if he were stabbing her. The Kevlar softened the blow but she still lost her breath and had to struggle to draw in air. He punched her again.

Her bruised ribs shot a fiery arc of renewed pain up her chest. Oh God, he was going to kill her if she didn’t get away from him.

“Mason,” she tried to say against his hand.

“Shut up,” he growled, pressing his hand flat against her mouth.

She chomped down on his finger and brought her knee up at the same time, slamming it into his crotch. He yanked his hand back and twisted to the side, yelling his rage as he doubled over.

Sabrina tried to scramble away from him but he roared and grabbed her leg, yanking her underneath him again as he raised his arm as if to backhand her.

“Mason, don’t! It’s me! Sabrina!” She threw her hands up over her head and closed her eyes, bracing herself for his blow.

“Sabrina?” an anguished voice choked.

She slowly lowered her arms and looked up.

Mason stared down at her in horror, his hand still raised to strike. “Sabrina.” His voice cracked. “Oh my God. What have I done?” He slid his hands beneath her and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her and rocking her against him.

He smoothed her hair back and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

M
ASON TUGGED HIS
clothes on while Sabrina listened at the door for Bishop or Stryker returning from wherever they’d gone after chaining him up. He still couldn’t believe he’d almost hit her. One blow of his fist could have shattered her delicate jaw, or worse. And instead of being angry with him she’d been more concerned with the laceration on his scalp and whether he was feeling well enough to be able to make it out of the tunnel.

He was pathetic. He’d known for a long time about his . . . issue . . . with being restrained. But he’d never once thought it could put someone else in danger. He didn’t know if he could ever make this up to Sabrina, but getting her as far away from this building as possible would be a good start. He just wished he wasn’t seeing two of everything.

He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but it only made his head throb worse
.

“Mason?” Sabrina was suddenly by his side, pressing her hand against his chest and looking up at him with concern. “Do you need to sit down for a few minutes?”

“I’ll be fine. We need to get out of here.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get us some guns. I don’t know where Cyprian put them.”

He tilted her chin up. “Do
not
apologize to me for anything. You’re the bravest woman, hell,
person
that I’ve ever met—­standing up to Cyprian, then coming down into these tunnels to find me. Don’t you dare say you’re sorry again.” He took her hand in his. “Come on. We’ll just deal with whatever happens when it happens. Staying here isn’t making either of us any safer.”

He strode to the door, pulling her with him. It took a ridiculous amount of effort just to keep from wobbling on his feet. The blows to his head had left him disoriented and probably with a concussion. He didn’t even remember what had happened in Cyprian’s office and had to rely on Sabrina’s accounting to piece the events of the past hour together.

He peered up and down the tunnel. “Seems clear,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We’ll go left, follow the downward slope. It probably goes beneath the front parking lot. With any luck, we’ll come out fairly close to the ridge where my truck’s hidden.”

“Don’t bring luck into it,” she whispered as they jogged side by side. “Luck and I don’t mix very well.”

He squinted, still trying to bring the fuzzy images around him into focus, to no avail. He dug his keys out of his pocket and handed them to Sabrina. “You’ll have to drive. I can’t see worth a damn.”

She shot him a worried look and tightened her hold on his hand. For the first time that he could ever remember, his face heated with embarrassment. This was so screwed up, her worrying about him when he was the one who should be strong and keeping her safe.

A few seconds later the tunnel stopping sloping and leveled out. The string of lights ended as they entered a gaping, dark hole.

“What is this?” she whispered.

He pulled her behind him, pausing to let his eyes adjust. Everything was blurry, but he could see well enough to identify shovels, rakes, and other equipment stacked against the wooden walls.

“We’re in the maintenance shed we saw from the ridge. This must be how Cyprian disguises the mouth of the tunnel. There should be a door at the other end.”

He let her hand go and hurried the last few yards, making his way around the stacks of pallets and bags to the other end. Sure enough, another steel door like the ones in the tunnel secured the entrance, or in this case, the exit. He turned the knob and inched the door open a fraction to look outside.

Bishop, Stryker, and Ace stood about ten feet from the door in a heated discussion. Ace was the one doing most of the talking, and cursing. And Mason’s name came up enough times for him to figure out exactly what Ace was mad about. But it was Stryker’s crude comment about what he’d like to do to Sabrina that had Mason struggling to hold himself in check. The only thing that stopped him from running to Stryker and slamming his fist against his jaw was that all three men had pistols holstered on their belts. With the element of surprise, Mason might be able to take one of them out. But the others would most likely get off several shots before Mason could neutralize them.

He quietly eased the door shut.

“What did you see?” Sabrina whispered.

He pulled her to the side where the door would hide her when it opened. “Bishop and Stryker are outside. And it looks like Ace just got here, because he’s yelling at them for not telling him earlier that we’d been captured. He’s mad that he’s spent the past hour searching for us instead of being here and having some ‘fun.’ Oh, and they’re also arguing about who gets to put a bullet in my brain after they interrogate me.”

Her indrawn breath had him squeezing her hand. They were trapped, with few options. If they went back into the tunnel, there’d be nowhere to hide if the men came inside before Sabrina and Mason reached the other end. And since Cyprian was probably still on that other end, with guns, that wasn’t a palatable option anyway.

No, their only hope was for him to use the element of surprise when the men came inside. He’d have to distract them and give Sabrina a chance to escape.

“Just hunker down behind the door. As soon as I attack them, get out and run up the ridge to the truck. You still have the keys?”

“They’re in my pocket. But—­”

Voices sounded from right outside the door.

Mason shoved Sabrina behind him. He wobbled on his feet and had to put his hand on the wall to brace himself against the dizziness.

“Mason,” Sabrina hissed as the doorknob turned.

He ignored her and shoved away from the wall, his fists raised and ready.

Sabrina grabbed him and yanked him back toward the wall behind the door. He shoved her hands away and lurched toward the door. She lifted a tarp and threw it over the top of him and shoved him toward the wall again just as the door opened. She yanked his arm, pulling him down to the floor just before she ducked under the tarp with him.

He glared at her but doubted she could see him. It was pitch black under the heavy material. All he could do now was be as still as possible and try not to make a sound, and hope that no one noticed the two of them under their covering.

Footsteps echoed on the concrete, then quickly faded. Unbelievably, Ace, Stryker, and Bishop hadn’t noticed them—­probably because they were so busy arguing with each other.

Mason threw the tarp off and grabbed Sabrina’s shoulders. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed.”

She shoved his hands away. “Did you learn nothing from Harry Potter and the cloak of invisibility?”

He narrowed his eyes, not at all amused.

She sighed. “I was
thinking
that you can barely stand and it didn’t make sense for you to try to fight them when we could both hide. Besides, if we have to fight, I’m fighting
with
you,” she snapped, “not cowering in a corner or running away.”

He didn’t waste time arguing. It would have been far better for him to go down fighting if it meant giving her a chance to get away. If those men had found them beneath that tarp, Sabrina could have been killed right along with him. That thought had him feeling sick to his stomach.

They hurried out the door and ran up the hill, with him leaning on her far more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. By the time they got to the truck, he was ready to pass out. But he used the last of his strength to make sure she was safely inside before he got in on the passenger side and she started the engine.

A shout sounded from down the ridge.

“Go, go, go,” Mason urged.

She floored the accelerator. The truck fishtailed on the dirt and leaves. She let up on the gas and took off more slowly. As soon as the tires grabbed, she gunned the engine again and the truck leaped forward.

A
HANDFUL OF
hours and one very tiny, cheap, but thankfully clean motel room later, Sabrina sat on the side of the bed closest to the wall watching Mason sleep on the bed by the door. It wasn’t a restful, healing sleep like he needed. His forehead was wrinkled as if he were in pain, and every once in a while he would twitch or say something, but she couldn’t make out the words.

They’d both taken showers and she’d used the medical supplies in the go-­bag from his truck to clean his cuts—­which thankfully didn’t need stitches. But he’d refused to take any pain medicine, saying he needed to stay sharp and that he’d be fine after a ­couple of hours of sleep.

Would
he be fine? Maybe. Hopefully. But if so, it was only on the surface. There was a darkness inside him that she’d seen back in the tunnel, when he thought she was the Jackal, that absolutely terrified her.

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she allowed herself to finally think back to that moment in the tunnel when Mason had been ready to slam his fist into her face. She shivered at the memory of that bottomless well of fury in his eyes as he’d stared unseeing at her. What would have happened if she hadn’t gotten through to him? If he hadn’t come back from wherever his mind had gone? Would he have stopped with just one punch? Or would he have continued to hit her until . . . She shied away from that thought.