Page 65 of Enemy of the State

She’ll be fine,I remind myself.

Gunfire rattles in the distance, sobering us both as my gaze cuts to Jace, who simply dips his head in a nod as if to reassure me that she’ll be fine.

As soon as we step into the hallway, Martinez is there, his cocked Glock trained on my chest. His brown eyes blaze with hatred and disgust, and I can’t say I blame him. I’d want to shoot me, too, if I’d found out my commanding officer was a treasonous fucker.

“Martinez,” Jace starts in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Like fuck I don’t,” he spits, his eyes twinkling with truth. “I didn’t believe Borman when he said that you had a thing with Koskinen.” He snorts, his finger curling around the trigger, ready to press the lever at any moment. “None of us really give a shit if you’re fucking her. We’re all fucking the inmates.”

“Not all of us,” Jace mutters next to me, his proclamation laced with horror, not jealousy, and I am right there with him—with the exception of Lou.

Ignoring Jace, Martinez barrels on. “If only you’d have thought with your head and not your dick, you wouldn’t have to die, but you fucking deserve to now. How could you do this?”

How could I do this?Easy, I could, and would, do anything for Louhi.

Although, he’s right about one thing. Idodeserve to die for what I’m doing. I deserve to die for everything I’ve done—thetorture, suffering and murder I’ve inflicted—here. I deserve to die for not being the man my mother raised me to be.

I deserve to die for choosing my heart over my head.

As if my hammering heartbeat was some kind of detonation timer, it counts down—three, two, one—the concrete hallway suddenly splattered in blood, carnage, and death.

Louhi

The sprinklers surged to life at some point during my wanderings of this maze. Three wrong turns and four murdered soldiers later, I’mstilllost in this labyrinth of concrete. I’m soaked, aggravation chewing at my bones, threatening to consume me.I just wantout. Is that too much to bloody ask for?

As I take another corner, my body slams into one of the guards. I half-expect to find warm honey eyes or irises the shade of steel staring back at me, but the dark brown shade I’m met with is foreign to me. We observe each other for a beat before I lift the Glock, pressing it against his chest and pulling the trigger—twice. Bending down, I loot his person for additional ammo, muttering a curse for not thinking to ask—or torture—him for directions to the fucking exit. Now he’s dead and I’m left with increasing frustration with this network of concrete corridors.

I’m not sure how long I prowl about for, but I end up killing two prisoners and one more guard before shoving on a door and stumbling outside into fresh motherfucking air.Finally.

I gulp down the salty, wet air like a dying woman, my heart mauling my ribcage with the ferocity of its cadence. I’ve lost the memory of the last time I breathed oxygen this fresh, so I stand there for a moment, taking in as much as humanly possible. The air feels heavywith the potential for rain—of course—and I fill my lungs to the brim several more times, taking in my surroundings.

There’s barely enough light to make out the razor wire along the top of a seemingly smooth concrete wall in the distance, but it’s there. Two large, heavily manned guard towers stand at the corners, with a mammoth gate in the middle. Soldiers line the wall and man the gates. In all, there’s maybe twenty or thirty of them. I didn’t realize how many men were stationed on this base in the middle of hell, but it’s more than I would’ve guessed.

A guard halfway between me and the gate turns in my direction, and I dart to my right, making myself flush with the wall, hoping that at least one of the few palm trees between us hides me.

Stifling a shiver of excitement, I take inventory of the rifle slung over my shoulder, the Glock in one hand and the knife in the other; I know I’ll never make it by attempting to shoot my way out of this. Nor will I be able to simply walk through the gate undetected.

Blimey, this is bad.

I have a sinking suspicion that they stationed additional guards here to pick off prisoners as they emerge from the main exit, and I was lucky enough not to have chosen that door. My assumption is confirmed when four prisoners burst through the door at that exact moment and are met with shouts and a spray of bullets flying toward them. All four of them slump to the ground, their blood pooling on the ground.

Where is Sean? Or Honey Eyes?

Scanning the yard, I don’t see them, yet it’s hard to know with certainty, considering the mask every guard wears. While I’m convinced that I’d recognize the build of Honey Eyes, I’m confident I’dfeelSean from a lifetime away. My magnetic draw to him borders on something tangible, the electrical charge bouncing between us enough to detonate a bomb.

Something bad must’ve happened to them; that’s the only explanation for why they haven’t found me. I’ve gotten the impressionthat Sean’s either in charge—or close to it—so it would make sense that if he’s been attacked or killed, the sirens would be going off and mayhem would’ve ensued. My heart squeezes at the thought, but I shut out those thoughts. I can think about the gaping hole his absence will leave me with later. Right now, I need to get the fuck out of here.

Peering around the corner of the prison my back has been slithering along, I see that the building ends at a cliff’s edge. More walls, razor wire, and guards are present, though, so I can’t just make a run for it and jump in the ocean—which wouldn’t be ideal, but it’d be better than dying from a bullet shower. I gnaw on my bottom lip as I think through my limited options. Suddenly, an idea hits me, a grin flitting over my face.

Keeping my movements small, I inch back toward the door I had exited, praying to those damn witches that the door will open without drawing attention to me and their bloody spells must hold because it does.

Figuring that the majority of the guards stationed here are in the prison yard I just came from, I make a beeline toward the back of the prison that backs up to the cliff. Keeping my ears on alert for other footsteps, I hold the Glock at my side, my finger ready to press the trigger.It’s a good thing Sean didn’t break that finger.

The hems of my uniform pants are soaked as my bare feet slosh through the few inches of water now pooled on the concrete floor. My eyes dart around frantically as I duck in and out of hallways, attempting to navigate the maze. Eventually, I spot what I’m looking for: rats.

Following the scurrying rodents, I slip down one corridor and another. The rats will know the most direct path to dry land and safety, so I’m with them.

Sprinklers overhead continue to spit water in a barrage, adding to the chaos of the steady, ear-splitting shriek of the siren thundering within these walls. Through the havoc, my ears pick up on ascuffle not far behind me and I don’t spare a glance as I pick up my pace, making two more turns, first right, then left.

---