Page 36 of Flint's Battle

Dahlia and Mia nodded, though Emery knew they’d be pounding on the glass or shouting for help as soon as she was clear with Moana.

Fisher walked over to the door then waved them through. “And that goes for both of you. So much as a grunt, and your friend will have her brains splattered all over the hallway.”

Emery didn’t reply, holding back a groan as pain sparked up her torso and down her arm. She hadn’t realized how bad her shoulder was until simply sitting without any support twisted the damn thing in the socket — colored everything black and blue.

Moana pushed Emery out, stumbling a few steps when Fisher gave her a shove. Moana glared at the man over her shoulder, doing her best to draw the journey out, despite Fisher hurrying them along.

He stopped them at a bank of elevators, standing in an awkward silence until the machine pinged and those silver doors slid open. Fisher took ahold of the handles, nodding for Moana to get in first before wheeling Emery inside. He spun so his back was to the wall, and she was facing the doors before reaching for the upper floor button, his coat inching up on his arm — exposing a web tattoo on his wrist. The same one she’d noted on one of the guys who’d been at the factory. Who had escaped in the boat.

Well crap.

While she’d suspected the shooting was connected to the factory incident, knowing it was likely the same asshole, didn’t bode well. Meant all those suspicions she’d had about the weapons being cartel related were true. And if she couldn’t figure out a move before they reached the top floor, it wasn’t just her life that was over.

Emery forced herself to take a calming breath. Panicking wouldn’t solve the problem, and it wouldn’t help her focus long enough to take stock. Though, stilling her mind for a moment only highlighted how desperate the situation was. Because even with the meds and the blood transfusions and the bed rest, she was winded from simply staying awake let alone thinking about defending herself. And while she wasn’t quite seeing double likeFlint had joked, the scenery shuffled every few minutes, like an extra frame ghosting into view.

Having Moana along was Emery’s one wildcard. Her friend was fierce, and Emery knew she’d fight, but if this guy was a pro…

Not a pro. Mercenary, maybe, but Emery doubted he was an actual assassin. A hitman wouldn’t have let her catch a glimpse of his tattoo on the off chance she’d noticed it the other night. Not that only being a mercenary or drug dealer gave them an advantage. It was still more of a threat than Moana had ever faced, her recent stalker incident included. And Emery was definitely a liability at the moment. But with a bit of combined skill, and a whole lot of luck, they had a chance.

In fact, all she had to do was figure out a way to buy them enough time until the cavalry arrived because she knew, without a doubt, Flint and Bowie were probably already on the way. That Flint wouldn’t wait a second over that five-minute window he’d given her, and once he found Dahlia and Mia handcuffed…

The elevator doors started to close, reopening moments later when Emery let her foot slip off the footrest long enough to activate the sensors before sliding it back on. Hoping the asshole hadn’t noticed. Fisher grunted, pressing the button again as he mumbled under his breath.

Moana had obviously noticed because she edged closer, looking as if she was ready to claw the guy’s face off if Emery gave her some special signal. No explanation. No hesitation.

Emery glanced at her right hand, staring at the IV needle long enough Moana would get the message before looking up at her friend. Giving her a shift of her eyes toward Fisher.

To Moana’s credit, she didn’t give anything away. Simply replied with a curt nod, positioning herself to back up whatever crazy plan Emery sprung on her.

And the plan was definitely crazy. A Hail Mary as Flint would say.

Shit, Emery would owe him, again. And this time, she had no one to blame for putting her and Moana in harm’s way but herself. What was shaping up to be an epically poor choice on her part because if she hadn’t wanted some alone time with her friends, Bowie would have been in the room. And she doubted Fisher would have tried anything.

Emery shoved away the thoughts. She could agonize over the mistake later, assuming they were both still alive.

The elevator pinged then shut, the entire machine shaking before jerking upward.

Ten seconds.

That’s how long she had before they reached the top floor and whatever was waiting for them.

That got her focused. Mustering every ounce of strength she had before springing into action. A shift of her feet and she had them braced against the closed doors, the grippy bits on her socks grounding her. A breath and a shove and the wheelchair shot backwards, pinning the creep against the far wall.

That’s all the opening Emery needed as she grabbed the needle from her hand then turned in the chair — stabbed the length into the asshole’s hand. He screamed, opening his grip and allowing that gun to clatter to the ground as the needle skewered him to the handle.

A lean and a pivot and she was on her feet. Shaky and off-balance but enough to yank the needle free then jab it in his neck. Shove him all the way onto the floor as the wheelchair tipped over, landing on top of him. A slam of the emergency button and the lift rocked to a halt, an alarm piercing the stillness.

Moana joined in, kicking the bastard in the head as she hit one of the buttons — got the doors open. They weren’t quite levelwith the lower floor, but enough they could jump down. Get a bit of a head start.

Moana went first, catching Emery when she all but fell through the opening, barely staying upright as the ground tilted. Sliding in and out at odd angles before finally stabilizing slightly off-kilter.

But good enough she was able to get her legs moving. Stumble down the hallway with Moana bridging half her weight. That stupid hospital gown fluttering behind her, leaving her ass exposed as they took the next corridor branching off to the right. Anything to get them out of sight.

That asshole yelled Emery’s name as a loud thud echoed behind them. What Emery assumed was him jumping out of the elevator. And with her moving so slowly…

Was she leaving a trail of blood? Because her hand had a line of red across the back. What looked like dried droplets by her pinky finger. Or maybe her shoulder had sprung a leak. What felt like a few pulled stitches beneath the bandages. Something warm and wet against her skin. Regardless, she was making it easy for the creep to hunt them down.

Emery pointed to a darkened doorway, double checking she hadn’t left any evidence right outside the entrance as they darted inside — locking the door behind them then pressing their backs against the slab. Footsteps echoed in the distance, racing toward them before cutting off.

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