Page 53 of Fight or Fly

NINETEEN

Flynn

MY HEAD MIGHT havebeen fuzzing in and out like a television with poor reception, but when one of the torturersdu jourstepped away to answer the phone hanging on the wall by the door, I knew something was up.

Alex was either down for the count or faking unconsciousness after Goon Number Two had finished breaking the last two fingers on her left hand—I wasn’t sure which. We’d both been giving these fuckers false information for the past day and a half, singing like canaries without letting anything important slip. Problem was, they weren’t torturing us because they wanted us to talk. They were torturing us because they wantedBeckettto talk.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess why there were enough cameras pointed at us to film a big budget Hollywood movie. We might not have seen Beckett ourselves, but he was here. I was sure of it. When the phone call came through and the goons started acting nervous, you can bet I was listening with both ears—even if I didn’t lift my head from where it lolled against my chest.

The words ‘security breach’and ‘armed intruders approaching’were sweet music to my ears. Yeah, it could have been completely unrelated to us... but I was betting it wasn’t. I was betting it was Jax. I didn’t claim to have a clue how he might have gathered the kind of assault force that could break into a Committee holding facility. Maybe the underground had military assets Alex and I didn’t know about. Maybe Beckett was an important enough cog in the wheel to inspire them to use those assets.

Didn’t matter.

Whatdidmatter was that I was still naked and chained to the back wall like a goddamned bull’s eye target, though they’d at least stopped shocking me in favor of losing their shit over whatever was happening outside. I was about to be an eyewitness to whatever went down next—though not a very good one, since one of my eyes was already swollen shut and the other one was well on the way.

I couldn’t get loose on my own. Best-case scenario, I’d get a front-row seat to someone putting bullets in these assholes. Worst case, I’d be in the line of fire as well, and end up bleeding out before I got the satisfaction of seeing them all die.

Goon Number One hung up the phone. “Take cover and be ready. Grab that one and get out of sight behind the door,” he snapped to Goon Number Two, pointing at Alex’s crumpled form. Then he drew his gun and positioned himself in a classic firing stance several feet back from the doorway.

The second goon dragged Alex to the wall on the far side of the door, where it would block them from view if it opened. She didn’t stir as he crouched behind her and hauled her upper body against his so he could jam the muzzle of his gun against her temple. Meanwhile, the mealy-mouthed lab tech in his white coat ducked behind the table that held the voltage regulator and various other torture devices, as though he thought that was what ‘taking cover’ meant.

The walls were thick in this place, but I thought I could make out muffled boot steps pounding in the corridor outside.Show time.

The sound of a directed explosive charge was shockingly loud as it echoed off the concrete walls of the room. Smoke and dust obscured the view for a moment, but I heard the creak of tortured hinges that meant the door had given way.

Metal shrieked as it swung wider, possibly beneath the force of a kick. A man stood silhouetted in the gap for a bare second before Goon Number One squeezed off a round. The silhouette crumpled to the ground with a hoarse cry.

A second figure appeared in the gap with a roar of rage and charged, leading with his right shoulder. I caught a flash of blond hair, and Iknew. It was Jax. I still had no clue how the fucking bastard had managed to organize this, but somehow he had.

Goon Number One fired off another wild shot, though he must have known that nothing short of a bullet through the heart or the brain was going to stop an enraged alpha mid-charge. Jax plowed into him like a rugby player and they both went down. My packmate drew back the hand that held his weapon and landed a savage blow with the butt of the pistol. The goon went limp.

Jax staggered to his feet, his blue eyes feral with rage as he took me in.

“Check your five,” I rasped.

He whirled, raising his sidearm—his gaze swinging to the five o’clock position where Goon Number Two still had a gun pressed to Alex’s head. Three other soldiers kitted out in black gear and balaclavas charged in, following Jax’s line of sight to the pair huddled on the floor. Two of them aimed handguns at Alex and the goon, while the third covered Lab Boy, still cowering behind the table with his clipboard.

“Drop it,” Jax ground out.

“Fuck off,” said the goon. “You gonna shoot through her to get to me?”

“Why not?” asked one of the other men. Something about his accent sounded odd. I couldn’t quite place it. “What do we care about some hyena bitch?”

A muscle in Jax’s jaw twitched. I started planning ways to use the torture instruments lying conveniently on the table if anyone shot Alex. What the hell kind of mercenaries was Jax using for this operation, anyway?

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