Page 67 of Baja
Harlem takes out the second rider, his bike skidding out of control and crashing into a ditch.
Mystic handles the third one, firing multiple shots at the son-of-a-bitch, one of the bullets hitting a tire. The rubber blows, and the bike flips, sending the rider flying.
We keep going, not looking back.
We can’t afford to.
Time is slipping through our fingers.
We need to get to Baja before it’s too damn late.
24
BAJA
The two men who dragged Uncle Jax in hoist me off the hook and let my exhausted body slump to the cold concrete, each taking advantage of the situation and kicking me.
“Who’s gonna save you now, asshole?” One of them spews out the words before spitting at me.
I shoot a fierce glare up at them. “I don’t need savin’, but you damn well will.” I snarl, struggling to keep the pain coursing through my broken body from consuming me.
His jaw twitches, but he remains silent. Instead, he lifts his chin, and he and his friend exit the room.
A few feet away, Jax is still on his knees, his ass resting back on his heels and arms bound behind his back. “Hang in there, kid,” he mutters, his face twisted in helpless fury. “I’ll find a way to get us out of this.”
I don’t answer, but I meet his eyes. All I can think about is the fact he is my father. “Any suggestions on how you plan to do that?” I rasp, my voice barely audible over the constant ringing in my ears. I pull myself toward the wall and get myself upright.
Jax gives a slight nod, his gaze shifting to the table beside me, where I spot the glint of a knife blade.No fucking way.
“Think you can snatch it before anyone comes back?” Uncle Jax whispers.
I glance back at the table, not knowing if my body will move quickly enough, but I’m sure as hell going to try. I press my back against the wall and fight through the agony as I pull my knees toward my chest, anchor my feet, and push up. I clench my jaw so tightly that I think it might crack under the pressure. Once on my feet, I use the wall to keep me steady and move to the table. The rope tears at my wrists, still bound behind my back, as I reach for the knife. Though my fingers are numb, and my wrists are raw and bloody, I finally get it in my grasp. The knife’s handle feels like salvation in my hand, and I work fast, cutting through the rope and freeing myself.
A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins, giving my body an energy source to work off, and I trudge across the room toward Jax. I kneel behind him, cutting through the rope wrapped tightly around his wrists, keeping an ear out for the sound of boots slapping against concrete.
Once freed, he gets to his feet, shuffles over to the corner, and lifts a three-foot piece of pipe off the floor. “These won’t get us far. We need guns.”
The sound of someone outside the room gains our attention. I nod, my heart beating like a war drum, and we move silently toward the door. Uncle Jax and I exchange glances and ready ourselves.
The first man steps inside the room. He doesn’t see me coming. I clamp a hand over his mouth and drive the knife into his throat, hot blood spilling over my fingers. My uncle quickly takes care of the second man with a brutal swing of the pipe, caving the bastard’s skull in with a sickening crunch.
Without uttering a word, we make quick work of stripping their bodies of weapons.
I look at my uncle. “You ready?” My voice is low but steady.
He nods, swallowing hard. “Let’s end this.”
I hurry down the dim, musty corridor toward the faint light at the end. Hanging back, I scan the room, count heads, look at my uncle, and hold up five fingers. There could be more, but we don’t have time to find out. This is our only chance, and we’re taking it. The moment we burst into the vast open space, the place erupts into chaos as we open fire. Men scramble for cover as I move through the room, taking out anyone in my way. We don’t let up until every man is dead, all except Havoc, who is nowhere in sight. I check my weapon, only to find I’m out of ammo.
Havoc’s manic laugh echoes through the room. I turn toward his voice to find him emerging from the shadows. “You are resourceful.” He walks toward us, his weapon aimed.
“I’m out of bullets,” Uncle Jax whispers.
Fuck. We have no choice but to play our cards and hope Havoc doesn’t call our bluff. My finger tightens on the trigger. “It’s two against one,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, the tension crackling between us.
Havoc’s eyes dart to my uncle, then back at me. “You should have mentioned your little dilemma a little quieter, old man,” he says, keeping his gun and gaze trained on me. “Since one of you is out of bullets, we find ourselves in an old-fashioned stand-off.” Havoc snickers, staring hard at me before adding, “I’m callin’ your bluff, Raven. I’m willing to bet, oh, let’s say, both your lives, that you’re out of bullets as well.”
“You willin’ to die finding out, motherfucker.” I keep my tone void of emotion.
