What the fuck? This wasn’t the time to think. It was the time to act. The guards might be back any minute, and freedom was within his grasp.
“Keys.” He blurted out the word, gestured to the cuffs.
“Just wait.” She held up a hand. “Would it be better to leave you like that so when they walk in, they see you chained, but I’m waiting behind the door to knock them out?”
Was she fucking serious? Had she seen the guards? There was no way a woman her size was taking out even Viper’s smallest man.
“Keys. Now.” His voice was hoarse with disuse and the abuse of constant screaming, but she understood him.
Without hesitation, she unlocked the cuffs. Her hair brushed over Holt’s arm, sending a peculiar wave of sensation through his body.
“Can you stand?” She stared at him in consternation and Holt nodded. The chains gave him enough freedom to reach the metal toilet affixed to the floor and to stretch his legs—a freedom he had used to exercise when he was alone so that when the day came he would have the strength to exact his revenge. Except the last beating had been so bad, he hadn’t managed to do more than crawl in days.
“So what’s the plan?” She toyed with the ring on her finger. “Even if we get through the door, we still have to cross the clubhouse grounds, evade the guards, get through the electric fence, and find a way to town. Or out of town since the Black Jacks own Devil’s Hills.”
Holt pushed himself to stand, and his legs wobbled. Viper had fed him just enough so he would have the strength to endure the torture, but he’d had no food or water for the last few days. Now he knew why. Dead men didn’t need to eat.
But he didn’t need to walk far. Once he had the guard’s gun, he just had to make it to the clubhouse and into Viper’s lair. The woman would have to fend for herself.
“What do you think?” She looked up, and Holt sucked in a breath. Now that he was on his feet, she looked even smaller, maybe around 5′4″, with gentle curves on a light frame. Definitely no match for any of the Jacks.
How could he leave her to fend for herself? And yet, how could he not? The thirst for vengeance had sustained him for the three long months he’d been imprisoned. Revenge burned bright in his chest.
“Dagger.” His harsh tone startled her, and he felt instantly contrite, but she rallied quickly, fear giving way to curiosity.
“Where?”
“Wall.” He gestured to the cut, and she reached up and worked the dagger free, then caught the cut before it fell.
Turning the cut, she read the patches in the faint light. “T-Rex. Is that your road name?”
“Was.” He swallowed, trying to wet his swollen tongue. “Name’s Holt.”
“I’m Naiya.” She returned with the cut, but Holt shook his head and took the dagger instead. He had plans for that cut. He had visions of tossing it on the bonfire that was the Sinner clubhouse after he’d made every last Sinner pay for their betrayal, for leaving him to rot in Viper’s dungeon.
“Probably too painful to put it on,” she said, misunderstanding.
“Help me … door.” A plan formed in his mind as she gave him her shoulder to lean on, her body shaking with his weight. For a moment his conviction wavered. She was too small, too slight, to support him, and no doubt she would freeze the moment someone opened the door. And then what? There was no way he could make it across the grounds on his own.
“Come on, Holt.” She straightened and took a step forward. “Pick it up. We don’t have all day. I’ve got things to do, places to go, and Sinners to meet. And we still don’t have a plan. We can’t just rush into this without thinking. That’s how people get killed.”
A sound came from his mouth, and it took a moment before he recognized his own laughter. Christ. She was something else. Imprisoned in Viper’s dungeon with a man who had been left for dead, and she was cracking jokes.
She half-walked, half-dragged him to the wall beside the door, and Holt sank down to the cold, stone floor. Damn legs. How the hell was he going to ride?
He turned the dagger over in his hand, and emotion welled up in his throat. In the first few weeks after his capture, he had imagined his rescue again and again, and always Tank was leading the charge. More than a friend, Tank had been like a brother to him, and his betrayal hurt most of all.