Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,134

something, but that’s better than dying here, helpless.

I lunge one more time, and it snaps free.

Momentum sends me falling forward on top of the man, who’s still panting for breath. I have enough control to land knees-first on his chest, and I feel his bones snap. He stares into my face, and even now, even now, there’s nothing in his expression except a mild, strange frown.

“Stop,” he says.

I wonder how many people have said that to him—dozens, at least. I don’t stop. I roll off him and pull my knees into my chest as I do, tight as I can despite the white agony that lances through me, and force my handcuffed hands under my ass, press harder to get them around my feet, and then my hands are in front. I do it fast, but he’s starting to move with purpose again. I have to be faster.

I lunge for the knife at his belt before he can get to it and cut my feet free, then drop onto his chest again, knees first, and pin him flat. He cries out and flails, nearly throws me off. I grab the key ring and slide it off his belt loop. I’ve practiced this move before, trying to get out of handcuffs. I know how to bend my fingers, twist the key. I’m free in three seconds, and he’s bucking hard, trying to throw me off.

I lunge forward. I put the knife to Jonathan’s throat, and I think real hard about cutting. He stops moving and stares at me with wide, glassy eyes. “You could,” he says. “Or you could save your friend. She’s hurt.”

It’s a breathless, hot second of wanting to do it, but somehow, somehow I don’t. I snap the cuff on his right wrist, lever myself off, and drag him to the big, round lighthouse console. It has legs bolted into the concrete. I fasten the other end around one, and I check him for weapons. He’s clean. And he’s hurt, curled in on himself like a dead bug. Gasping against the pain I’ve inflicted.

Good.

I look at the monitors as I straighten up.

Gwen’s alive. My friend’s alive.

And I need to get to her. Fast.

29

GWEN

I don’t have a choice, not really. I leap over the railing.

I jump.

I fall.

I land hard and wrong on the concrete, hard enough I feel my lower left leg snap with a searing crack. Something in my side too. I scream, and the sound rings in echoes, funneled to the top. I can hear the electricity in the air; I’d have been dead if I hadn’t jumped.

I’ve lost the gun I had in my hand, and I roll and crawl to grab it, and scoot myself backward until I feel a cool concrete wall. God, it hurts so much I’m weeping, shaking, barely able to catch my breath against the pressure of welling screams.

I hear the silence when the generator stops.

I hear Kez screaming. It echoes from the top of the tower like a slap from God, and then she stops. She stops.

Oh no no Kez no.

I get up. My left leg is badly shattered. I can’t put my weight on it. I make it to the stairs. I jump. Step after step after step, jump after jump. Let him fry me, because if he doesn’t, I’m going to finish this. Not for Sheryl, not for the other rooms full of murderers. Not for little Clara, the first innocent victim in this chain of death.

I have to do this for Kezia.

I’m seven grim, agonizing steps up the spiral when I hear steps coming down to meet me. My ears are ringing again; my head is full of flashes of strange light. I stop, brace myself, and take aim. I see a shadow slide across the railing. My hands are shaking, and I’m not sure I can hit him at this distance, but I have to stop him, I have to. I take a breath. I wait. He comes closer, another turn down the spiral.

I see a shot and I take it. I miss, gouging a chunk of concrete out of the wall, and I immediately aim again. Fire again, a continuous spread. He’s stopped. Crouching. He’s shouting something. I can’t hear him, the ringing in my ears is worse than ever, but it doesn’t matter, I’m done listening.

I aim. I hold. I’m ready.

Center mass shot.

I pull the trigger. Nothing happens. The slide is locked back.

Empty.

And then I realize that the voice lost in the gunshots and