Maisie shook her head and told him exactly why he was wrong. “No, you won’t win this war. Terror is the greatest soldier you’ve ever created, and that’s exactly why he’s going to succeed up on that roof. He doesn’t know how to fail, and he never breaks his promises, not to me. Maybe we are going to die here, but I’m going to make damn sure you die first.”
She grabbed the heavy stone next to her hip and slammed it down on his foot with every bit of strength she had left in her body. He crumpled forward as the stone smashed his tender toes, and she smacked him right in the face with the sharp rock, tearing open his cheek and bloodying his lip and nose. Wanting to make sure she inflicted the most damage, she crunched his knee with the stone, swinging it with both hands. Crying out in rage, Flint backhanded her as he fell.
Seeing black for a brief moment, she fell sideways into the rubble. She grappled for something to hold onto so he couldn’t pull her back toward him. Her fingers grazed something cold and hard. A broken length of metal rod. She curled her fingers around it as Flint flipped her over and dragged her toward him.
She sat up, her battered abdominal muscles screaming at the movement, and stabbed the metal rod right into his ear. The rod hit its mark, sinking deep into his ear canal. She felt his eardrum give and pushed even harder until she felt the sickening squish of something soft at the other end of the rod. Flint’s face contorted, and his limbs flopped wildly. His body slackened, and she scurried to escape as he crumpled like paper.
His body twitched as blood and fluid gushed around the rod buried in his ear. Determined that he would never get up, she kicked the rod as deep as it would go with the heel of her boot. He seized and then relaxed into a lifeless heap of flesh. Panting and shaking, Maisie stared at her grandfather as the trauma of what she had just done hit hard.
She pushed aside her gruesome actions and managed to stand. She leaned heavily against the wall for a moment to catch her breath and give her aching body a chance to function. Across the room, Devious reached out to her with bound hands, and she forced her feet to move.
She sized up the situation and grabbed a knife that had been carelessly left on a nearby table. The handle and blade were stained with dried blood, and she wondered how many cuts it had made on Devious and Kris. Too many, she thought, as she dragged a chair closer to Devious and stepped onto it so she could reach the straps around his ankles.
She sawed at the thick material, gritting her teeth at the pain in her shoulders, and silently cursed the strength of the straps. Frustrated, she was on the verge of tears when movement in the doorway caught her attention. She tensed and shifted her weight on the chair, ready to attack with the knife gripped tightly in her hand.
Suddenly, Terror appeared. He had a terrible wound on his side, and his face was covered with splotches of blood from other men. His nose seemed a bit wonky, and his left thigh had a gash in it. He looked like hell, but he was alive.
“Maisie!” He rushed toward her, his frantic gaze taking in the violent aftermath surrounding her. He snatched her right off the chair, crushing her in his arms before he set her down on her feet. He cupped her face in both hands and crashed his busted mouth to hers.
In that moment, she didn’t care that he tasted of blood and sweat. She only cared that he was alive. She clung to him with her free hand, desperate to reassure herself as he kissed her with such passion it left her trembling.
Terror pulled away from her mouth and kissed her forehead. He shifted her aside and took the knife from her hand. With a quick hop, he was up on the chair and expertly slashed away the straps. He did it so fast that Maisie didn’t have time to step forward to brace Devious. He fell to the ground with so much force a cloud of dust billowed around him.
Maisie shot a perturbed look at Terror before crouching down to help Devious. It took both of them to get