I stood still as Roy tucked his pistol into his waistband and strode toward me. He began rifling through my gear, pulling my service pistol from its holster. There goes my last resort. Each magazine he extracted from my vest was another option stripped away. He unslung my rifle, letting out a low whistle. Shit. Canât let them keep that. Heâll kill a dozen people with it.
âTake off your vest,â Roy ordered, his tone dripping with disdain. With a heavy heart, I complied, unbuckling the vest and unclipping my gun belt. My eyes flickered toward Kira, to Monicaâs unwavering aim.
âPut your hands together,â he snapped, producing my own handcuffs from my belt. The cold steel clamped around my wrists, biting into my skin. Good. Let it hurt. Keep me focused.
He bundled my gear together and carelessly tossed it aside in a heap. A devious gleam sparkled in his eyes as he turned to Kira. âNow your turn, sweetie,â he leered.
He approached her, his movements greasy and overconfident. His scabbed, trembling fingers fumbled with the retention strap on her holster, finally pulling her pistol free. I watched Kiraâs jaw clench, her body held in a state of rigid control. She was tolerating it, playing the part, but I could see the fury simmering in her eyes.
Roy didnât stop there. He began patting her down, his hands lingering far too long on her ribs and waist. It wasnât a professional search; it was a violation disguised as one. Donât you fucking touch her. I squeezed my fists, the handcuffs digging deeper into my wrists.
His hands moved to her vest, his knuckles brushing against her chest as he ripped the Velcro straps open with a loud rrrrip. He pulled the vest away from her body, his gaze dropping, a hungry grin spreading across his face, making my stomach churn.
Then, without warning, Royâs hand shot out and grabbed the front of Kiraâs pants, his thumb hooking into her belt. She let out a sharp, involuntary gasp, a sound that was like a lit match in the gasoline-soaked furnace of my rage. Thatâs it. Thatâs the line. Youâre dead. No trial, no jail. Just dead.
âSoon Iâm going to have you gasping underneath me,â he said, lust thickening his voice, dripping with dark promise.
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âThatâs enough for now, Roy,â Monica interrupted, her voice sharp and commanding. âAmmo and drugs first.â
Thank fuck. A small, ugly flicker of relief cut through the rage. Sheâs in charge. Sheâs focused. Keep her focused on the play.
âCome on, dead man,â he sneered at me, his attention finally shifting away from Kira. âIf you behave, maybe Iâll let you watch.â
The vulgarity was meant to provoke, and it worked. I balled my fists in the handcuffs, letting the pain ground me. If I act now we are all dead. Focus, I coached myself. Your chance to act will come.
Roy seized my arm, yanking me toward the police vehicle. I cast a quick, reassuring look at Kira. There was a flicker of determination in her eyes that gave me hope, even amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf us. We will figure out a way out of this.
As we approached the back of the police vehicle, I positioned myself to Royâs right, ensuring he was out of Monicaâs line of sight behind the vehicle's frame. I pressed the button, stepping aside as the trunk opened with a low creak.
Roy leaned in eagerly. âHeyââ his words were abruptly cut off by a loud crash from the burning vehicles beside the ambulance, the deafening sound echoing through the air like thunder. Roy turned slightly, peering towards the source of the noise.
It was a split second. A gift. But it was all I needed.
The power from the system, the clean, humming energy that had replaced my exhaustion, surged through my arms. This is it. The stat boost. Time to see if itâs real. I flexed my hands, driving them apart within the cuffs. The metal bit deep into my wrists, but I didnât care. Harder. Stronger. With a sharp, clean SNAP, the chain connecting the cuffs gave way. Finally. The broken halves fell away, clattering to the ground.
In the same fluid motion, my hands shot up to the sides of Royâs head just as he began to turn back toward me, surprise flashing in his eyes. My grip was absolute. Twist. Hard. Follow through. The sickening pop and snap of vertebrae giving way was louder than the crackle of the flames.