Each blow made pain lance through my body. I punched him in the ribs, stopping his heavy-handed strikes to the mid part of my back.
Charlie turned, then flipped me over, end over end. I hit the floor next to Jackal’s dangling legs. The air left my lungs. I rolled to my stomach—slow and sluggish.
My face contorted in pain. The small of my back hurt from the punishing blows. My hands searched the pockets of my coat for the United Push Cutlery Dagger.
“What’s going on?” Jackal asked, blind to the action.
Charlie punched Jackal in his kidneys. “I’m taking out your friend here before I finish you off.”
The tips of Jackal’s shoes nudged my side. He coughed hard and wheezed.
My hand found the dagger and pulled it out from the pocket of my coat.
Charlie peeled me off the floor and stood me up. I kept the dagger concealed while my free hand grabbed at his face. He hammered my abdomen twice with his fist.
I gasped and doubled over. His hands kept a tight hold on my jacket.
“Oh, stay with me. We’re just getting started. The true pain has yet to come,” Charlie said, patting the back of my bald head. “I think I’m going to tie you up next to your friend here, then we’ll get back to business. Show you the many ways I can make you hurt. Make you experience pain.”
“You talk–too–much,” I said, trying to catch my breath. I stood up straight before him, my legs weak and unsteady.
Charlie flashed a devilish smirk, then reached for my arm. “Keep that sense of humor. You’re going to need it.”
My hand grabbed his wounded shoulder and squeezed. Pain washed over his face. His lids clamped shut and teeth gnashed. He wailed in pain, backing away from me.
I raised his arm in the air, buried the dagger deep into his armpit, and twisted. I turned him around as he fought to break free. He slammed into Jackal, thrashing his head and striking my arm in a feeble attempt to remove the dagger.
Jackal turned toward him, lifted his legs into the air, then wrapped them around Charlie’s neck. I yanked the dagger from Charlie’s armpit and took a step back. Jackal squeezed his legs, cutting off the flow of air.
Charlie thrashed and grabbed at Jackal’s legs. His face turned red, and his lids fluttered. He clawed at Jackal’s pant leg a second longer before going limp.
The pulley bolted to the ceiling gave. Jackal fell to the floor with Charlie dead between his legs. He hit hard, landing flat on his back.
I secured the dagger in the pocket of my coat, and tossed Charlie’s dead weight from between Jackal’s legs. Charlie rolled over with his arms stretched out.
“You good?” I asked, standing over Jackal.
He scrunched his face in pain, then nodded. “Never better.”
I worked his wrists free from the chains, took his hand, then yanked him from the floor. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before backup arrives.”
Jackal pulled the blindfold off, then squinted. He glanced at Charlie’s dead body, bent down, and removed the Ruger-57 from the holster on Charlie’s hip.
I stepped over his arm and retrieved the Glock 17 from the floor. I ejected the magazine and took stock of the few rounds loaded.
“What’s our exit strategy?” Jackal asked, slapping the magazine back into the well of the Ruger.
“Don’t die, find a ride, and leave,” I answered, heading for the open doorway.
“Works for me.”
We moved out into the corridor and double timed it down the hallway. I took point with Jackal covering our backs. We skirted past blind corners, moving as quickly as we could. Jackal wheezed with each step he took. My back ached and my head throbbed, but I kept moving.
We hit the front entrance to the building and stopped. I peered outside to the falling ash and scanned the area. I didn’t spot any movement beyond the tinted glass.
“All right. Come—”
Gunshots sounded. The incoming rounds hammered the wall at our backs. We ducked, then pushed our way through the double doors to the grim outside.
We stayed low, racing across the open grounds toward a black Chevy Yukon. We kneeled next to the off-road vehicle. I tested the handle to the driver’s side door. It opened. I stood and leaned inside, checking the ignition for keys.
Jackal covered the entrance to the building and swept the grounds for any threats.
“How are we looking?” he asked, voice strained. “I’ve got three, no five, armed inbounds on the far side and heading this way with heavy ordnance.”
“I’m working on it,” I answered, finding the ignition empty of any keys. I reached for the visor and pulled down. A set of keys dropped to the light-gray cloth seats. “We’re in business. Load up.”
Jackal moved around the back end of the Yukon.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. I thumbed through the few keys on the metal loop, searching for the right one.
Jackal slung the front passenger door open and climbed inside. He grumbled as he settled into the seat. “Hurry it up.”
“Got it.” I found the right key and started the Yukon.
The headlights turned on, shining at the men charging us with rifles shouldered. The doors to the front entrance flew open. Two more armed men funneled out and opened fire on the Yukon.
I glanced to the rearview mirror at the chain link fence, but didn’t want to risk destroying our ride out of the compound.
I shifted into drive and punched the gas. The engine roared, the back tires dug into the ground, and the SUV lunged forward.
The incoming rounds pelted the driver’s side, pinging off
