There isalwaysa way.
I look around. I don’t know how to use a gun, but there is no chance of me wrestling one of the goons to try to get one.
I frantically scan the building, and my eyes pause…on the drapes hanging from the ceiling, fifty or so feet up, all around the perimeter.
I can’t fight, but I can stop what’s happening.
The guards are not paying attention to me. It’s all about Archer and Kai for them. So, slowly, I back down the aisle, past the other guards, who only glance at me with indifference, all the way to the door, past the men who slyly smile at me.
I’m outside and see a group of three men smoking.
“Give me a lighter!” I bark as I stomp toward them.
“Sweetie, you are awfully bossy—”
“Lighter!” I stretch out my hand. “Please.”
It must be my determined gaze, because one of them pulls a lighter out of his pocket, studying me up and down with a curious smirk, and before he says a word, I snatch it and dart inside.
There is a dark passageway—a narrow gap behind the tall stands and along the wall, that goes all around the perimeter of the giant hangar. I duck to the right and dart forward about thirty or so feet into the dark, then click the lighter and bring it to one of the drapes hanging from the ceiling.
“Sorry, baby,” I murmur, knowing Kai hates fire. But this time, it might save him.
The drape is old. It takes time for the little flame to scorch the moldy fabrics, and my fingers burn on the spark wheel as I keep the flame on, running it along the edge of the drape. A short while, and the flame picks up, licking slowly up along the edge.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I murmur, watching it slowly crawl up.
I back away to the next drape and do the same thing.
By the time I reach the one closest to the aisle, the first one is in full swing, the flame licking several feet up in the air, almost reaching the top of the stand from behind.
The crowd can’t see the flames yet, the soft glow crawling from behind the stands up through the dark.
But I can smell smoke. It’s suffocating. Good.
“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?”
Someone grabs me from behind, and as I kick and try to wriggle out of the strong arms, the guard drags me up the aisle toward the cage.
I scratch and kick my feet in all directions.
And that’s when the first shouts come.
“Fire!”
Then more.
The smell of smoke is suddenly strong, and the air gets hazy.
The guard tosses me onto the floor, and my eyes snap up to see the drapes in full flames. It starts spreading like a ring along the wall of the hangar.
The smile that spreads on my face is vicious, I know. My heart is pounding but with pride.
Fuck this place!
The commotion is so sudden that in a matter of seconds, men are jumping off the stands, rushing down, stomping over each other, tripping, filing through the door to the outside, the guards yelling.
I whip around, my heart beating so wildly I think I might pass out. But I jump onto my feet and run through the opening in the cage and onto the octagon.