Faith is totally silent. She has been for several hours, and it fucking worries me more than the tears, especially as I’m getting more and more fucking angry for not having found a way out of here yet. I never claimed to be a fucking hero, but I must be getting fucking rusty. Being tied up hardly used to fucking slow me down.
But those fuckers made the usual mistake, thinking that their knots were out of reach. And they didn’t give me a good sucker punch while tightening the rope to make sure I wasn’t flexing. So I’ve got a little wiggle room, and if I just stretch my fingers a little—fuck.
“We’re going to make it,” I say, more so she can hear my voice than because the words mean anything. I know she doesn’t fucking believe me at this point. I wouldn’t either.
She doesn’t answer, which helps confirm it.
Well, I’ll fucking show her. I’m not planning on going down yet. So I try again.
There… just a little…
Fuck yeah!
I got it. Not loose yet, but there’s a little loop now. Just in time for footsteps to sound in the hall. Is it Shovelhead again? Crow? Why the fuck hasn’t Crow been here yet? You’d think he’d want to at least come in and brag about how fucking amazing he is and all the fucking grief he’s about to send Eagle-eye’s way.
Fuck, Prez has to be furious.
I’ll just have to prove to him that I can get his daughter out safely, and deal with the fallout afterwards.
The keypad beeps as a code is punched in. Are we going to need it to get out of here? I work my fingers harder, trying to get the damn knot before he gets in here. If he sees what I’m doing, I’m not going to get a second chance.
The door clicks, and is pushed open. The door’s in front of me, so whoever it is doesn’t see what I’m doing yet. I need to keep him distracted. “Back for more, fuckface?” I yell.
Shovelhead’s hoarse laughter echoes off the walls. What the hell are we in? Some kind of container? Metal floors, and from the ringing of the sound, I imagine the walls are too.
“You’ve got a big fucking mouth for someone who’s about to lose all his fucking teeth.” Heavy footsteps come closer.
“Fuck you. Untie me and try saying that again. You don’t have the fucking balls.”
“Nice try,Spork. How fucking stupid do you think I am? Why should I untie you when I’ve got the fucking punching bag of my dreams right here?” He punctuates it by driving a fist into my gut.
“Did you just call me Spork? Someone else came up with that, right? That’s almost funny.” I wish he really did punch like a fucking girl, but even I’ll admit that he’s got a solid hook on that meaty frame of his. That doesn’t mean I let him know it. Tougher fucks than him have tried to break me.
One of the knots comes loose. I tug on it and get it open, just before Shovelhead cracks his fist into my jaw. Fuck. I’d like to get out of this with all my teeth still in, but he’s not making it fucking easy. I grin and bear it, because I’m only going to get one chance at this.
“How’s that, you fuck?” Shovelhead leans right in, so close I can smell that foul breath of his. Taking my shot and hoping he’s in the way, I spit. I’m rewarded with a “Motherfucker!” and another fist to the gut. Jesus fuck, that’s rough. But the first knot was the hardest, and while I fake a coughing attack, I get two more undone. The rope around my wrists is already starting to loosen.
“I’ll take your fucking girlfriend instead. Her lips look good for something better than spitting, fuckface.”
“Come close again,” I snarl. “I fucking dare you. Don’t you want your fucking kisses?”
“What the fuck was that?” Shovelhead had a short temper when he was young, just a couple of years ahead of me in the club. He was fucking dumb, too, which tracks that he’d end up Crow’s second in command. He knew enough to kiss the boots of those who could do something for him. Luckily, he’s still just as dumb, and his temper seems even shorter.
When he punches me this time, I’m waiting for him. The crack to my jaw tells me exactly where he is, and while my legs are tied to the chair, that puts him within range of my arms. Lunging out of the loosened ropes, I find his arm and lock my grip around it, yanking him off balance.
“What the fuck?”
We both end up on the floor, but with me stuck to the chair still, if he gets up again, I’m fucked. So I cling to him like he’s the only thing that’ll keep me from drowning.
“Blade!” shrieks Faith. “What’s happening?”
With a death grip on Shovelhead’s arm, I roll like a fucking crocodile, bending it in a direction it was never intended to go. He screams in pain, so I do it again, enjoying the sharp crack of bone. Now he’s really fucking screaming.
“Blade!” Faith is panicking, but I can’t deal with her yet. Soon.
I tear my blindfold off. The bright, bare lightbulb that hangs from the ceiling is blinding, but I squint and roll onto Shovelhead. He’s still screaming over his broken arm when I come on top of him, grab his head by his fucking ears and slam it into the hard floor.
“That’s for me,” I growl, then slam him again. Instead of making him scream more, it cuts him off short. Did he pass out already? I was almost hoping he’d last a little longer. “And this one’s for Faith.” He grunts, so that’s something. I just hope it hurts like a motherfucker. By the third one, he’s limp. “And that one’s just for fun.”