Page 20 of Bound By Thorns
But just as I took another step, I felt it—the unmistakable presence of someone behind me.
“Going somewhere, Logan?” a voice drawled, low and mocking.
Tyka.
I spun around, but it was too late. His hand gripped my arm, yanking me back, and I caught the glint of a weapon under the dim moonlight.
Our fight was immediate and brutal. I swung the scalpel, its blade gleaming under the moonlight, aiming for his flesh. Tyka dodged, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid every strike. The scalpel found its mark, slicing through his arm, drawing blood.
He roared in pain and anger, retaliating with a vengeance. I lost the scalpel in the struggle, but my hand found the scissors tucked in my boxers. The makeshift weapon was awkward, yet effective as I stabbed at him, each puncture a small victory in the desperate fight for survival.
Tyka was relentless, though. He managed to knock the scissors from my grasp, turning the fight into a punishing melee of fists and fury. We traded blows, but my desperation lent me a wild edge. I landed a solid punch to his jaw, heard the satisfying crack of impact, but the triumph was fleeting.
As we grappled, I felt the sting of his punches, each one a hammer blow against my already battered body.
I was at my weakest.
Dammit!
But I fought through the pain, fueled by rage and the desperate need to escape this hell.
In a moment of distraction, Tyka found his advantage. He seized me, his grip iron-tight, and before I could react, I felt the cold jab of something small piercing my neck. Within a few seconds, my limbs grew heavy, the possible drug stealing my strength and blurring my vision.
I reassured myself, clinging to the one solace I had—I now knew so much more about this place than I had before. This mock escape wasn’t a failure.
It’ll be fine.
As my consciousness began to slip away, the last thing I saw was Tyka’s looming figure, a shadow against the dim light, and then… nothing.
EIGHT
Kaylan
Not here. Not now. Not yet.
Three days. That’s all I had to carve out Logan’s escape from the depths of this hellish mansion. His failed attempt to flee had all the guards on high alert. Which was why I would have to plan for a nightly escape, at an hour that is usually Garret’s session. Or perhaps I could plan for after?
I wish I could’ve warned Logan about the extensive security they have on the grounds. The hidden cameras must have kept an eye on him the whole time. They had Crazon here to help them track individuals using heat signatures and computer vision engineering. I knew how to avoid those cameras at least inside the mansion.
I brought my mind back to the topic at hand. Nightly escape. But then, I would have to leave the car out in the open for anyone to find for at least four hours, which posed a risk.
I learned that Noel would be guarding the cells that night, which was only slightly problematic. He would notice it wasn’t Ingrid with me, but Logan.
I didn’t much care about that, other than the fact that Noel wouldn’t be able to explain to Garret later as to how two of the former Alpha Squad members escaped under his nose.
Tyka’s growing impatience with me and Logan added another layer of risk. He was starting to notice the cracks in my facade, the way my indifference slipped whenever I was around Logan. I had to maintain a careful balance until we could make our escape, or I’d draw too much scrutiny.
That next evening was tough. I accompanied Tyka and Noel to the cells, pausing at the torture chamber before moving on. A part of me dreaded what we might find inside. My fears were confirmed when Tyka swung open the heavy wooden door to reveal Logan, suspended from the ceiling, his body a canvas of bleeding stab wounds, deliberately placed to prolong suffering without a quick death. He was in no condition to escape anytime soon, complicating my plans further.
Left in the room with Logan, Tyka, and Noel, I felt their eyes boring into me as I approached to inspect Logan’s injuries. With their backs turned, I allowed a flicker of concern to show, but as Logan’s eyes snapped open, I quickly masked my emotions, reverting to the cold, detached role I was forced to play.
“Awful to see you again,” Logan’s voice was weak.
“Don’t speak and stay still,” I responded, my tone clipped and professional. Who was I kidding? I was pissed at him.
His gaze locked with mine, searching, probing. The usual disgust flickered across his features as he tried to reconcile the person caring for him with the one allied with his tormentors.
“I need to take him off the hook,” I stated plainly to Tyka, hoping to move things along.
