A chorus of similar chants followed as if all the cellmates were saying to Kayla,You’re doomed.
Did she care? She’d failed her sister, her uncle, Eve. And she had underestimated Taylor Simmons. Minutiae from her past with Ashely descended upon her. Ashley thanking her for saving her from a pack of feral boys in seventh grade. Ashley teasing her for always being so serious. She missed her twin to her core and surprisingly looked forward to death so she could join her.
Snap out of it, Kayla, she urged.
But she couldn’t.
“I’m as stupid as a skunk,” she slurred.
The monkeys concurred.
The laboratory door opened. Someone flicked on the light. The monkeys shrieked at the assault. Kayla closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep, but she glanced beneath her eyelashes.
Blond Guy entered. “Rise and shine, girlfriend.” He unlocked the cage and nudged her with his foot.
Kayla was aware enough to know she couldn’t overpower him. She kept her eyes shut, feigning being deeply under the influence of the drug they’d administered.
Blond Guy scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder, her arms landing on the side farthest from the gun in his holster. He wasn’t a total idiot. He traipsed down a hall and entered a room. Eve’s room. He placed Kayla on a hospital bed, her arms free, and chuckled so low and nasty her skin crawled. He affixed a strap around her waist and fastened the restraints on her ankles. “There you go, Beauty.”
Before he could secure the binds at her wrists, she gripped his holster, unsnapped the strap. and grabbed the butt of his gun.
He tried to wrench away.
Sheer determination made her hang on. She yanked the gun, a Glock 20 boasting fifteen rounds with minimal recoil action, and shoved it under his chin. She released the safety. “Ain’t payback grand?” she said. No slur. No stumbling. Fully alert. “Unstrap me. Now.”
“Drop it!” a man ordered from across the room.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Kayla peeked over the other patients’bodies. Richard Troy was pointing an M9, weighted with lots of power, directly at her head.
“My aim will be better than yours,” he said, and leered at her. Overhead fluorescent lighting made his braces gleam. “I haven’t been drugged.”
“I have great powers of recovery,” Kayla retorted.
“I’m an excellent shot.”
Kayla didn’t doubt him, but she didn’t lower the Glock from his buddy’s chin.
“I’m sorry you didn’t keep our date,” Troy said.
“One look at you and I fled. I can spot a phony a mile away.”
Troy stepped closer and repeated the order to lower her weapon. When she didn’t, he fired. The bullet slammed into the barrel of the Glock, the impact so powerful Kayla couldn’t hold on. The gun plunged to the floor and skidded out of reach.
“Told you I’m a good shot,” he said.
Kayla shoved Blond Guy into Troy. Both men stumbled backward. While they struggled to regain their footing, she ripped off her waist and ankle bindings and leaped off the bed. She crouched. She searched. Where had the damned Glockended up? When she caught sight of it on the opposite side of the room, she flagged. Too far away.
A bullet whizzed past her. Struck a wall.
Staying low, she scuttled to an instrument table between the beds. She snatched a scalpel and pair of scissors. She stood and hurled the scalpel at Troy. The blade hit him in the upper arm. He lost hold of the M9.
Crouching again, she crab-walked beneath tables. She reached for the M9.
A shoe slammed down on her left hand. Pain rocketed through her.
“Not so fast,” Blond Guy said, royally pissed off.
