Every second the elevator took to come was another second when they could be set upon.
“Come on, come on,” Rooster chanted under his breath.
Only Val seemed unbothered. He swayed gently side-to-side, dreamy smile on his face, watching the doors with obvious anticipation. Weirdo.
After what felt like an eternity, the car arrived with a polite ding and the doors slid open…
To reveal two men in jeans and Kevlar. Both carrying guns.
“Shit.” Rooster fingered the trigger of his stolen gun–
And Val laughed. “Detective Webb and his pet tsarevich in the flesh.”
“Hey,” one of the men, the younger one, protested.
The other guy, dark-haired, with a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once, opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Dude. Val? You’re loose?”
“Very much so. You were looking for us?”
Both men – neither of which made aggressive moves toward them – peered around Val’s shoulders.
“Sasha,” they both breathed out at the same time, relieved.
Broken Nose stepped off the elevator and went to the blond boy, took him by the shoulder and peered into his face, brows knitting. “Shit, kid, what’d they do to you?”
“I’m f-f-fine.” Sasha brought a hand up to cover the other man’s. A clumsy movement.
“Yeah, you look fine,” the guy quipped. Then he looked up and met Rooster’s gaze, not-so-subtly positioning himself between Sasha and everyone else. “Who are you?”
“Somebody trying to get the fuck out of this place,” Rooster said.
The guy stared at him a moment, then nodded. “Let’s see what the weight sensor’s like on this elevator, huh?”
“Lanny,” the other one said. “Nikita–”
“What about Nikita?” Sasha asked, forcing himself to stand more upright.
Val tipped his head back, and looked at the ceiling. “He’s meeting my brother, yes?” A sharp edge in his voice, half-anger, half-anticipation.
Sasha made an unhappy whimpering sound.
“Hey, kiddo,” Rooster said, turning to Red. “How goes it with the fire?”
She looked tired, but she smiled, and twirled her newly-freed wrists. “Ready.”
~*~
The wolf who came in through the window, landing in a neat tuck and roll on the rug, showering glass when he stood up and shook his head, was dressed all in dark green, a hood covering his hair, a bright reddish lick of it poking out the front, glued to his forehead with sweat.
Annabel clutched the saber so tightly her knuckles cracked, but she didn’t swing it. She’d missed her chance, she realized; if she wanted to catch him by surprised, she should have sliced at him as he was rolling, while she’d been gaping in surprise. Now, she’d have to go at him face-to-face, when he could defend himself.
They stared at one another, a long moment that seemed to stretch. He smelled like fresh sweat, like excitement and pumping adrenaline…but nothing darker than that. His face was flushed a bright pink under his dusting of freckles, but she could find not even a trace of malice. If anything, he looked curious.
He tipped his head to the side and gave a soft, questioningruff.
She growled, but it was more of a question than a threat.
“I like your saber,” he said, gaze shifting to it, and, huh – Fulk had always taught her that to take your eyes off an enemy was as good as lying down and giving up. So. He wasn’t worried…or, a more hopeful voice in the back of her head suggested, he didn’t mean her any harm. “Civil War era, right?”