Lynne Lancaster blinked her bleary eyes open as she struggled to focus. The first thing she became aware of was the dull pain throbbing in her lower back ? where she'd been stabbed nearly two weeks before.
As her vision slowly cleared she found that she was in what could be best described as a bedroom. It was sturdily-yet-crudely constructed and reminded her of the hunting cabins her father used to take her to as a young girl.?
The walls were covered in plaques and mounted fish. Yes, this was definitely a rustic cabin.
She shifted in bed but quickly found, to her distress, that wrists and ankles were tied down with rope. How she got here was something of a blur. She remembered being in the hospital, recovering from her injury. She remembered seeing a gun in her face. She remembered being rather awkwardly dumped into the trunk of a car.?
The car ride seemed to take an eternity and she spent most of it asleep, despite being jostled about with every bump and pothole. Occasionally the car would stop and they'd check on her. Once they gave her a few sips of water and a candy bar.?
They. She understood that she'd been kidnapped by the same thug who was responsible for the assault on Kris. There was a woman with him, helping him. She felt like she should know the man's name, but it escaped her.?
Most of her time in the hospital was foggy. She remembered visits from her father and brother. They told her that Kris was still alive, but in critical condition. She kept asking them to reduce the dosage of pain medication ? she was perfectly capable of enduring pain and discomfort and she didn't like how groggy it made her feel. But the situation never seemed to improve and she spent most of her hospital stay in a dreamlike state.
Now the drugs were wearing off, and the euphoria was quickly replaced with anger and despair. Her body ached from her injuries and withdrawal. Her mind was suffering from uncertainty, fear, and rage.?
She still hadn't fully processed the attack. She knew that Kris had enemies at the docks. They didn't talk about it often, but she understood that the union was embroiled in a conflict with the mafia. Kris was very good at compartmentalizing and usually didn't discuss work when they were together. He made her feel like the only person in the world, even when she pushed him for a bit of the routine to distract from her own drama.
So was this payback? A chance to finish the job? Was Kris around here somewhere too? Was he already dead?
As the fog cleared, she fought back the panic. Time to think logically, to process this situation without distraction. She looked around the room for anything that would help her. She was tied to a hospital-style bed with metal railings. The bedroom looked dusty and little-used. There were shelves with various books and trophies and nicknacks. A window allowed the light in, but curtains kept her from seeing outside. She could hear the sounds of nature ? birds, animals, and weather. She was no longer in RhyDin city, of that she could be certain. She had been taken far away.
Above the window, a medium-sized swordfish mounted to a wooden plaque. It looked at her through wide, stoney eyes, almost mocking her. Soon, you'll be like me. Dead and nailed to a wall.
Lynne's attention jerked towards the door as he entered.?
Her captor was, perhaps, in his early thirties. He wore jeans and a plain back t-shirt. When he turned briefly to close the door behind, she could see the large handgun stuffed in the waistband of his pants.?
His face no longer showed the smug confidence from when he attacked them on the street that spring morning a couple weeks earlier. Now he looked angry.
Without comment, he untied her left hand and set a small plate down on her lap. A simple bologna sandwich (dry) and some potato chips. It was the first real food she'd seen in quite a while and she was famished.?
With some effort, Lynne pushed herself to sit upright and began eating. She didn't care that it was a gift from her kidnapper ? she was too weak from hunger to fight.?
The man said nothing as he sat down in a small wooden chair and watched her eat. He folded his arms over his chest and scowled in her general direction.
"Sam, right?" she finally asked between greedy bites. "Sam Watts?"
The man tilted his head, his expression a combination of curiosity and annoyance.
"I'm not sure if I heard Kris say your name or if I just heard it around the hospital."
"What else did Kris say about me?" he asked quickly.
Lynne shook her head. She could tell that Kris was still a sore subject to this man. "Nothing."
The man grumbled, but said nothing.
"So is that your name?" she pressed. "I'd like to know."
"Why does it matter to you?" he asked.
Lynne finished the last of her sandwich and began crunching on potato chips. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. But I'd like to know."
The man scratched his scalp before standing and walking around the hospital bed, pulling aside the curtains to look outside. From this angle, Lynne could see a dense canopy of trees and nothing else.
Finally he turned and nodded. "Yeah, my name is Sam."
"What are you going to do with me, Sam?" Lynne asked.
At that, Sam smiled, his lips sweeping upwards sickly.?
"Are you going to kill me?" she pressed.
Sam leaned forward, resting his hands on the railing of the hospital bed. He smelled of cigarettes and whiskey and his face was greasy and unshaven.
"Your father and brother sentenced me to death," he answered gravely. "You're my insurance policy."
Lynne blinked. "My father? My brother?"
"Don't play innocent, girl," Sam sneered. "Don't pretend you don't know who they are or what they do."
"My brother sits in an office and my father is retired," Lynne answered. "And I'm not really close to either of them."
"Never underestimate blood, girl," Watts responded. "Even retired, your father would kill for you."
"Should I be flattered?" she asked sarcastically.
Sam pushed off of the bed, standing up straight. His eyes reeked of derision.?
Lynne finished the last potato chip and offered it back to Sam. He took the plate, set it down on a table, and re-tied her left hand to the bed.
"Whatever you want, I'm sure it can be arranged," Lynne suggested. "Just give me your demands and a phone."
Sam grabbed the plate and flung it over her head at the wall, causing it to shatter. Lynne flinched as pieces rained over her.
"You ain't gonna buy your way out of this," Sam practically spat at her. "Keep your mouth shut or I'll send you home in pieces."
With that, he left the room and slammed the door behind.
Lynne knew all she needed, she saw it in his eyes. She understood instinctively that this Sam Watts intended to kill her no matter what happened.?
When Watts re-tied her hand, she noticed that the railing was a bit loose. She tugged on it and saw it give slightly. With some effort, she might be able to pull the railing out of its slot and free her hand.?She glanced briefly at the fragments of the plate, but they seemed too flimsy to be of any use.
If she was going to survive, she'd need to do it on her own.
* * *
"Those men were no threat to you yet you killed them without hesitation. I was not expecting to encounter someone so lethal."
A pale blue light painted its way up and down the face of Albert Rooney as he watched the video on the small computer monitor. The video featured himself, recorded nearly a year before, in a kitchen of a man he (at the time) didn't know.?
Shortly after surviving an attempt on his life, Rooney arranged for a mid-level mobster and his crew to stage a home invasion on the man behind the failed assassination. He assumed that the attack was related to his recent and largely successful efforts to unite the RhyDin mafia under one banner and control the totality of the sea- and spaceports. So he visited this house to find information on just how much his enemies knew.
Instead he found her.
"You are a shapeshifter," the voice on the recording continued. "That must be very entertaining."
The fidelity of the camera was quite good, although it wasn't pointed precisely at the kitchen table where the conversation was taking place. Still, he could see the young woman turn into a wolf and then back into a human. He'd never had occasion to take control of a being that could change their own form but he had no difficulty activating the ability. In fact, it came almost instinctively.?
Rooney remembered the feeling. It was almost exhilarating. Despite spending so much time in other peoples' central nervous systems, he found his own body quite limiting. He was not a strong man, not athletic or even healthy. When he had occasion to take over another person, he could get a sense of their well-being. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through their veins. Fear, anger, passion ? all of it became known to him.?
And in this case, he could feel the wolf. He became the wolf, if only for a moment.?
Unlike most of his victims, the woman pictured in the video showed no fear. Only hatred and anger. She wasn't concerned with her own safety or freedom. She was focused entirely on him. On killing him.
But she couldn't. He was The Puppetmaster. She was powerless to stop him.
"Now listen closely to me. Your husband will be here in eighteen minutes and I intend to be gone by then. Several weeks ago your husband sent an assassin to kill me. Before then I had no idea who 'Devon Goral' was, nor did I care."
Devon Goral. The man he'd finally met for the first time this morning. The man who once tried to kill him. The man who ? he was quite certain ? was now plotting to use the master's daughter against him.?
"I now know that he is a respected bodyguard in these parts. I can only assume that he was working on behalf of one of my master's competitors."
It now seemed even more certain. Much had changed in the last year. His master's plan was successful, the families united and were profiting beyond imagination. The union resistance and competing families had all been crushed.
"I am a man of business. I do not take such things personally, which is why I'm going to let you live today. My first message to your husband, the body of his assassin, did not prompt him to cease his investigations of my master's business. This is his last chance. I breached your house and your security with three barely-competent hoodlums and a six-year-old computer system sitting on a ship in the water twenty miles from here. And I'm sure you're plainly aware that if I wanted you dead, you would be."
True, the hoodlums were dead and Rooney had to intervene himself, but the point stood nonetheless. No one was safe from him.
"Your husband needs to stop his investigations. He has until Friday to notify his clients. On Saturday, or at any time thereafter, if he is still pursuing my master's business, you will both suffer the consequences."
It worked, of course. Rooney came to learn that shortly after the video was recorded, Devon Goral returned substantial amounts of money to Nikolas Papadous and the union. He ceased to protect them and ? a few months later ? the union leadership collapsed and Matthew Talbot was installed as his master's stooge.?
"I came here ostensibly to find out just how much he knows about our operation, but I am confident that he doesn't know anything. And I knew, as my compatriots did not know, that you'd come home while we were here."
This was, perhaps, a bit of hyperbole. Rooney knew that Goral was married but he couldn't be certain that his wife would be home during the attack. He certainly hoped he'd be able to strike a blow at Goral's family. And it worked out even better than he'd planned.?
"Have I made myself quite clear?"
Rooney always enjoyed making his victims acknowledge their helplessness and surrender to him. He knew she wasn't ready to lay down. He could see the ferocity in her eyes. She pictured tearing him apart. But she was powerless against him. He had broken her easily and completely.?
And she acknowledged as much when she muttered "yes."
Rooney released her, allowing her to fall to the floor in a pool of her own blood from injuries sustained against Waller's crew. He knew how much time he had before Goral got there. He knew that it was likely she would survive and be nursed back to health. But he also knew just how close to death he'd taken her.?
The Wraith knew the effect the attack would have on Goral. The so-called "Protector" who couldn't even protect his own home or wife. It would shatter his resolve and confidence. Plunge him into despair. The simple attack, even with its human cost, worked better than he'd ever imagined. He never heard the name Devon Goral again.
Until today.
Goral's sudden appearance in his master's personal life ? in investigating the kidnapping of his only daughter ? had to be part of a greater plan. Some kind of counter-attack by the union or maybe even vengeance on his own part. It couldn't just be coincidence.
His mind pondered an even more frightening thought. Was Goral working with Watts? Did he arrange the kidnapping so that he could sweep in and play the hero? Unlikely, but anything was possible.
Rooney could just kill Goral. It wouldn't be hard. But the master forbade it. Not without evidence.
But he couldn't wait for the evidence to materialize. Not when he had something much better.
Rooney scrubbed the video recording backwards. He watched Goral's wife return to her chair and glare at him with hatred in her eyes as he lectured her. Watched her transform into a wolf and back into a human.
She was Goral's achilles heal a year ago, and she'd serve the same role today.
By challenging The Wraith, Goral had forgotten the lesson he was taught in the attack on his home ? that his family is vulnerable.?
Rooney would just have to teach him that lesson once again.
* * *
Life in captivity for Lynne Lancaster quickly became a routine. She was fed two meals per day ? generally hastily-prepared and lacking any substantial nutritional value. She was given three bathroom breaks, escorted at gunpoint. After using the facilities she was allowed to walk one circuit around the small common room for "exercise" before being returned to her bed and tied down.
Her kidnappers would occasionally come in to check on her. Sam vacillated between quiet detachment and animated rage and would frequently wax on about how he'd worked hard all his wife only to be drummed out of the business by Lynne's father. (Although the specifics were never discussed, Lynne eventually came to understand that this whole thing was a reaction to the attack on her and Kris.)
Sharing the small cabin were Sam's girlfriend, who Lynne came to know as Pamela (but never Pam), and Sam's grandfather.?
The grandfather never spoke to Lynne although occasionally she'd hear him in the other room. He was old and salty, often complaining about something. When she was allowed to walk around the living room, he'd stare at her with such hatred and disdain that she'd never known. Even Sam couldn't match his grandfather's seething rage. The old man would just sit there in a a recliner, a stack of fishing magazines on the table next to him and a shotgun draped across his lap. Despite his age and apparent fragility, Lynne could sense that he was itching for one last battle. She'd met enough of her father's former compatriots to know an old-school mobster when she saw one.
Pamela was also quite open with her hostility. Several times throughout the day she'd come into Lynne's room and sharpen her knives (she wore a belt around her waist with at least a half dozen sheathed hunting knives) while attacking Lynne's lifestyle and upbringing. If Sam was a city mobster, Pamela was a rural savage. In fact, the only thing the couple seemed to have in common was a sense that the world had plotted against them and only through fear and violence could they ever make it through.
Last night, however, the routine was interrupted. Lynne was woken by Sam and Pamela in the middle of the night with no words or explanation. She was untied and a canvas bag thrown over her head. She was then marched outside (the first time she'd been allowed outside since her captivity began) and forced to kneel on the ground.
As Lynne trembled, waiting to be executed, she heard nothing but the sounds of nature and the occasional scuffle of shoes behind her. She could smell the cigarettes they smoked silently. She considered running for the tree line, but knew they'd cut her down before she got two feet. As the minutes progressed, she began to weep. The crying became even more pronounced after they finally hoisted her up and dragged her back inside, tying her down to the bed.?
There was no explanation for why she was brought outside. The incident was not discussed or even mentioned the next day. But the intent was clear. They were reminding her that her life was completely and totally in their hands.
On this, the third day of Lynne's captivity. Pamela brought today's lunch (cold spaghetti with barely-thawed canned meatballs) and sat there while she ate. Lynne's face felt dirty from the previous evening's tears, and her arm ached from trying to free herself from the bed frame. She had loosened the cheap metal bar enough so that she could almost pull it out of the socket, but it would often fall back in at the last second. From a prone position she didn't quite have the leverage she needed to pull it all the way out. But she was getting close. She'd use the chair to break the window and make a run for it. She was confident that she could outrun Sam and Pamela. She just needed her chance.
Pamela slowly and methodically sharpened one of the larger hunting knives she carried with her as she watched Lynne eat. Occasionally she'd bare her yellowed teeth and lick her dry lips. Her twisted obsession with her captive was yet another level of discomfort in this whole charade.
"We're forty miles from the nearest town," Pamela said as if reading Lynne's mind. "There's nowhere to go."
Lynne didn't respond, instead biting into another crunchy meatball. She didn't want to admit that she was plotting, nor was she interested in conversing with this woman.
"Did you use'ta run a lot as a kid?" Pamela asked. She had just a hint of a drawl, possibly an old affectation that she struggled as an adult to bury.
"Every morning," Lynne finally answered, chewing. "My father wasn't much for exercise but my mother was a swimmer. Almost made the pros out of college. But she hit her head on a diving board and gave herself a bad concussion and it ended her career. I never took to swimming but I was a natural running, so she and I would go on these long hikes and runs together."
"I used to love to run. My oldest brother was on the high school track team and I wanted to be like him."
Lynne tilted her head curiously. "What distance?"
"I was better at sprints." Pamela grinned. "I could get up some really good speed really quick. Had to. I had three older brothers. Had to stay ahead of them."
Lynne rolled her eyes playfully. "I just have one older brother but I know what you mean." That wasn't entirely true ? Cameron never got physical with her. He was afraid of his own shadow as a child. If anything, Lynne was more likely to start a fight between them.
"Life at home was tough," Pamela continued. "When the shouting and screaming would get too loud, I'd hit the road and just run. I'd run for hours it seemed like. And I wouldn't come back until I couldn't hear their voices anymore."
Lynne looked the woman over. She understood that one of her options for survival was to try to humanize herself with her captors. Yet the longer she was with these people, the less they seemed to have any empathy. Was she finally finding a common bond?
"Did you do track in high school?" Pamela asked, her eyes watching the sunlight reflect off of her knife.
Lynne nodded. "Best experience of my life. First time I ever felt like I could be out of my father's shadow."
Pamela tilted her head curiously. "How you mean?"
"My father was pretty overbearing," Lynne explained. "Crazy perfectionist. He loved me, but he couldn't ever demonstrate that love unconditionally. He once said to me: "Congratulations on taking first place, but you were eight-tenths of a second slower than your best time. It's not enough to beat everyone else, you need to be improving. You're only in competition with yourself.' I think he meant it to be heartwarming, but to me it always left me feeling empty. Like I could never be good enough."
Pamela's eyes flashed and she squared her jaw. "You know what my father said when I made the high school track team?"
"What?" Lynne asked.
"He said it was a waste of time. Said no one's gonna pay me to run fast. And he started hitting me in the legs until I couldn't stand up no more."
Lynne blinked. She didn't know what to say.
"So spare me your stories of your father who wanted you to be better," Pamela continued, her lips nearing a snarl. "My father was a drunk and a drug addict and didn't care about anything that didn't put money in his pocket."
"What about your brother?" was all Lynne could think to ask. "The one on the track team?"
"Killed sticking up a convenience store. He was nineteen."
Lynne frowned. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"You just don't get it," Pamela continued. "When I look at you, I see privilege. Handed everything on a silver spoon since you were a little kid. I was beaten and neglected at every turn but at least I can take care of myself. No one's gon' push me around."
"I've had to work for everything I have," Lynne countered. "I couldn't compete for nearly two years because of knee problems. And when I'm not on the track, I'm not earning. And believe me, I didn't get a dime from my father during that period. He cut me off the moment I left home. I've paid my own way ever."
"You went to college on an athletic scholarship," Pamela shot back. "You did endorsement deals for energy drinks and high-priced running shoes. You dated movie stars and had your picture on a cereal box."
Lynne narrowed her eyes. Clearly Pamela had done her research. As a semi-public figure, Lynne had grown accustomed to strangers knowing details about her life. But here ? a prisoner in a cabin in the middle of nowhere ? the revelation was especially chilling.?
"That was a long time ago," Lynne answered coldly. "The moment my knee went bad, the sponsorships dried up. No movie stars are knocking on my door anymore. And now ? I may never compete again."
Pamela rose to her feet, taking care to slide the large knife back into its sheath before leaning over the bed frame. She took the bowl of half-eaten spaghetti and pulled it away, re-tying Pamela's hand to the railing.
"Competing's the least of your worries, bitch," Pamela spat. "Worry less about your body and your career and more about your life. Clock's ticking on you. Start thinking about how you wanna live your final hours."
With that, Pamela grabbed the bowl of food and left, slamming the door behind.
Lynne closed her eyes, a shudder rippling through her. There was no hope of humanizing herself with these people. They had no empathy. They had no souls.
Thankfully, Pamela's rage resulted in a looser knot on the rope holding down her left hand. She redoubled her efforts at freeing herself. She knew it might be her last chance.
* * *
Roopit Singh sat in his dingy office in the heart of RhyDin's underbelly reading the newspaper. His focus was paid to the classifieds, where underworld characters often communicated with each other in coded messages. Singh worked as a bounty hunter for the mob ? locating people who usually didn't want to be found. The first lesson he learned in this job is that no one ever truly disappears. They always maintain some form of connection to their old life ? just when they think no one is looking.
Exploiting those connections was his gravy train.
Singh heard his office door open and he looked up from the paper. A tall, thin figure approached him through the dim light. A chill ran down his spine just as the man came into view. A pale figure with lifeless eyes.?
The Wraith.
Singh was accustomed to these visits ? especially lately. The Wraith always seemed to be looking for someone ? usually low-to-mid-level mob enforcers who were suspected of betraying the family. Business was good. Singh helped The Wraith track down a number of these types. What happened after that, Singh didn't know or care.
Singh set down the newspaper and sat up straight in his old office chair. He nodded respectfully to his patron as The Wraith entered the inner office.
"No luck so far on finding Louis Grimaldi," Singh reported. "But I'll keep at it."
The Wraith tilted his head. His face showed no sign of emotion ? it almost never did. He never showed any indication that he was happy when Singh found someone, or disappointed when he didn't.
"Is that why you're here or do you have someone new for me?"
"Someone new," The Wraith nearly parotted.?
Singh opened up his ratty notebook and grabbed a pencil out of a yellowed glass. "What do you have?"
The Wraith produced a folder and set it down on Singh's desk. Inside, screen captures taken from a surveillance camera of a woman. Singh estimated that she was in her mid-thirties, beautiful but athletic. Her gray eyes were piercing but her face was twisted into a visage of hatred and spite.
Singh raised his brow. He'd seen the woman before. He glanced up curiously.
"Her name is?"
"?Zephyer Cloud ? Wind ? Storm," Singh finally completed. "Yeah, I know who she is."
That almost got a reaction of surprise out of The Wraith. Almost.
"You're looking for her?" Singh asked.
"I'm looking for her," The Wraith answered simply.
"You and everyone else, buddy," Singh answered with just a bit too much familiarity.
"Who else?" The Wraith demanded.
Singh turned in his chair and produced a folder from his credenza. Inside, a stack of flyers and missing person posters ? all with the same woman's picture. Only the image was a bit better-quality.
"These were circulated to people in my line of work several weeks ago. A guy by the name of 'Beans' is looking for her. Told anyone who would listen. Said there's a big reward, too."
"She's missing," The Wraith observed.
Singh nodded. "That's the impression I get. I didn't bother with it myself, finding lost spouses isn't my fort? ? reward or no."
The Wraith paused, giving one of the flyers a lengthy review. It was not designed to be posted publicly, but would be distributed to professional investigators and bounty hunters.
"I hope to have something on Grimaldi soon," Singh finally said to break the silence.
The Wraith set the flyer down on the desk, tapping it with his finger. "I want you to find her. Make this a priority."
Again Singh raised a brow. "Beans is among the best at this. If he can't find her, she can't be found."
The Wraith tilted his head, his eyes menacing in their vacant stare. "Is that the answer you're choosing to go with, Mister Singh?"
Singh gulped. There was no refusing The Wraith. And he did not accept failure.
"I thought not," The Wraith continued. "Find Zephyer Storm. Bring her to me. Alive."
"I'll get right on it, sir."
"See that you do, Mister Singh."
* * *
An unseasonal chill fell on the cabin in the woods, yet Lynne Lancaster was soaked with sweat as she struggled to free herself. Her body was weak from lack of proper nutrition and in pain from her injuries and subsequent confinement, but she relied on adrenaline to carry her through. As a professional athlete, she knew how to focus her body on a single task to the exclusion of all else.?
Her loosened bonds now allowed her to lift the metal bar of the hospital bed railing out of the hole in the frame, but she was having trouble getting leverage to actually slide the bar over enough to release her arm. For hours she struggled with the contraption and the rope, all the while biting her lip to keep from making any noise. She was so close, yet couldn't quite finish the deal.
Her conversation with Pamela had apparently set the woman off. For some time she and Sam were having a shouting match at each other. Lynne couldn't hear the particulars and didn't care. Pamela's vow ? that her time was running out ? did not seem to be an idle threat or more psychological warfare. Whatever they were keeping for her ? as a human shield or a bargaining chip or something else ? time was short. As much as she wanted to wait until nightfall to try to sneak out, she wasn't sure she had that kind of time. The anxiety in the cabin was ratcheting up.
With one final heave of her entire body, Lynne was finally and suddenly able to push the metal bar out of its socket and release her left hand. The action made a loud noise, and Lynne dampened down her elation to listen for any sounds that her captors heard something. But she couldn't hear anything, only an agitated conversation between Sam and his grandfather in the common room.
Lynne dropped the railing next to her legs and set to work untying her other hand and then her legs. Once she was free of the bed, she paused briefly to stretch out her tired limbs before attending to her escape.
Pulling aside the curtains, she saw for the first time just how densely-forested the area was. That would work to her advantage as far as avoiding detection, although the terrain was a bit rougher than she was used to for the purposes of sprinting.?
Of greater concern, however, the window was bolted shut and appeared quite sturdy. The small chair that her captors used to visit her was old and rickety and would likely crumble before breaking through the window.?
She'd need to get out through the door.
Lynne knew there were two exits from the cabin. One was the front door which was in the common room where she could hear Sam and his grandfather talking.
The back door was in the kitchen in the opposite direction. She couldn't be sure if she could get there without being spotted from the common room, and she also didn't know where Pamela was.
Lynne reached for the door knob, but froze when she heard Sam's voice.
"Pamela, what was that noise? Was that you?"
He'd heard her after-all.
Panic flushed through Lynne's veins. She didn't have time to tie herself up again. This was it. She had to go for it.
Lynne turned around looking for something ? anything ? that could be used for a weapon. She put a hand on the chair but, again, it was too flimsy. Sam was a big, muscular guy. He was a trained killer.
She looked around the room at the various trophies on the walls and shelves. Everything appeared small or cheap. Nothing that would make a good weapon.
Then her eyes fell on the swordfish mounted above the window. Its eyes stared blankly through her. It almost seemed comical.
But it was all she had.
Lynne jumped up on the bed and yanked the plaque off the wall. The wooden backing practically crumbled in her hands, leaving only the fish. She jumped down from the bed just as the door swung open.
To say that Sam Watts looked surprise to see his captive wielding a dead fish would be an understatement. He flinched and then froze, giving Lynne just enough time to raise the fish up over her head and plunge it into his chest. Sam cried out and staggered backwards as blood spurted out of the wound, splashing Lynn in the face.?
Despite the horrific moment, Lynne didn't waste any time and pushed past the mobster. She turned left and ran towards the kitchen and the back door, only to stop short as a razor-sharp knife flew through the air and thudded into the wall only a few inches in front of her face.?
Turning towards the kitchen, Lynne saw Pamela with a vicious snarl on her face, reaching to draw another knife from her belt. That wasn't a warning shot ? she was hungry for the kill.
Lynne expertly changed directions and raced for the front of the cabin. She ran past a staggering Sam Watts and then his grandfather, who appeared to have dozed off in his chair. She yanked open the door and charged out onto the front porch, only to have her forward progress stopped with a powerful yank at her mid-length hair.?
Lynne let out a howl and surged forward, but she felt Watts wrap an arm around her and pull her backwards. She grabbed onto the blade of the swordfish ? still protruding from his chest (the rest of the fish had apparently broken off) and gave it a twist, causing Watts to let out a terrific howl. But Watts held on tight and responded in kind, delivering several powerful punches with his other hand to her lower-back ? right at the spot where she'd been stabbed. The pain was too much ? the adrenaline gave out and her body crumpled, no longer able to carry on the fight.?
Only inches from freedom, Lynne Lancaster flailed and kicked helplessly as Sam Watts dragged her back into the cabin.
* * *
From the edge of the tree line, Devon Goral watched through binoculars as his protectee, Annalynne McRae, was pulled back into her cabin prison by the mobster Samuel Allen Watts.
Behind him, an army stood ready.
