The Countdown (The Taking #3)(31)

Tyler. They wanted Tyler too.

There was no way. That could not—would not—happen.

He came back over to me. “Just tell me where the kid is . . .” His voice dropped all conspiratorial-like. As if we were somehow partners. Pals. “In fact, if you tell me, I’ll put in a good word for you. Let your buyers know how cooperative you’ve been. Never know, maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll take it easy on you.” He winked, and bile blistered the back of my tongue.

I shook my head, emotions pounding through me.

The buddy-buddy expression vanished from Eddie Ray’s face. He gave me a strange look then, one I couldn’t quite decipher but probably it was better that way. I didn’t want to know what was going on inside that head of his.

“I don’t need your help,” he finally said. “I’ll find him myself. I’ll sell you and then I’ll track him down on my own.”

“Please . . . no . . .” But I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince, him or me when I said it.

Because it was too late. He’d doomed himself the moment Tyler’s name had rolled off his lips.

This wasn’t like before, where the sensations began mildly—the slow build of prickling, itching, tingling.

This was wild. Uncontrollable. A storm unleashed.

Like I had been unleashed.

And I had been, in more ways than one. Energy tore through my body, blistering from the base of my neck and shooting all the way to my fingertips and toes.

This need to save Tyler made me strong. Stronger than I’d ever been. And before I could think the word “control”—before Eddie Ray realized anything was happening at all—my right hand had yanked free.

But that wasn’t Eddie Ray’s undoing; it was the part where I managed to move the gun. His gun.

It was like that night up at Devil’s Hole when I’d mentally stripped Agent Truman of his weapon . . . only this time I wasn’t trying to disarm anyone.

This time the gun flew directly into my other hand. And just like the time with Agent Truman, it occurred so fast, whipping through the air, it was barely a blur.

And because of Natty’s training, I knew how to use the thing. Eddie Ray had her to thank for that.

Before he’d even recognized the weapon in my hand—the still-bound one—or the fact that the other one was free, I’d reached across and released the slide.

Then I switched hands and raised the gun right at him.

Quickly. In one arcing motion so he didn’t have time to run, or even duck out of the way.

I didn’t ask if he’d change his mind. I didn’t clarify how he planned to track Tyler down, or ask him to explain how he planned to sell him or to whom.

I pulled the trigger.

The gun’s kick threw me back against the steel table. My neck was still bound, so it’s not like I had all that far to go, but the impact was solid, making my vision blur.

Eddie Ray had only been standing a few feet away and I hadn’t missed. It had been like watching the blond girl go down, only in reverse.

The bullet struck him just above his left eye, in his forehead, which hadn’t exactly been where I’d been aiming . . . but it did the trick all the same.

By the time seven minutes had passed, it was down to just me and Natty, and I needed to find her before she found me.

After I’d shot Eddie Ray, I’d scrambled to get off that damned table—I couldn’t do it fast enough, but the entire time all I could think was, I shot someone . . . I shot someone . . . I shot someone . . .

It made no difference that he meant to capture Tyler, or that he would’ve killed me if I’d hesitated. What I’d done was inconceivable, and I was still trembling. Still, none of that stopped me from snagging Blondie’s boots so I wouldn’t have to navigate the hallways barefoot again.

I hadn’t made it far when the two guys whose names I’d never even learned found me.

When they came ricocheting around the corner, I was almost as surprised to see them as they were to see me. Almost, but not quite.

My hands were shaking but I got off two rounds, one into each of their heads, and then, as if I were as coldblooded as Eddie Ray, I stepped over them on my way out.

Next it was Natty’s turn.

I wish the thought disturbed me more.

The last time I’d seen Natty I’d learned she’d never been my friend. That she was responsible for the Daylighters’ siege of Blackwater. Responsible for me losing my dad and Tyler all over again. Now I had a chance to get my revenge against her for everything she’d done.

A satisfied smile curled my lips.

My borrowed boots crunched across the littered floors. Natty was here—I could feel her. Practically smell her.

If only.

I kept the gun in front of me as I moved from room to room. My only knowledge of searches came from movies and TV, so I was sure I looked like one of those jacked-up cop-actors Austin and Tyler’s dad, who was a real cop, always made fun of.

But so what? All that mattered was that I found her before she found me.

My heart was beating against the over-tight muscles of my chest like a mallet. Beat-BEAT, beat-BEAT, beat-BEAT. NO way Natty didn’t hear that from a mile away.

I stopped when I heard something, but the noise was all wrong.

It came from overhead, not in front or behind me, and I squinted to get a glimpse of whatever was up there, trying my best to see past the rotting rafters. I had to find it—that scuffling, scraping sound. And still, my heart beat-BEAT against my ribs, pulverizing them.