Aftershock (23 page)

Rage suffused him, overwhelming everything else. His gunshot
wound didn’t ache anymore. He wanted to tear Jeb and Mickey apart with his bare
hands. But he could only watch, immobile, as they took Lauren away from him.

He knew they’d kill her as soon as they got outside. Well,
maybe they’d drag her somewhere and rape her first. If they wanted to make a
fast getaway, however, they’d just put a bullet in her head and go.

Garrett couldn’t sit this one out. His chances of stopping them
were slim to none, and he’d probably get shot again, but fuck it.

He’d save her or die trying.

Decision made, he raced back to the semi. After he moved Penny
out of the way, he climbed into the front seat and started the engine. The
expression on Jeb’s face when he stepped on the gas was priceless.

Did he really think Garrett would go down without a fight?

He didn’t know if Lauren could hear the engine, so he honked
the horn to warn her that he was coming.

Keeping his head low, he headed straight for the ladder. The
tires squealed, leaving smoke in their wake. Jeb had a couple of choices. He
could continue climbing. He could jump off the ladder and run for cover. Or, he
could stand and shoot.

Jeb brandished his weapon, making the third choice.

Garrett didn’t give a goddamn about the gun. He wanted to draw
fire. As soon as Jeb ran out of bullets, his reign of terror would be over.
Lauren could climb down the structure and get to safety while they battled it
out.

Mickey didn’t stick around to hold the ladder. He let go and
hobbled away, leaving Jeb to his own devices. Garrett was disappointed, because
he wanted to kill two birds with one stone. On the plus side, the ladder started
swaying as soon as Mickey released it. Jeb struggled to keep his grip on the
rope and almost lost his balance.

He managed to squeeze off a shot, and damn it if the bastard
wasn’t lucky. The bullet hit the front windshield, shattering the glass.

It was close. Real close. The slug sank into the headrest of
the driver’s seat, inches from Garrett’s right ear.

He couldn’t give Jeb the opportunity to hone his aim. Heart
thundering in his chest, Garrett flipped the light switches on the dash and
sounded the horn. At the same time, he accelerated, letting out a guttural
yell.

Jeb squinted at the sudden brightness and fired off several
more rounds. Bullets peppered the hood and ricocheted inside the semi. Garrett
couldn’t tell if he’d been hit; he was too pumped up to feel any impact. Still
hollering, he drove the semi straight into the ladder. The top of the truck
slammed against Jeb’s legs, knocking him loose. He landed on the hood and rolled
toward the open windshield.

Unfortunately, Garrett hadn’t built up enough speed for a fatal
crash. Jeb looked disoriented, but he wasn’t dead or unconscious, and he’d kept
a grip on his gun. Garrett gritted his teeth and stepped on the gas, crashing
the semi into the wall. His body rocketed forward against the steering
column.

Jeb slid across the hood and fell over the side.

It took Garrett several seconds to recover his wits. A fresh
burst of pain exploded in his left arm, making him dizzy.

He had to...

Opening the door, he stumbled out. He had to
finish this
.

The front of the semi was crushed. Safety glass glittered on
the hood like diamonds. In his haste, Garrett hadn’t remembered to bring his
crowbar. He took the Buck knife out of its sheath, creeping around the back
bumper.

Jeb was on the other side of the semi. He’d managed to drag
himself upright. There was a bloody gash on his forehead, dripping into one eye.
With his gimpy leg and rot-soaked clothes, he looked like a walking corpse.
Smelled like one, too.

But there was nothing wrong with his trigger finger, or his
aim. The second Garrett was in his sights, he fired.

Garrett ducked behind the semi, his head spinning. Jeb tried to
shoot again, but the gun made a dull clicking sound. At first, Garrett thought
it might be jammed. Then his brain kicked into gear and he realized the chamber
was empty.

Finally.

Taking a deep breath, Garrett inched around the bumper again,
his knife ready. Jeb tossed the gun aside and reached into his back pocket.

“I’ve got one of those, too,” he said, showing him a serrated
blade.

Garrett knew he could beat Jeb at hand-to-hand combat. They
were both injured. Jeb’s busted knee canceled out his wounded arm. What gave
Garrett pause was the eager glint in his opponent’s eye.

Jeb might be as skilled with a knife as he was with a gun.

Mickey’s whereabouts were another concern. Garrett wouldn’t be
surprised if he jumped in to help his friend.

But there was no turning back now. He couldn’t call a truce or
wave a white flag. Someone had to die: him or Jeb.

“Let’s go,” Garrett said, gesturing for Jeb to bring it on.

Jeb wiped the blood from his eye and straightened. He glanced
at Garrett’s left side, knowing exactly where to strike. When Jeb advanced,
Garrett retreated, but only so they could move into an open area.

“I heard you talking to your girlfriend,” Jeb said, limping
toward him.

“So?”

“I know why you pretended to be an outsider, hero. I’ve seen
you in the yard. You’re a fucking reform case.”

“Fuck you,” he said, circling around him.

“You’re one of them do-good converts. Think we’re all heathens,
and you’re different. You’re special.”

It wasn’t true. Garrett hadn’t found God in prison, or anywhere
else. What he’d found was a sense of peace, but only from admitting his guilt
and doing his penance. He’d also found a sense of purpose, by educating himself
and counseling other inmates.

He didn’t feel special. Lucky, maybe. He hadn’t damaged his
brain with drugs, and he’d come from a decent family. That was more than most
prisoners could say. When he got out, he might not have a chance with Lauren,
but he could rebuild his life.

“You’re not special,” Jeb continued. “I can see the devil in
you right now. He’s whispering in your ear. Telling you to kill me.”

Garrett didn’t say anything. Jeb could believe whatever he
wanted.

“Ain’t that a sin?”

“I don’t care,” Garrett said, taking a jab at him.

Jeb jumped backward, still spry. “Your girl will. She’s
watching.”

Garrett’s gut clenched with trepidation. Was she?

“Why don’t you show her your true nature? Blood excites you.
You enjoy causing pain. Underneath it all, you’re a killer. You’re just like
me.”

Jeb’s words ate at him, because there was some truth to them.
If Lauren was looking down on them, she’d be traumatized. She already thought he
was a lying son of a bitch. Now she’d see the violent beast in him, as well.

So be it.

Garrett couldn’t spare Jeb to protect Lauren’s sensibilities.
Even so, he pasted a frown on his face and turned his head toward the crevice,
feigning distraction. Jeb fell right into the trap. When he pounced, Garrett was
ready to defend himself. He blocked the attack with his injured arm and launched
a brutal counterstrike. Stepping forward, he sank his blade into the center of
Jeb’s chest.

This time Jeb couldn’t evade him. He gasped as the knife
plunged to the hilt. His retaliatory stab glanced off Garrett’s shoulder. The
blade penetrated the fabric of his coveralls and flayed his skin, scraping along
his collarbone.

It was painful, but not effective in stopping him.

Jeb’s knife fell out of his hand, clattering on the ground.
“Please,” he said, blood bubbling from his lips.

Showing no mercy—he
was
a killer,
after all—Garrett twisted the handle ruthlessly, watching the light drain from
his eyes. Jeb slumped forward into Garrett’s arms. He jerked the blade free and
let him fall.

Feeling nothing, not even a twinge of remorse, he wiped his
knife clean. Only then did he look up at the crevice.

“Watch out,” Lauren screamed.

Garrett heard the hiss of metal behind him and ducked the split
second before a crowbar connected with his skull.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

O
WEN
WISHED
THE
HOMEBOYS
had offered him a ride.

He was glad to have escaped the odd meeting with his teeth
intact, but his muscles ached from exertion and his stab wound felt like fire. A
BMX wasn’t as appropriate for freeway travel as a BMW. Owen had no more
experience bicycling than rock climbing. Pedaling through the dips and rises of
San Diego’s east valley was no easy task. Hunger and exhaustion made him
light-headed. He’d run out of water five miles ago.

He should have stolen a car.

Dogged with determination, he tried to pick up the pace.
Garrett had told him to go east on the 8 until he found help. He was beginning
to think he’d hit Arizona first. Or maybe Salton City, his hometown. Neither
place appealed to him. If Penny and the others weren’t counting on him, he might
have fled to Mexico. He’d never been out of the country before.

Hell, he’d never been out of California.

Jumping the border wasn’t an option, so he pedaled onward, his
skin sizzling in the afternoon sun. When he reached the checkpoint, it looked
like a mirage. Or a refugee camp. There were soldiers in camouflage uniforms
everywhere. Desert-type army vehicles were parked outside an official-looking
building. Beyond the building, dozens of large, khaki-colored tents were lined
up in rows.

A national guardsman with a semiautomatic rifle greeted him on
the road. He wasn’t half as friendly as the Mexicans.

Even so, Owen dismounted his bike, almost weeping with relief.
To his chagrin, his legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer. He careened sideways
and collapsed on his knees in the dirt. “I need help,” he rasped.

The soldier gave him a bottle of water.

Owen drank it greedily. His arm muscles wouldn’t work, either,
and he spilled half the contents on his shirt. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his
mouth. “I was trapped in a freeway collapse with a group of people. They need
help.”

“Which freeway? More than one collapsed.”

Disturbed by the news, Owen told him.

“How many people?”

“Eight,” he said, counting on his fingers. “No—nine. There’s a
newborn baby.”

The soldier reported this information to his superior via
radio. “We’ll get someone out there as soon as we can.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t understand,” Owen said. “They need help now. We’ve
been starving, and dying of thirst.”

“Thousands of people are in the same situation, sir.”

Owen struggled to his feet. “No, they aren’t. Some of the
survivors are escaped prisoners from the Santee Lakes Correctional Facility. One
of the convicts has a gun. He’s been terrorizing the others for days.”

The soldier’s brows rose. He got on his radio again, giving
Owen a closer examination. His gaze fell to the swastika tattoo. “What’s your
name?”

“Owen Jackson,” he said, his heart sinking.

Another soldier came and escorted Owen into the nearest
building. He was taken to a small office and told to have a seat. They locked
him inside, where he waited in silence. The minutes ticked by.

Finally, two more soldiers arrived.

“Stand up, please,” one said.

Owen stood.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“What?”

“Turn around—”

He shook his head, incredulous. “I came here looking for help.
If you won’t send anyone, I’ll go back by myself.”

They exchanged a glance. “That’s not possible, Mr. Jackson.
We’ve blockaded the road. Free citizens aren’t allowed within city limits, let
alone correctional inmates. You’ll be taken to a holding facility.”

Although he put up a good struggle, they had guns and they were
stronger than he was. After they put on the cuffs, he was subdued with a sucker
punch.

Owen coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath. He couldn’t
believe it. He never should have come. The injustice for himself didn’t bother
him; he deserved to be treated poorly. It was the lack of action for Penny and
the others that he couldn’t fathom.

“You have to send someone for Penny,” he choked, dragging his
feet as they took him away. Fuck cooperating—he wanted to cause a scene. “She’s
trapped under the freeway with a couple of psychos and a newborn baby!”

A man in a fancy suit was standing near the door, watching him.
He had a slim mustache and a curious look on his face. “Wait,” he said to the
soldiers, directing them with a vague wave of the hand.

They drew up in an instant. This guy was important.

“Penny, you said?”

Owen nodded, searching his face. He looked familiar. Maybe he
was a movie star.

“Describe her.”

“Pretty, young, dark hair.”

“Latina?”

It wasn’t the word Owen would have used, but he said yes.
Another soldier approached them, speaking directly to the man in the suit.
“Apologies for the interruption, Mayor Sandoval, but his story checks out. We’ve
just intercepted radio transmissions from a girl claiming to be Penny Sandoval.
She sounds very distressed.”

“Let me hear it,” he demanded.

They went to another office to play the message, bringing Owen
along. When he heard the terror in her voice, he strained against his cuffs,
about to explode in frustration. Luckily, Mayor Sandoval appeared to have the
same reaction.

He turned to Owen, his eyes narrow. “Take me to her.”

* * *

L
AUREN
COULDN
’
T
STAY
outside a second longer.

She watched in horror as Jeb crumpled to the ground. Blood
blossomed from the fatal wound in the center of his chest.

The instant Garrett dispatched one opponent, another stepped
up. She screamed a warning as Mickey rushed from the shadows, wielding a
crowbar. Garrett managed to avoid the first blow. Staying low, he stabbed out
with his knife, swiping at Mickey’s midsection. Mickey spun away and swung
again. Metal clanged against metal. The knife flew out of Garrett’s hand,
clattering across the concrete.

Terrified for him, she scrambled backward through the crevice,
feeling blindly for the ladder. When the soles of her shoes connected with one
of the rungs, she lowered herself slowly. Going down wasn’t any easier than
coming up. She had to let go of the jagged edge of the crevice and grab hold of
the ladder.

Thirty feet below her, the fight raged on.

Heart racing, she continued her descent. One glance at the men
revealed that Mickey had advanced, backing Garrett into a corner. Her hands
shook as she went lower. Suddenly, the rung beneath her foot gave way.

She cried out, gripping the rope with both hands. Her legs
flailed in midair but found no purchase.

“Don’t let go!” Garrett shouted.

The sound of his voice helped her focus. He was still alive,
still fighting. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look down. The
ladder swayed from her wild kicking, making it harder to hold on.

Using only her arms, she kept going. Her biceps shook from
exertion. When her foot found the next rung, she clung to the ladder, almost
wilting with relief. She glanced around for Garrett but couldn’t see him.

Mickey had taken the battle into the darkness beyond the
crashed semi.

Moving quickly, she climbed the last few feet and jumped off
the ladder, running to Garrett’s aid.

He was crouched behind the semi, waiting for the death blow.
When Mickey swung out, Garrett dove to the side, rolling across the ground. The
crowbar hit the side of the truck with a jarring amount of force.

With a high-pitched yelp, Mickey dropped the weapon. It flew
across the asphalt and landed near Lauren’s feet.

He fumbled to pick it up, but she rushed forward, kicking him
in the groin. Howling in pain, he clamped a hand over his mashed testicles and
stumbled sideways. He tripped over the crowbar and went down hard.

As he fell, he grabbed her ankle and twisted it, yanking her
off balance. She landed on her butt with a terrified yelp.

Eyes murderous, he crawled over to her, fist drawn back to
retaliate.

Garrett stopped him before he could even wind up. He jumped on
Mickey’s back and caught him in a chokehold. It was a dark, ugly finish. Garrett
literally squeezed the life out of him. Mickey’s face turned purple. Blood
leaked from his mouth and nose, even his eyes. There was an awful gurgling
sound.

She scooted away, horrified.

Mickey wasn’t the only one who looked monstrous. Garrett
gritted his teeth, using every ounce of strength to crush his opponent’s
windpipe. The cords in his neck stood out and the veins in his forehead
bulged.

Finally, it was done.

Panting, Garrett released his slack form. Mickey stared at the
ceiling, seeing nothing. His head lolled to the side.

Lauren couldn’t celebrate Garrett’s victory. She couldn’t even
make sense of it. Everything was numb. She felt...scattered. There were two dead
bodies near her. She felt like she’d left a piece of herself outside in the
blinding sun. Her brain didn’t work. Her heart was torn up into weightless bits,
floating all over the cavern.

Garrett panted heavily, exhausted by the physical challenge.
Rather than falling apart, he seemed to have retreated inside himself. He
studied the blood on his hands with intense focus, as if reducing the moment
down to that stark, elemental detail. Although he hadn’t escaped the fights
unscathed, he’d overcome his opponents with a disturbing ferocity.

He lifted his gaze to hers, reading the dismay on her face.
When Lauren burst into tears, he came forward and put his arms around her,
shielding her from the massacre. “Shh,” he said, stroking her back. “It’s over
now. It’s all over.”

In slow measures, she regained a sense of peace. She focused on
his touch, his strength, the heavy dub of his heartbeat. This was real. She
pressed her face to his chest, wanting to hold on to him forever. “I’m sorry,”
she said, wiping her cheeks.

“For what?”

“I should have talked to you, instead of running away.” She
explained how Mickey had feigned an injury to draw her in. “I thought you’d
beaten him up.”

“I wish I had.”

“By the time I got close enough to examine him, it was too
late. Jeb was right there, blocking my path.”

He swore under his breath. “It was my fault, Lauren. He was
hiding under the tarp. I never checked there.”

“I should have trusted you.”

“I haven’t earned your trust,” he said.

She lifted her hand to his rough cheek. “Yes, you have. You’ve
risked your life for me, again and again. You’ve worked day and night to help
save everyone in this cavern. You’re a good man, Garrett.”

“I’m a killer,” he replied, his voice hoarse.

“Not by choice.”

He searched her eyes, refusing to admit he’d done anything
special. She wanted to convince him of his own worth. He was willing to
sacrifice everything for her and the others, but he didn’t value himself. He had
no fear of injury. What he needed was love—her love. And she longed to give it
to him.

Footsteps sounded in the distance. Penny skirted around the
dead bodies, her nose wrinkled with distaste. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Lauren said, her heart filled with fresh hope.

They were together, and alive, and nothing else mattered.