Kevin shook his head, then forced the word out as he stared at Walter. “No.”
Walter was shifting his weight, tugging on the restraints, his voice stronger. “Kevin, don’t you fucking do this.”
“Can I say good-bye to him?” Kevin hated the quiet, acquiescent sound of his own voice, hated that he had to talk to this guy at all.
Prescott nodded, but as Kevin stepped forward, he darted into his path. “Do not give him anything.”
“I won’t.”
When Kevin reached Walter, he got on his knees and wrapped his arms around Walter’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I have to do this.”
“No, you don’t.”
“He’ll take me back to Dylan and the others. We can’t let him get away with them.”
Walter buried his face in Kevin’s neck, his voice low. “Kevin, don’t. We know how to get to the tunnels now. Even if he escapes, we’ll find them before he can take them anywhere.”
“We don’t know if we’ll find the entrance in time or if the tunnels will lead us to them. This could be our last chance.”
“No. Get the keys out of my pocket, run for the gun case, and get out of this room. You can move faster than him. He’ll follow you, but even if he catches you, you’ll have the case open.”
It was worth a shot. Kevin slid his hand down Walter’s side toward the pocket he hadn’t checked yet. “They’re gone.”
“They must’ve fallen out.”
Kevin scanned the floor around them and over his shoulder as far as he could without making it obvious. “I can’t see them. Walter…”
“No. Don’t.”
Kevin held him tighter. “Someone had to have heard the gunshot. The police will be here soon. You can go to the club and find the tunnels.” Of course, the cops might just arrest Walter and then what? It didn’t matter. They were out of options that would get them to the missing men in time. Kevin held Walter by the back of the head and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He spoke the next words low, directly into Walter’s ear. “I love you.”
“Kevin…”
Prescott yanked on Walter’s hair to separate them. “That’s enough.”
In a rapid sweep, Walter kicked with both legs, but Prescott leaped out of the way in time. He returned with a swift kick of his own. The toe of his boot connected with Walter’s ribs.
Walter cried out, and Kevin jumped up between them. “Stop. I’ll go with you. Just stop hurting him.”
Prescott gave a sharp nod. “Get your phones.” He gestured to where the phones lay on the floor near the desk. Once Kevin had them, Prescott drew him across the room by the arm. When they reached the door, he took the phones from Kevin, dumped them on the floor, and stomped on them with the heel of his boot, the plastic shattering under the assault. He swung the door open and gestured for Kevin to exit.
“Kevin.” The cuffs clanked against the radiator again and again. “Do not do this.”
Kevin couldn’t glance back, couldn’t stand to see that scared, desperate look in Walter’s eyes for one more minute.
He’d give anything not to hurt him, but he had to do this. He couldn’t let Prescott get away with Dylan and the others.
Kevin went out into the hall and heard Prescott shut the door behind them.
“Kevin!”
Chapter Thirty
“Kevin!”
Walter couldn’t peel his gaze off the closed door of the hotel room. Until he caught a glimpse of Henderson’s lifeless body.
He yanked on the handcuffs again. And again.
“Goddamn fucking son of a bitch.”
It was official. He’d never cursed this much in his entire life. Not until he’d walked right into Kevin Price at the Haven—Kevin Goddamn-Fucking-Son-of-a-Bitch Price who was going to get himself killed.
Walter gave another tug on the cuffs. The edges dug into his wrists, and more blood covered his hands. With the way Prescott had tightened the cuffs, Walter wasn’t getting them off by slipping his hands out, even with the blood for lubrication.
He yelled Kevin’s name one more time, then called out for help over and over.
No one came. Knowing this shitty hotel, it would be hours before someone finally gave in and came to see if he really needed assistance, and only then because they would be sick of listening to him scream.
Still, he tried another shout as he wrapped his hands around the pipe and tugged. The radiator may have been ancient, but it had been built when these kinds of things were made to withstand a little abuse. The pipe wasn’t coming loose.
Walter’s hands trembled as he gave another tug for good measure. “Fuck.”
He had to pick the lock on the handcuffs. He wrenched his arms to the side and got a look at them. Standard chain-style Smith & Wesson with double locks to prevent escape. Prescott had been smart enough to handcuff him behind his back and to engage the double lock. Even at this angle, though, Walter could access the locking mechanism on the cuffs and work both locks open. He just needed a bobby pin.
And time.
No way he’d find a bobby pin conveniently lying nearby. He’d have to find a suitable replacement. He spotted the gun case, Kevin’s laptop on the floor beyond the desk, and the shattered phones by the door. Nothing lay within his reach. He wiggled around until he could search his back pockets with a cuffed hand. All he had was his wallet, and that had nothing he could use. He didn’t even have the penlight he usually carried with him.
Then he saw it. Peeking out from behind the closest leg of the desk. His ring of keys he’d lost during the fight. Alongside his apartment and car keys was the smaller ring that held the key to the gun case.
That ring was one of those thin, temporary kind. Bendable.
He shimmied around until he had a leg stretched out as far as he could get it. Using the toe of his shoe, he scraped along the floor, trying to catch the edge of the keys. He stretched his legs out farther and kept trying. Finally he caught a key and dragged the set forward.
A minute later he had the keys in hand. He removed the thin ring from the larger one, slid the key for the gun case off, and dropped it to the floor. He straightened the ring into a thin piece of wire, then painstakingly worked it into the keyhole on the cuff and bent the wire. Craning his neck to see, he pulled it out and examined the L-shaped angle at the tip. That should work.
He reinserted the wire into the keyhole, held it tight with his thumb, and maneuvered it around. Normally he would’ve had the cuffs off by now, but the wire was almost too thick, and he could barely see what he was doing. His hand slipped, and the end of the metal wire jabbed his wrist. “Fuck!” A new stream of blood seeped down his hand.
He really wished he had a bobby pin. Or a goddamn key.
He tried again, his movements awkward with his hand bent at an odd angle and the cuffs on too tight.
Finally, after ten minutes of working the wire inside the keyhole, one side of the cuffs came open. He didn’t bother with the other side. He fished the cuff through the radiator, scooped up his keys, and retrieved the case from across the room. Once he had it unlocked, he didn’t hesitate. He removed the GLOCK and a magazine, letting the case crash to the floor beside him.
The handcuffs dangling from his wrist clanked as Walter slapped the magazine into the GLOCK. He gripped the gun in his hand and went for their phones. Kevin’s was a goner, but Walter’s was still on, the screen cracked and shattered in several places. He tested it and found the keypad still worked. He pocketed the phone and took off, sprinting down the stairs two, three steps at a time. He was out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk in no time.
If he called the cops, they’d throw his ass in jail and might not listen to him. They might not believe Kevin was in danger.
Walter sped down the sidewalk and tucked the gun in the waistband of his pants. He got in the first cab he spotted and gave the address for the club.
He had to find Kevin, but he also had to trust his friends. His phone out, he dialed, and Gibson’s line went straight to voice mail. Walter left a message while he worked on getting the other side of the handcuffs open.
“Kevin’s with Prescott. I’m going after him. Meet me at the club. The basement has a hidden entrance to a series of tunnels Prescott’s been using to get in and out. I’m heading there now.” He hung up and had the handcuffs off and onto the cab floor faster than he’d managed the first side in the hotel room.
He dialed Tucker’s number next. When Tucker answered, Walter said, “I need your help.” He gave him the same information he’d left on Gibson’s voice mail.
Tucker barely let him finish before he said, “I’m on my way.”
Walter hung up and dropped his head back to the seat behind him, sliding out the gun and gripping it in his hand alongside his thigh. If anything happened to Kevin, if Prescott laid one hand on him, Walter wasn’t sure he could stop himself from emptying the magazine in Prescott’s chest.
As the cab pulled up to the Haven, he stashed the GLOCK, paid the driver, and got out. He wasn’t waiting for Gibson or Tucker to get there.
He was finding this sick fuck and stopping him before Prescott could take Kevin and the others anywhere, before Kevin tried to save all their lives on his own and got himself killed in the process.
Then after everyone was safe, Walter was kicking Kevin’s ass for going with Prescott in the first place.
Right before he held on to him and never let go.
* * * *
Kevin sat in the darkness and tried to keep his breathing low and even. He couldn’t let panic take control.
He really needed to stop coming up with stupid-ass plans that got him into situations he shouldn’t be in. Like pretending being a member of a gay sex club was normal for him.
Although that plan had turned out to be one of the best decisions of his life.
He could admit that now, even with the fact that he was riding around the city with a nut job who wanted to take him away, keep him locked up forever, and do God only knows what to him.
The van Kevin sat crouched inside the back of had blacked-out windows and no seats in the back half, just one long carpeted area. A plastic divider cordoned off the back of the van from the front where Prescott sat.
Kevin shivered. The temperature in the van was dropping. Prescott must’ve turned on the air-conditioning. For the first time in weeks, it felt like summer was long gone, like Kevin would be freezing for the next several months. Or maybe it was more than the AC.
He just hoped Walter had gotten out of that hotel room. Didn’t all cops know how to pick the lock on a pair of handcuffs?
Not that Walter had probably had anything to use on the cuffs, but Kevin had to trust Walter would find a way to come after him. Because with the way things were going—with Kevin huddled in the dark, freezing his ass off—his plan of helping the missing men escape might not work out so well.
Although hadn’t he told Walter this was their last shot? There was a good chance Walter wouldn’t be able to find the location where Prescott was taking him. Not that Kevin knew where they were headed either. With the black windows, he couldn’t even see in which direction Prescott drove or what part of the city they were in. They had to have been driving for over forty-five minutes now. If Prescott hadn’t mentioned taking all the men with him when he left the city, Kevin would’ve assumed they’d already hit the road for parts unknown.
Kevin had spent the first twenty minutes crawling around the floor of the van, feeling along the carpet, looking for any storage compartments, hoping to find a weapon. He hadn’t come across anything. So he’d given up on the search and sat waiting.
Now the waiting was over. The van had stopped. Kevin held his breath as the engine cut off. Less than a minute later, the back door opened. The sudden onslaught of light from a flashlight blinded him.
“I have to take care of something. Stay here.” Prescott handed him a bottle of water and shut the doors, leaving Kevin alone inside the van with the plastic bottle clutched in his hand.
This might be his only chance before Prescott locked him away. He had to see where he was going. See if he could find Dylan and the others. Or maybe he’d at least locate a weapon or get a chance to call the cops before Prescott noticed he was gone. Kevin hurled the water aside and crawled to the door. Locked, with no handle or way for him to open the door. He moved toward the front of the van, and felt along the plastic divider. His hand came upon a handle. There was no lock or keyhole. He tugged, and the divider slid sideways an inch, then got stuck. He yanked harder. Inch by inch, he worked the divider to the side. When he could fit through the opening, he climbed into the driver’s seat and tried the door handle. Unlocked.
Was Prescott this stupid? Or was there something else going on? Was he setting a trap for Kevin? Or had he been too focused on getting them out of the city and too cocky about Kevin’s agreement to come with him that he hadn’t expected Kevin to try anything?
It didn’t matter. Kevin had to take this chance, had to do whatever he could to find the others.
Slowly he swung the door open. Outside the van, it was as dark as the inside had been, no signs of life or light, like they’d driven inside a building or a garage with no windows.
The interior light of the van had switched on when Kevin opened the door. He quickly searched the front of the van but found nothing. He clicked open the glove compartment. Inside lay only a flashlight. The cheap, plastic kind that wouldn’t do much damage as a weapon. There were no papers or maps indicating where Prescott planned to take the men.
Kevin grabbed the flashlight and climbed out of the van. He held still, the flashlight pressed against his chest as he listened for any sign of Prescott. Kevin couldn’t make out his surroundings, but he didn’t want to chance the light yet.
They were definitely inside a closed building. He stepped away from the van and smacked his calf on something metal. A workbench. He felt along the top. Dust and rusted-out holes.
He clicked on the flashlight and swung the beam of light around. Metal tables filled the space. The light didn’t reach far enough for him to get a look at the walls of the room. The building had to be huge. Maybe one of the abandoned buildings near the Haven. Or maybe somewhere on the other side of the city. He had to get to a window and see where they were.