Clover pulled on the cuff again and again, finding it harder to breathe for real this time. He floated in thick waves that prevented him from taking air, but a shout coming from outside pulled him right back to a reality of dusty air and hard floors.
A dog barked a floor below, but it was a series of gunshots that had Clover freezing to the wooden surface, sucking in dust every time he inhaled.
This could’ve been anything. The client unwilling to pay up. A rival peddler. A simple argument gone wrong. Either way, he stayed still in hope of his presence remaining undetected. Maybe at least Riggs would end up dead. Motherfucker deserved it.
He could hear more voices now, but the walls muted the sound too much for him to understand what was being said. It might have been seconds or minutes before a car started outside and drove off in a hurry but the noise downstairs didn’t stop. Men were shouting to one another, leaving Clover stuck between calling for help and risking everything if those people were as cruel as Riggs. Then again, if everyone left this abandoned building without finding him, he’d surely perish of thirst. And was there a slower, more painful kind of death than that?
The decision was made for him when slow, deliberate footsteps thudded on the stairs. He must have made some sound, because the person stopped in front of his door.
“Anyone in there?” the man asked, his voice low and gruff.
Clover struggled to his knees and whimpered, set on playing the card of his innocent looks. Unlike Jerry, these people didn’t know him, so they would underestimate him. So they wouldn’t be as careful and leave him just enough space to make a run for it.
“I’m coming in. If you’re holding a gun, drop it, or I’ll shoot you on the spot.”
The words gave Clover pause, and he tapped the floor, searching for his glasses, but wasn’t able to reach them. He yelped into the gag when the man slammed into the door, smashing it with sheer strength.
Clover flinched, squinting to see better, but once the stranger shone a flashlight at him, the pale glow stabbed his eyes and made him briefly close them altogether. Still, the stranger’s silhouette was already etched into the back of his eyelids—too tall to fit in the doorway and broad in the shoulders like a bear, the man moved swiftly and efficiently when he approached.
With the light out of his face, it was easier for Clover to open his eyes again, and he tried to recognize features obscured by shadow. He moaned and, seeing that there was no brutality directed at him yet, reached out his taped wrists in a silent plea.
The stranger picked something off the floor and stopped in front of him, the flashlight casting a pale circle between the tips of his boots and Clover.
The silence made Clover’s teeth clatter as he looked up at the overwhelming presence above. The stranger held a gun, but the darkness in his face, which Clover initially took for shadow, was a ski mask that only revealed the eyes and mouth. The stranger was huge, and even if his size wasn’t indicator enough, the way he’d smashed the door with his own body told Clover the man could break him in two.
But instead of making demands or threatening Clover into submission, the man put his gun away, kneeled, and slid the lost glasses onto Clover’s nose.
The immense relief made Clover’s shoulders sag, despite him knowing he was far from safe. Things could turn sour at any moment, for any reason. That had been his experience since he could remember.
The flashlight provided enough light to betray the color of the stranger’s eyes as a deep bronze. There was no malice in them, even if the huge vest packed with equipment, and the machine gun on his back communicated enough. This was a dangerous man, but he’d come here for the people downstairs.
He let out a long exhale and studied Clover in more detail, shining the small flashlight on the shackles connecting his ankle with the pipes, but eventually put the light in his mouth and touched Clover’s face with gloved fingers.
For the briefest moment, Clover hoped those guys were military or law enforcement carrying out a special operation, but if it were so, the man would have shown him some sort of identification by now, and he would have already reported his find to the other soldiers.
He cried out when the man tore the tape off him with a sharp yank.
Gasping for air and with his eyes stinging, he pointed to his leg. “Please, please, help me. Can you take it off? Please. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Tank, you found something?” yelled a man stomping his way along the corridor.