Beauty in the Broken

A long time later, I’ve only reached the halfway mark. I stop to catch my breath. I’d kill for a sip of water. Below, the buildings are a maze of concrete and the people mere dots of movement. Wiping my forehead on my sleeve, I carry on with my ascent. It’s a damn good thing I don’t suffer from vertigo. I’m not going to lie. It’s fucking scary. Especially when I reach the flat bottom level of the six floors that requires horizontal climbing for a short distance. Thank God I’m in good shape. It’s the one plus that came out of my imprisonment. I don’t think I would’ve pumped iron as hard if I remained a free man.

I’m reaching for the step at the first-floor windows when my leg starts cramping. Motherfucker. My calf contracts into a painful ball. Catching the step above me, I flex my foot, trying to alleviate the pain. It hurts like a bitch. I’m hovering like that, all but balancing on one foot, when a gust of wind rips around the tower. It flings my body sideways. My footing slips. I’m barely holding on with one hand. My sweaty fingers slip as I try to swing myself back and find leverage on the step with my feet. Fuck, I should’ve worn gloves. I grunt with the effort but manage to steady myself. It takes a few breaths before I’m ready to move on.

“Everything all right?” Russell’s voice asks in my ear.

“I’m at the bottom level of the floors.”

“Not far to go.”

I catch my first view through the glass. The floor is an open space of broken chairs and bar counters. The second is empty. The third and fourth, too. It’s the next level where I have to be careful. If I make a noise or Dalton spots me, Lina is dead. When I clear the concrete foundation that forms the floor, I rise slowly. My heart hammers not only from the exertion, but also from fear. I can’t screw this up for Lina. It’s my fault Dalton took her. If I didn’t take the mine, this wouldn’t have happened. I’m not going to let her down.

Holding my breath, I lift myself just high enough for a visual. The floor is in less of a shamble than the others. There are sofas that Carte Blanche probably used when they broadcast their program. I scan the space until I spot them on the far side. My heart slams to a stop in my ribcage. A spell of lightheadedness threatens to overwhelm me. Lina sits on a chair, her hands and ankles tied. Dalton has his back turned to me. Another man stands next to Dalton, a gun clutched in his hand. A rush of relief replaces the lightheadedness, but the danger is far from over. In less than fifteen minutes, Russell will have no choice but to email the contract to Dalton. I have little time to make it past the windows and onto the terrace.

I pray my movement won’t attract Lina’s attention. I don’t want her reaction to alarm Dalton. They’re talking. Lina is saying something, her face too far and too much in the shadows to make out her expression. Moving as fast and quietly as I can, I climb past the windows, praying for the first time in my life, bargaining with gods and angels and demons I don’t believe in.

Almost there. One more step. Thank fuck. I’m about to pull myself onto the terrace when a rusted bolt securing the ladder rips straight out of the wall. Bits of concrete flake around the hole. One of the bigger pieces hits the window with a sickening noise before it falls to the network of streets and buildings that looks like a Lego land below. The step swings on one hinge, hitting the wall with a clang.

I stand dead still, shaking in my boots, but it’s too late. From directly below, a frame creaks as someone pushes open a window.

Chapter 24

Lina

There’s a thud on the window, as if a bird hit the glass, and then a louder clank, like metal on concrete. I jerk in my bounds. Harold spins around, reaching for the gun in his belt. His partner joins him. I stretch my neck to see past Harold as he rushes to the window, but there’s only blue sky. Harold grips the window handle and shakes. It’s stuck. I rise awkwardly for a better view, trying not to fall over. The frame gives. The window doesn’t open far, but cool air rushes into the stale interior the sun has quickly baked hot through the expansive windows.

Harold leans out and looks up. He pulls his head back into the room with a curse. “There’s someone on the service ladder.”

“Cop?” his accomplice asks.

“I only saw his boots.” He turns, waving the gun at me. “Untie her.”