Unshackle (Deliver 7)

“What are you doing, Mr. Smith?” Marco asked, not bothering to chase him.

“Retrieving my property.” He wouldn’t survive their gunfire, but he would do everything in his power to ensure that she escaped.

Beyond the spotlight’s beam, he waited until the water rose to his hips before discreetly removing the key card and phone from his pocket. Both went into one shoe, which he kept above the water and shielded from their view.

“Come back here,” Marco called in a bored tone. “We will shoot you.”

“Do it, Marco, and you’ll invite an army of enemies you won’t win against.”

“How will they find us?” Marco laughed.

He met the man’s eyes over his shoulder. “How did I find you?”

Marco’s face went taut. Let him stew on that for a while.

As the water rushed over his shoulders, he kept the insides of the shoes dry, floating them smoothly along the surface.

The swim toward her was the longest half-minute of his life. The spot between his shoulder blades tingled beneath the aim of multiple guns.

They could shoot him at any moment, but he counted on them waiting. He was providing them with a show of human suffering and vain hope. It was the ultimate entertainment. They lived for this shit.

He slowed at the center, scanning the illuminated water for squirming black bodies. Thank fuck for the light—

It clicked off, dousing him in pitch black.

“Turn it back on,” he roared, panic setting in.

The laughter of monsters erupted on the shore.

Fuck them. Without the light, he couldn’t see the spiders. But it also meant the cartel couldn’t see him.

He released the shoes, letting them float. Then he inched toward the bobbing spider-covered dome.

“It’s me,” he whispered. “I’m going to remove the gag first. Don’t make a sound when I do.”

He couldn’t see her face through the squirming bodies to know if she was still above water. There were too many, some falling into the black depths around him. He could splash the mesh hood or hit it with a shoe to clear it, but that would just scatter the threat and waste time.

His skin erupted with the sensation of crawling legs, and he spun, shaking himself beneath the surface. His blood pressure exploded, and paranoia set his teeth on edge.

He breathed through it, drew a deep gulp into his lungs, and dove.

His eyes opened to sheer blackness, but he found her legs quickly. Sliding his hands over her jeans, the life vest, and her neck, he reached the surface with questing fingers.

Her skin felt warm and alive, her face still above water. Still breathing.

Hang on, Vera.

There wasn’t enough room in the dome for both of them. So he tucked his head downward, kicked his legs to maintain buoyancy, and blindly unbuckled the spider gag.

A sudden, searing prick erupted on his forearm. He screamed, unable to control the reaction, and his lungs expelled precious bubbles of air.

Motherfucking fuck! That hurt!

It was just one bite. God only knew how many she’d suffered already.

His pulse pounded as his fingers located her lips and pried the metal ring from her mouth. Pulling the gag away, he tackled the rope on her hands.

He couldn’t hear anything, didn’t know if the cartel was yelling for him. He couldn’t care. His lungs burned for air, but he needed her out of this rope.

When the knot around her hands finally gave, his chest was on fire. He kicked hard, shooting upward and surfacing only long enough to take a huge breath. Then he dove for her feet.

The rope there took longer, the knot too tight to loosen with fingers. He wasted invaluable seconds trying to untie it from the cement block.

They’d done this before. Everything was too perfectly measured. From the anchor to the life vest, her body was stretched in a vertical line, allowing no wriggle room. The dome was fastened to the vest, which she should be able to unzip and slip—

Her knees bent above his hands, eliminating the taut stretch of her legs. She’d removed the vest.

Soft fingers curled around his, and together they tore at the knot around her ankles.

He wanted to sigh beneath her living, breathing touch. He ached to hold her and whisper kisses across her skin and show her how much he loved her.

The rope fell away.

They reached the surface together to the sounds of Marco shouting from the shore.

“Mr. Smith, bring her here.”

“Did you get bitten?” he whispered.

“Just a few times.” She cupped his face in the dark, her legs sliding soundlessly against his as she stayed afloat.

She was close enough that he could make out her exquisitely fierce features. And the movement in her hair.

Near her temple, a black widow clung with long legs, seemingly tangled in a curly lock.

“Oh, God, there’s one in my hair, isn’t there?” Her question rode on a hesitant breath.

“Hold still.” His chest constricted as he pinched the hard black body, cringing as he flung it away.