PROLOGUE
Soon, Ethan Blackwell thought, the knowledge as sweet as stolen nectar. Soon I'll be free again. He could feel the tickle of anticipation in his chest, like a thousand minuscule spiders crawling beneath his skin, as he stared out the small window of the prison van.
The van was a nondescript steel box on wheels, its insides just as bleak as its exterior. A row of benches lined both sides, bolted securely to the floor, and three men sat shackled to them by their wrists and ankles: Ethan Blackwood, Gabriel Wolfe, and Mason Cross. The oppressive air inside the vehicle seemed to thicken in the presence of this dangerous company, each of them harboring their own dark secrets.
Blackwood's thoughts turned to the two prison guards responsible for this transport. Owen Callister sat in the driver's seat, separated from the prisoners in the back by a mesh grate, his eyes locked on the endless stretch of road before him. The other guard, a man named Pete Drucker, sat among the prisoners. Sullen and mean-looking, he didn't bother hiding his contempt for the men he was tasked to watch over. His eyes darted between them like a snake tracking its prey, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.
"Enjoy your last moments of freedom," he said, his voice a low growl. "You'll be rotting away soon enough."
Blackwood met Drucker's gaze without flinching, his own eyes cold and calculating. He had long grown accustomed to the animosity of those who guarded him. But there was something about Drucker's seething hatred that made it sound as if each word carried a promise of violence behind it, waiting patiently to be unleashed.
You'll get what's coming to you, Blackwood thought. Just wait.
The silence returned, heavy and suffocating, as the men continued their journey. Blackwood tapped his fingers on his shackled wrist, wondering how much longer it would be. He stole a glance at Gabriel Wolfe. Wolfe caught the glance and gave him a crooked grin, his eyes dancing with madness.
Wolfe was a wildcard. His reputation preceded him, his name synonymous with chaos and destruction. Mason Cross, on the other hand, was an enigma. He had never quite fit in among the other inmates, his quiet demeanor unsettling in its own way. Blackwood found himself unsure of what to make of Cross, but he knew better than to underestimate anyone.
He'll stay out of the way if he knows what's good for him.
As the prison van rumbled onward, Blackwood felt the weight of the unknown press down upon him like a leaden shroud. But beneath that oppressive burden, the fire of determination burned brightly. Soon, he would be free again—and nothing would stand in his way.
The seconds ticked by as the van rumbled along, bouncing over potholes. Outside the window, the Colorado sky was blue and endless, heralding the start of a golden day. It was so close that Blackwood's heart ached with a sudden yearning for freedom. He needed to escape the cramped van with its stale, sweat-scented air.
Then he spotted it: An old ski lodge with a huge carved bear out front, impossible to miss. It meant they were halfway to the supermax prison—the perfect place to make their escape.
As the van shifted back and forth, Blackwood gave Wolfe a subtle nudge with his elbow. On cue, Wolfe shoved him back, turning to snarl at him.
"You touch me again," Wolfe said, "I'll tear your throat out."
Staring into those malevolent eyes, Blackwell almost believed him, despite the plan they had rehearsed in advance. Summoning as much defiance as he could muster (a difficult task when gazing into those wild, hateful eyes), Blackwell said, "Go ahead and try, you ugly bastard."
"That's enough, you two," Drucker said. "If you're going to kill each other, do it after we drop you off."
Cross watched the scene unfold silently, his icy gaze never leaving Wolfe. Though he said nothing, Blackwood could feel the weight of his suspicion, and he knew that Cross was well aware of the ruse.
Keep your mouth shut, Cross. Don't try to be the good guy.
"Stop looking at me like that," Blackwood said, shoving Wolfe away with his shoulder. "You think I want to smell your rancid breath?"
Drucker watched them, his lip curling up in amusement. He doesn't care what we do to one another, Blackwell thought, aware of a terrible flaw in their plan. They couldn't get close to Drucker, not with their cuffs, so they had to get him to approach them. But how was that going to happen if he didn't even care what they did to one another?
Wolfe leaned toward him, grinning madly.
"I told you," Blackwood began, but before he could finish, Wolfe's head came forward and connected with his nose. There was an instant gush of blood, and he knew without doubt his nose was broken. His head rocked back, blood trickling down his throat and spreading across his chin as waves of pain radiated through his skull.
That got Drucker's attention. Cursing, he lunged forward to grab Wolfe, his baton clutched in his other hand.
"Don't!" Cross cried, but he was too late. Before he could finish warning Drucker, Wolfe reached up with unexpected speed. The handcuffs gave his hands just enough length to grab Drucker by the collar and slamming him against the van wall. The guard's baton clattered to the floor, his eyes wide with shock and fear.
Blackwood, still reeling from his broken nose, kicked at Drucker's legs, trying to trip the guard as Wolfe fought to get his hands around the man's throat. Adrenaline surged through Blackwood's veins—aside from the broken nose, it was all happening just the way he and Wolfe had planned. He'd thought he must be crazy to have planned anything with someone as unhinged as Gabriel Wolfe, but so far it was paying off. His freedom was so close he could taste it.
As Wolfe and Drucker grappled, their limbs entwined in a violent dance, Wolfe managed to pry Drucker's gun from its holster. There was a deafening blast, and then Drucker slumped back, his face crumpling into an expression of confusion as his hand began to explore the ragged wound that had opened up in his abdomen.
"The keys!" Blackwood cried, his voice nasal. He reached for Drucker, but his cuffed hands held him back. "Grab his keys!"
Wolfe, however, had other designs. Leaning as far into the aisle as he could, he aimed for the grate through which Blackwood could see the windshield of the van. The gun went off several times in rapid succession, leaving Blackwood's ears ringing.
The van swerved suddenly, and Drucker stumbled to the floor. The keys attached to his belt lay tantalizingly close to Blackwood's feet, and he leaned forward, trying to grab them. His fingers brushed the keys.
Come on. Just stretch a little farther…
He heard the blare of a car horn, and he glanced out the window just in time to watch the outside world drift by as they careened off the side of a bridge. They seemed to be in the air for a long time, floating weightlessly. Then there was a bone-jarring crunch as the van landed and began to roll, each impact reverberating through Blackwood's body like a sledgehammer. His body shook like a rag doll, and he fought to keep himself conscious, knowing that he would need to flee the scene of the crash as soon as possible.
If he survived it, that was.
The van continued to tumble, rolling like some out-of-control amusement park ride, before finally coming to an abrupt stop. The silence that followed was eerie, interrupted only by a hissing sound from beneath the hood of the van.
"Alive," Blackwood gasped, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears. "We're alive."
Wolfe, seemingly unfazed by what had just happened, was already stooping to pluck the keys from the belt of Drucker, who was moaning and beginning to stir. Wolfe unlocked his cuffs with surprising speed, then tossed the keys to Blackwood with a savage grin.
"Stop," Drucker murmured, clamping a hand around Wolfe's ankle. "Stay where you are."
A hungry light blazed in Wolfe's eyes. He must have lost the gun during the crash because his hands were empty. With the ferocity of the animal whose name he shared, he lunged at Drucker, hands closing around his throat like a vise.
"Wait!" Cross shouted, straining against his restraints. The desperation in his voice was palpable, but he was powerless to stop the attack. Blackwood hesitated for an instant, torn between the need to survive and the growing sense of unease that gripped him as he bore witness to the brutal murder before him. He willed himself to look away, his mind rationalizing the gruesome scene; after all, no witnesses meant no one could pin this on them.
Several seconds passed as Drucker gasped for breath. Then, mercifully, his arms went limp
and fell back. Wolfe rose, panting. "Now for the other one," he said.
"This wasn't part of the plan," Blackwood said as Wolfe unlocked the back doors. Neither was you breaking my nose, he added mentally, though he knew better than to express this.
"Well, it is now," Wolfe said over his shoulder. He threw the doors open and dropped down.
Staring through the opening, Blackwood saw that they were on the bank of a river – the Colorado River, he guessed – that rushed past just twenty or thirty feet below them, the water sparkling in the sunlight. The sight was so beautiful that it almost brought tears to Blackwood's eyes.
Footsteps moved along the side of the van as Wolfe approached the driver's door.
"Come on, man," Cross said to Blackwood, his eyes earnest. "You have to stop him. That guard's innocent."
"He's a free man," Blackwood said as he finished unlocking his own cuffs. "And now, so am I."
Blackwood bent down, searching the floor of the van for the missing gun, and steadfastly ignored the sounds of struggling coming from the front of the van. His hands groped blindly through the debris, fingertips brushing against shattered glass and twisted metal, but the weapon eluded him.
"Damn it," he muttered, frustration mounting. He knew he couldn't afford to waste any more time—someone would surely discover the wreckage soon enough.
Screw this, he thought, hurrying toward the door and stepping out into the sunlight. Before he could drop down to the ground, however, Cross's voice arrested him.
"What about me?"
Blackwood looked back, debating what to do. At the same time, Wolfe came around the side of the van, staring down at his hands with a look of reverence as if high on his own power.
"What do we do with Cross? ...
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
