Breaking Point Read Online Free Page B

if there was a firefight and someone accidentally fired into the trunk?
    She held her breath and listened, desperately hoping to hear sirens.
    More shouts. More gunshots. And now singing.
    But no sirens.
    And then it came to her.
    They weren’t being pursued. They were celebrating.
    All those murders, the grief they would cause, the fear they’d created on that street—they had committed a massacre, and they were reveling in its aftermath.
    What kind of men could enjoy killing like that?
    No, not men. They were monsters.
    And she was their prisoner.
     
    ZACH LAY ON his side, no longer able to give a damn about scorpions. His body shivered uncontrollably from shock. His skin burned, seeming to shrink around his bones, every nerve ending on fire. His throat was raw from yelling—or whatever you called it when you screamed from between clenched teeth. He’d been through surf torture in BUD/S. He’d been hungry, cold, hot, sleep deprived. He’d lain half-dead in the dirt for hours with a round lodged in his back. But he’d never ever been through anything that could touch this for sheer pain.
    What was it Jimmy used to say when they went into combat?
    Hoka hey! It is a good day to die.
    Today was a good day to die. Yesterday had been good, too. The day before would have been even better.
    Quit your whining, McBride. You’re pathetic! On your feet!
    “Hooya!” Zach answered aloud and raised his head before realizing that the voice he’d just heard had come from his own mind.
    He was losing it. He’d hit the wall—hard. Time to rest. He needed rest.
    He closed his blindfolded eyes and sank into oblivion.
    Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And poor Jill got stuck carrying the water by herself.
    Natalie bit at the duct tape that bound her wrists, reciting nursery rhymes in her mind to keep her panic at bay. She spat out a little piece of tape and bit into it again, gratified when she realized she was down to the layer just above her skin. The tape was so strong and sticky that she’d had to nibble through it a layer at a time. Not that having the use of her hands would do her much good. There were more of them—and they had guns.
    Hey-diddle-diddle
The cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed . . .
    And she couldn’t remember the rest.
    She spat out another piece of tape and another, then twisted her wrists, the tape pulling apart where she’d weakened it and at last giving way. Biting back an exultant laugh, she tore off the strips that stuck to her skin and threw them aside, her hands finally free.
    Then, careful not to bump anything or make a sound, she turned onto her side and brought her knees up toward her chest, reaching down to pull off the tape that bound her ankles. It was hard to maneuver, and it took more than a few tries before she was able to find the end, get a grip on it with her nails, and unbind her ankles.
    For a while, she lay there in the stifling dark, breathing hard.
    She was thirsty, so thirsty, the heat unbearable, the carpet itchy against her sweaty skin. She had no idea how many hours had gone by. Wherever they were taking her, it was far outside the city, far from any place where the police would think to look for her—if they were looking for her and not in cahoots with the men who’d kidnapped her.
    Jack be nimble
Jack be quick
Jack jump over the candlestick
    She reached out beside her, searching the darkness for something, anything she might be able to use as a weapon. A pair of boots. Bits of cord and what felt like burlap. A box of bullets. A roll of duct tape. Something cold and hard—a tire iron? No, it was too short to be a tire iron. Both ends had holes, as if it were meant to screw on to something. Was it a scope for a rifle or part of a gun barrel?
    She closed her hand around it, then froze as smooth asphalt gave way to the crunch of gravel. The car slowed, turned, and then rolled