It was the Zeta who’d killed Joaquin.
He was carrying something—a plate of food for her. He moved toward her cell, yelled at Zach. “¡Cállate, cabrón!”Shut up, asshole!
Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, she came up behind him, raised her broken left handcuff as if it were a mace and brought it crashing down on his head.
“¡Ay!” The plate clattered to the floor as he grabbed his skull.
“Again, Natalie! Hit him hard and fast!”
But Natalie didn’t need Zach’s encouragement. She swung the cuffs again and again, striking the Zeta’s head and neck, beating him down, driving him to his knees.
He reached for her, but primed on adrenaline, she jumped backward, then swung again, leaving him on all fours.
She wasn’t even afraid now, her actions fueled by pent-up rage. She thought of Joaquin and poor Sr. Marquez—and kicked the man who’d killed them in the stomach as hard as she could once, twice, three times, until he lay on the floor holding his middle. Then she brought the brick she’d held in her left hand down on the back of his skull.
The Zeta lay still, his body lying halfway in her cell, the door swinging open.
Had she killed him?
She stepped hesitantly forward, afraid he was just pretending.
“Make sure he’s finished, Natalie, or all of this will have been for nothing!”
The Zeta groaned, raised an arm sluggishly to his head.
It’s not easy to kill a man.
Now she knew what Zach meant.
From inside the church came the sound of men’s voices.
“Oh, God!” She raised the brick and struck the semiconscious Zeta again with every ounce of her strength, pain shooting up her arm to her shoulder.
“If he’s down, search him for weapons and keys.” Zach sounded so calm, as if he were taking her through how to change a flat tire.
Natalie dropped the brick, knelt down beside the dead Zeta, and began to search his body with trembling hands. Touching the corpse of a man she’d just killed was beyond revolting. “There’s a gun in his pocket . . . and a knife . . . but I can’t find the keys!”
“Breathe, Natalie.” Zach’s voice wrapped around her again, shielding her from her own fear. “Forget what just happened. Forget those men’s voices out there. Just breathe.”
Natalie closed her eyes, drew a steadying breath. And when she opened her eyes, she saw the keys lying on the floor among scattered grapes. “I found them!”
“Hot damn! You did it, Natalie! Now, get me out of here!”
She tucked the gun in the back of her pants, grabbed the knife and the keys, and with trembling fingers searched for the one that unlocked the door to Zach’s cell. Three keys were bigger than the rest and looked like they might fit the shape of the keyhole.
She hurried to his cell door and tried the first. It slid into the keyhole but didn’t turn. “Oh, come on!”
Men’s voices made her look over her shoulder.
“They’re still inside.” Zach’s voice soothed her, only now she could see him—a dark silhouette hunched against the wall. “Don’t think about them. Work the lock.”
Heart thrumming, she tried the second key. It slid easily into the keyhole, and . . .
Click.
She opened the cell door, cringing as it squeaked on its hinges, then hurried inside and knelt down in front of Zach, looking at the smaller keys on the keychain. “One of these should open your cuffs . . .”
She lifted her gaze to look at him—and felt a hard lump in her throat.