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Lachlan took the key from me.

“I’ve got the rest. Watch the door.”

No argument.

I stood and pulled the knife from the side pocket of the backpack while he bent forward and unlocked one ankle, then the other.

For a second, neither of us moved.

Then Lachlan planted both boots on the concrete and stood.

His face tightened.

That was all the pain he was going to show.

He rocked backward, but caught the back of the chair with one hand and stayed on his feet.

He rolled one shoulder, looked toward Father, and became a different man.

Not the prisoner.

Not the man I’d been sneaking water and food to.

But the dangerous one I had suspected was sitting beneath all those restraints all along.

Lachlan crossed the room.

He crouched beside Father with a soft groan, reached beneath the back of his jacket, and pulled a pistol from its holster.

He checked it with quick, practiced movements.

Just then, a key scraped inside the main door’s lock.

He moved before I could speak.

One second he was beside Father, the next he was directly in front of me with the pistol raised toward the door.

“Lachlan—”

The door opened.

Rafael stepped in with his own gun already drawn.

“Wait!”

I pushed beside Lachlan before either man could decide the other was a threat.

“Rafael.”

Lachlan shifted just enough to block me with his arm.

“Get behind me.”

“He’s with us.”

Rafael’s gaze flicked to the arm Lachlan had put across me, then to the pistol aimed at his chest.

No fear.