Leather Thumb And Finger Guards Novels & Stories

My thumb hits something solid, a thick, rusted iron brace holding the old drainage pipe to the rock face. I hook my bleeding fingers under the edge of the iron strap. I pull with everything I have left in my shoulders. My muscles scream, the silver cuffs burning deep into my forearms, but the rusted bolts groan against the stone. Snap. The top bolt shears off, falling into the dirt. The iron bracket comes loose, eight inches of heavy, rusted metal ending in a thick, flat bar. It's rough, heavy, and solid enough to bend iron. I slide the flat edge of the brace under the base of the cell door, testing the leverage against the lock frame. If I can wedge it near the bottom hinge, I can pop the l

He slid down the stone, motionless. *** Tires screeched at the top of the ramp. Leo and four tactical guards spilled out of a second black vehicle, weapons drawn. "Secure the perimeter!" Leo yelled, his boots heavy against the floor. "Lock the gates!" The second thug, the one who had held the cuffs, tried to jump toward the open sliding door of the wrecked van. I grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him backward. He stumbled, flailing his arms. I drove my left forearm into his jaw, the blow echoing off the low concrete ceiling.