14. MIDDAY: THE GAMBLE
Ava
My insides are hollow, and I wish more than anything Dax had let me go with him. I struggle with the idea of needing him, when only hours ago, I wanted nothing more than to be as far away as possible. He has no idea that leaving me here alone has allowed the sorrow to sneak up in his absence and take over my soul.
Only I know that even in his most annoying moments, Dax erases my pain and wipes away reality to wrap me up in his fairy-tale dream, and this one is real enough to touch. How could I let him out of my sight? What if he never comes back? I wipe the tears away and run outside to stare at the spot where he vanished just minutes ago. He couldn’t have gone far.
The water separating me from the forest is warm like a fresh-drawn bath and soothes my skin as I swim across. I push past my exhaustion and climb to the top of the natural rock wall. Ducking under the leaves, I peer into the dense forest before climbing down to the bottom.
“Dax?” I yell in a hushed whisper and take a few steps into the forest.
Nothing.
“Dax?” I say again, a little louder.
A branch snaps in the distance to my left. My heart pounds and I run a few feet, pushing back the branches in my path and then stop.
“Dax? Is that you?” I hear nothing but birds.
The thick forest blocks out so much sunlight that I strain to see something white moving through the trees in the distance. It looks like a shirt—one white enough to be a pilot’s shirt like Preston, Kirk, or Anna’s. My breath catches and I stumble forward, catching a glimpse of dark hair before the figure disappears into the trees.
Preston!
I take off running and keep my eyes fixed on the place where I saw him.
“Preston!” I yell, then listen for a response and pray I’ll hear it over the thrashing as I make my way through the trees and bushes. I pick up speed, frantic to catch another glimpse of him to assure I’m headed in the right direction.
“Preston!” I yell again and then pause.
A cracking sound comes from the same direction. I sprint towards it, repeating his name in a desperate plea—afraid he’ll move too far out of range to hear my voice. The noise gets louder, and I know I’m getting closer. I’m moving as fast as I can in the thick underbrush, trying not to trip on small tree roots and vines. A glimpse of white fabric confirms I’m heading in the right direction.
“Preston!” I whisper-yell just as my foot catches a large root and sends me plunging forward onto my stomach. When I lift my head, I’m face to face with a skull, laying in a crude graveyard full of bones scattered among crawling vines speckled with small flowers. Judging from the size and shape—they’re human. Stifling a scream, I scramble to my feet, unintentionally kicking and displacing another skull that rolls to a stop inches from my left toe. I lunge forward through a bush of dense green leaves in front of me to escape the nightmarish scene. In my haste, I trip and fall again.
I’ve fallen into a clearing filled with huts and stick houses built high up in the trees. I search the open space and my hope of not being discovered dissipates when I make eye contact with a man only a few feet away. He’s holding a broken branch in both hands and is staring at me with wild eyes. My stomach rolls into a tight ball.
He lets the wood fall to the ground and starts sprinting toward me, so I push myself to my feet and turn to run back the way I came, kicking and tossing the bones astray with my feet as I sprint to get away. At first, all I can hear is the squishing of wet moss under my shoes combined with my rapid breaths as I tear through the wall of green with absolutely no sense of direction.
I have to get as far away as possible, but now I can hear him behind me, his steps softer than mine but deafening in my head as the realization hits that he’s gaining on me. And I’m a hot pink moving target. I’m panting and gasping for air while I contemplate removing the tank top and ditching it in the trees, but I know that will only slow me down. If I can just make it to the beach. Where is the beach!?
His body smashes into me like a freight train, hurling us both to the ground. I scream out and struggle to break free from his grasp, but he’s too strong. He sits on top of me and pins me down while staring at me with wide eyes, the whites of them prominent against his dark face covered in bright-colored paint.
He’s holding my wrists. An evil smile spreads across his face before he goes for my throat with a mouth full of jagged, yellow teeth. I flinch and whimper as he drags his tongue across my skin like a wild animal, from my neck to the top of my cheek, and then he licks his lips slowly with a crazed look in his eye.
Both of my hands are held together with one of his, and he yanks a vine from the forest floor to wrap securely around my wrists. Grabbing another vine, he manages to wrap it around my ankles while he holds down my legs and fastens them tightly.
I’m still screaming and calling out Dax’s name. The mostly naked man stands above me with a satisfied grin, and then bends down to pick me up. I try to squirm away, but he throws me over one shoulder and makes his way back to the clearing. My screams are lost in my sobs, and I beg him to let me go. I know he can’t even understand me, but I beg anyway.
Hanging upside down is disorienting, but the ground become less green and the branches dragging across my sides become absent. He stops walking and speaks in a language I don’t recognize. There are other men talking, but I can’t see through my hair that hangs over my face.
He puts me on my feet and shoves me to the ground. I’m completely enclosed in a wall of scantily clothed cannibals, adorned with necklaces made of human finger bones and teeth. A few women stand behind the men with bones embellishing their hair and stare at me in a demented sort of way, as if summing up my size to determine how long I’ll need to cook.
And then I see her.
A woman from the tribe holding a basket of fruit, wearing a white shirt unbuttoned—and I recognize it. Preston’s shirt is the only thing covering her besides a short skirt of leaves. I inhale a sharp breath and mumble Preston’s name between sobs, wishing now that Dax hadn’t swam out to save me. Drowning had to be less painful than the fate I was doomed for next.
Two men slide a large stick of bamboo between my wrists and ankles to pick me up. I dangle there helplessly while my captor speaks with a man wearing a crown of feathers.
“Please,” I plead in a pathetic whimper. “I’m with Dax.” Maybe the mention of his name will somehow help my dire situation.
The men carry me to a crude animal pen and put me inside. They shut the cage door and walk away to gather broken branches like the ones my captor first had in his hands before discovering me, and then they toss them into the large pit.
I put my head down on my knees, hating myself for leaving Dax’s castle to begin with. That was the stupidest thing I could have done—maybe I deserve to die. I hope the end will come quickly, sparing me from a torturous death of suffering in agony, but that hope dwindles with each stick they throw on the fire shooting up from the hole in the ground.
I fumble with the vine around my ankles, but my hands are bound so tightly I can barely move the tips of my fingers—not enough to allow me to undo any knots. There’s no hope of escaping. I watch helplessly as the entire village prepares to make a meal out of me. My captor and the man with the feather crown are still arguing. Two men approach the pen, and my heart rate picks up.
This is it. I’m going to die.
Using the stick of bamboo, they carry me towards a human-size spit over the large pit of flames in the center of the village, but my captor’s voice stops them. They pause for him to bark a command, and then they take me to a small hut on the ground at the far end of the village. With no regard for my spine, they drop me on the dirt floor and laugh as they exit. I’m alone. The only exit is the small doorway they carried me through with an animal skin flap covering the opening. Underneath the flap, I can see their feet standing guard outside the doorway.
Determined to free my legs, I pick at the
knotted vine holding my ankles, but my hands are shaking so bad I don’t make much leeway before my captor pushes aside the flap and enters the hut. He’s a solid mass of muscle, dwarfing the already tiny room, and he steps closer to tower over me. This is not good. My breath hitches in my throat, but I refuse to cry.
Don’t show weakness. Don’t show weakness. Don’t show weakness.
He pulls a bone knife from his hip, and I flinch when he stoops down with it in his hand. I close my eyes and pray for a painless death. I’m going to die! He’s going to kill me! My heart is pounding so hard I wonder if it will explode in my chest and kill me before he has the chance. Nothing is happening… nothing is happening… when is it going to happen? Do it now—do it—do it! I picture Preston’s angelic face and assure myself I will be with him soon. DO IT!
The touch of a hand on my head startles me, and I let out a cry—then hold my breath—repeat Preston’s name a hundred times in my head—but I’m still alive. He smoothes his hand over my hair, and I want to look—I can’t look—but I want to. What is he doing?
My lids flutter open, and I stop breathing. He’s leaning over me with the knife in one hand and my hair in the other. He’s studying the strands and pinching them in between his rough fingers, rubbing them together before bringing the tuft to his nose. He smells it, and then a sly smile creeps across his face. I’m trying not to breathe, but I can’t hold the air anymore and let out a jagged breath.
Only a second passes before he slices the vines holding my ankles with unexpected swiftness, and I stare up at him in shock. With a less-than-gentle touch, he yanks me to my feet. A tinge of hope flickers inside me. Is he going to let me go? I start to thank him but before I can even form the words, he shoves me back against the wall of the hut. The sound of ripping fabric snaps me back to reality.
No, no, no!
My hands fight him as he tears at my tank top and then before I know what’s happening, his massive hand clamps down on my jaw, pressing my head against the bamboo to hold me in place. I grope for the knife I know is at his waist, but his other hand snatches my bound wrists and squeeze them so tight I think he’ll snap them in half. I want to scream, but I can’t get enough air into my lungs. I jerk my knee up, but he deflects my jab with a twist of his hips and moves closer. The struggle loosens the vine and one of my wrists springs free. Instinct tells me to claw at his face, but he releases my jaw to secure both of my wrists again above my head and holds them easily with one hand. His other hand wraps around the hair at the base of my neck, and pain splinters my scalp. He forces his lips down on mine, and I’m gagging and choking and suffocating.
No, no, no!
Why can’t he just kill me? I muster every bit of courage I have to fight and do the only thing I can—bite down hard. He jerks back with a growl and a trickle of blood springs from his lip. I can taste his blood in my mouth and I should run, but I’ll never make it—not more than a foot. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at the blood. Anger spreads across his face and without warning, the back of his hand slams into the side of my face.
The dirt floor is hard and all I see for a moment is black, then swirling stars as the thatch ceiling comes into view. Maybe I should pretend I’m knocked out, and then run when he least expects it.
Then he’s on top of me, pinning my arms and legs down like he did in the forest. My attempts to fight my way free are nothing more than wiggles with his massive weight presses down on me, so I scream with everything I have left.
Through the blur of my tears, I see the door flap open. One of the guards sticks his head inside to speak, and there is a frantic edge to his voice. My captor grabs the vine from the floor and reties my wrists together, then yanks the knife from his side and grabs my hair. I whimper, waiting for him to slice my throat, but the slicing sound next to my ear brings no pain. He holds a severed wisp of my hair and wipes his mouth again with the back of his hand. Standing up, he follows the guard outside.
Over my sobbing, I hear someone yelling from the opposite side of the clearing. I scoot to the doorway and peer underneath the flap. The men have stopped gathering wood and are facing the intruder, blocking him from my view. The man with the feather crown must be the chief, because he stands with his arms folded across his chest and the others wait, prepared to defend him. The mysterious, stern voice talks in the same language and the men listen.
The chief finally speaks, and the two argue back and forth. The chief points to my captor on his left, and more words are exchanged between the three. Then, after a moment of silence, the chief gives a command and the men step aside, one by one. And as they separate, I exhale with relief to see Dax standing before them holding his bow—with an arrow aimed at the chief’s head.
I let out a hoarse cry. “Dax!”
His eyes dart in my direction. One of the guards outside the door reaches through the flap and grabs me by the hair. The pain is too much. I cry out as he drags me outside, and then lifts his hand to silence me. I brace for the blow, but the man lets out a painful yelp and lets go. He’s staring at the arrow through the lower part of his arm, and the threat of vomiting forces me to look away. Faster than I even think possible, Dax has a new arrow aimed at the chief’s head.
For a second, all I can hear are my short, panicked breaths before the chief barks an order. The second guard yanks me off the ground, frees my wrists, and drags me to where Dax stands waiting. His expression is unreadable. The man shoves me forward and I think Dax will catch me before I fall, but he keeps his eyes and bow on target. I pull myself up and stand as close to Dax as possible.
My captor and Dax exchange a few angry words, and then Dax groans.
“Give him your bracelet,” he says without a glance in my direction.
Surely, he’s not talking to me. “What?”
He lets out an irritated sigh and repeats the sentence through his teeth. “He wants your bracelet. Give it to him.”
I glance around at all the faces peering back at me, waiting for me to obey. But I can’t seem to do it.
“Now!” Dax yells, and I jump.
Why the bracelet? It’s the only gift Preston ever gave me, and the only piece of him I have left. Fighting back tears, I reach up with a shaky hand to unhook the clasp. I start to step forward, but Dax stops me.
“Stay where you are and toss it to him.”
I do as he says. He spouts off a few more words before telling me to follow him, and then he slowly backs out of the clearing.
When we are safely hidden from view behind the bushes, Dax lowers his bow and grabs my hand. He starts running into the forest, pulling me behind him. I start to thank him, but he shushes me and orders me not to talk. We are moving fast and he seems to know exactly where he’s going, but then he stops so abruptly to look behind us that I can’t stop in time and plow right into him.
I don’t even have a chance to apologize because he grabs what’s left of my tank top and yanks it over my head before I can protest. He picks me up, running to a large tree where he shoves me in between the enormous root system that extends from the ground up along the trunk. Wedging himself inside the small space with me, he presses his body up against mine. I’m pinned between him and the inside of the trunk. We’re completely hidden from view. One of his hands is pressed so hard over my mouth that I think I might smother.
The thick roots block out most of the light, but I can still see his face, so close to mine that only his hand separates our lips. He looks into my frightened eyes and holds one finger of his other hand to his lips, signaling me to not make a sound. Next, he reaches down and with precision, he pulls out his knife without a sound and grips the handle inches from my face.
I peel my eyes away from the six-inch blade to look into his blue eyes, but they aren’t scared, just serious and intense, as if he’s looking at me but concentrating on something else. And then I hear what he’s been waiting for and must have heard before. Someone’s approaching a few feet away, slowly
and precisely, the sound barely audible over the loud beating of my heart as it pounds against him.
The heat and humidity is almost suffocating. I’m not sure if it’s my sweat or his that drips onto my chest and trickles down on a slow course, torturing me as it rolls across my exposed skin. I should be horrified that I’m standing pressed against his smooth, bare chest in my bra, but all I care about is not being discovered by whatever hunts us a few feet away.
I can hear feet treading in circles around us, and I imagine the hunter studying broken branches and freshly pressed earth, looking for clues to our whereabouts. We stand motionless, staring at each other and listening intently. Finally, the sound of footsteps in the forest begins to fade away until I can’t hear it at all.
I sigh in relief, but Dax shakes his head and remains perfectly still with his hand over my mouth. Wanting to protest, I feel my brow crease with concern, but his stern look holds me there.
After what seems like an excruciatingly long minute, I hear the footsteps approach again in a casual run. I hold my breath as the sound gets closer than before, but instead of stopping, the footsteps continue on past us in the opposite direction from where they had come.
His body relaxes and his forehead rests against mine. After he’s sure the hunter’s gone, he removes his hand from my mouth, but not before he motions again for me to not speak by putting his finger to his lips. I nod in response, and he steps out from behind the root system. Grabbing my hand, he runs, still pulling me behind him.
For a few minutes I think we’re heading back to the castle, but then we break through the trees onto the beach where he found me. I’m afraid to talk and he doesn’t speak to me at all, so I follow him in silence until we reach the rocks and climb to the cave that’s waiting at the top. Once inside, he turns to face me with his hands on his hips. His expression is unmistakably angry. A fine line separates his lips, his jaw is clenched tight, and I can’t help but notice the sharp rise and fall of his tan, muscular chest. Air’s rushing in and out of his lungs, and it’s not because he’s out of breath. His narrowed eyes make me feel like a small child about to be scolded for misbehaving badly.
Wicked Luck Page 16
