by Lili Valente
Fuck due process; fuck international law.
If anything happened to the people he loved, the only law Clay would obey was the law of the jungle: kill or be killed and leave your enemies with the taste of fear so thick in their mouths they won’t dare cross you again.
As he moved through the still silent, seemingly deserted house, the beers sweating gently in his hands, his entire body ached for a weapon.
He and Harley hadn’t even been searched. Either the intelligence on metal detectors at Marlowe’s parties was false or Marlowe had decided against that level of security this year. Clay could have gotten away with a rocket launcher in the trunk or a box of hand grenades, let alone his 9mm. But there was no point in thinking about what could have been. There was only what was.
There were only the drugged beers in his hands, the men waiting on the third floor, and a ticking clock counting down the minutes until Harley would enter the maze with men who would brutalize her for sport.
As he reached the second-floor landing and started up the last flight of stairs, Clay made a decision—if the sedatives took more than five or ten minutes to take effect, he would knock the guards unconscious. If Harley were with him, it would make sense to get things done as quietly as possible, but now there was no time to waste.
The backup team was only twenty minutes away by car, at a public park a few miles down the main highway, blending in to a local midsummer celebration until they were needed. Clay had been assigned to similar teams dozens of times. More often than not, backup forces sat cooling their heels, waiting for a summons that never came. But tonight, Clay would be making the call for backup as soon as he and Jasper were off the property. If the team met him halfway, he could drop Jasper with the other agents and be on his way back to help Harley in forty minutes, an hour at most.
By then she will have been in the maze nearly as long. You’ll get there in time to pick up the pieces of what’s left of her. There’s no way to spare her or save her.
You don’t get to be the hero tonight.
No one does.
The thought made gorge rise in his throat again, but he swallowed and forced a smile to his face. He was nearly to the third floor and had drinks to deliver to his new friends.
He turned the corner, grinning like a fool who’d had the best afternoon of his life, to find the chairs at the end of the hall empty. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder, scanning the hallway in one direction and then the other, ears straining for signs of life coming from any of the rooms. But there was nothing to see and nothing to hear aside from echoes of the shouts and cheers coming from outside the mansion, where the annual, wild run was gearing up to begin.
Smile falling away, Clay moved quietly down the hall, depositing the two beers on the semi-circular table between the guards’ chairs. Moving closer to the door, he flattened his back against the wall and listened again, but no sound came from the room beyond.
Jasper could be gone if he’d ever been held here to begin with.
And if Jasper was gone then Harley had sacrificed herself for nothing.
Clay blinked the thought away, refusing to let it take root. If Jasper wasn’t in this room now, he had been less than two hours ago—there was no way Marlowe was holding two children captive in his mansion. That meant Jasper might still be on the property somewhere, and if he was, Clay was going to find him.
Making as little noise as possible, Clay gripped the door handle and slowly pressed it down. Chances were the room was empty—it was still silent as the grave on the other side. But just in case he preferred to get a look at the situation before he was noticed.
Back still flat to the wall, Clay turned to the left, glancing over his shoulder into the small bedroom, his chest clenching with pain and relief as he spotted the small figure bound and gagged on the other side of the room.
It was Jasper, his blond curls matted around his head and dark circles beneath his glassy eyes. He looked exhausted and likely would have fallen out of the chair if it weren’t for the thick rope wrapped around his torso, but he was alive and in one piece.
His son was alive. Now Clay just had to make sure he stayed that way.
He was about to push the door open when Jasper suddenly glanced up, making eye contact with him across the dimly lit room. But instead of looking relieved, Jasper’s blue eyes widened and he began to shake his head frantically back and forth, making urgent noises behind the gag filling his mouth.
The warning gave Clay just enough time to step back before the doorframe where his cheek had been exploded.
Chapter Fifteen
Clay
The gunshot still ringing in his ears, Clay turned and grabbed the empty chair beside him, using it as a shield as he kicked open the door and sprinted into the room. His best chance at overcoming the shooter was to move fast, giving the person trying to kill him as little opportunity to regroup as possible. By the time the second blast fired—burrowing through the seat of the chair Clay held and buzzing past his ear—he was already on top of the other man.
Clay rammed into his target, sending the shorter, thicker man slamming into the wall. He wasn’t one of the guards Clay and Harley had met before, and he clearly wasn’t the type to go down easy. Even as he grunted in pain, he lifted the gun again, preparing to take a third shot.
The man was fast, but Clay was faster.
Brandishing the chair like a baseball bat, Clay swung at the shooter’s head. He connected once, twice—with the third blow, the guard dropped to the carpet, his gun flying from his hand. A moment later, the weapon was in Clay’s possession and his foot was on the center of the thug’s chest, pinning him to the ground as he aimed the barrel at his forehead.
“What were your orders,” Clay growled, knowing there was no point in trying to be quiet now. “Tell me and you get to live.”
“Kill you.” The man winced as he spoke, clearly in pain. The left side of his face was turning wretched shades of red and purple and his eye was in the process of swelling shut.
“What else,” Clay demanded.
“Kill you and then take the kid down to the garage,” he said, his tongue probing at his busted lip. “Marlowe wants him ready to go when he gets through with the mother.”
When he gets through with the mother.
Clay’s heart stuttered and his stomach clenched into a miserable knot at the center of his body.
This was a trap. Their smooth entry into the party, the easy discovery of where Jasper was being held, the men who’d come to get Harley right before sunset—it was a trap. All of it. More of Marlowe pulling strings, making his puppets jump and bleed.
But Clay wasn’t dead, and he still had a few surprises of his own.
Without another word to the man on the floor, Clay drew back his arm and struck him hard across the temple. Pausing long enough to make sure the guard was unconscious, he turned back to Jasper, “One second, buddy, and I’m going to get you out of here.”
Jasper nodded, his eyes glittering.
Moving fast, Clay crossed the room, locking the door and dragging the bureau on the far wall in front of it to block the entrance. It wouldn’t buy him and Jasper much time, but hopefully it would be enough.
When he was finished, he returned to Jasper, removing the gag before squatting to work open the knots holding his son to the chair. As soon as his mouth was empty Jasper croaked—
“Where’s Mama? We have to find Mama.”
“I know we do,” Clay said, his chest tight. “But first I’m going to take you to some friends of mine who will keep you safe.”
“No,” Jasper said, his pitch rising. “We have to find Mama now! The bad man is going to hurt her.”
“Your mom wants you safe first, Jasper,” Clay said. “But I promise you, the second you are, I will come back for her.”
“I want Mama now.” Jasper’s voice broke and his thin shoulders began to shake. “I want my mama.”
Throat aching, Clay finally succeeded in loos
ening the knot and jerked at the ropes, freeing Jasper. He lifted his son into his arms, hugging him tight as he whispered, “You’re going to see her soon, buddy. I promise. I love your mama and I will do whatever it takes to get her back safe. I swear it. Okay?”
He pulled back to look into Jasper’s tear-filled eyes. “But I need you to be strong for me for a little longer. We have to get out of here before more bad guys show up and I’m going to need your help. Can you hang onto my back super tight or do I need to hold you?”
Jasper sniffed. “I can hang on super tight. I’m strong.”
“I know you are,” Clay said, his heart breaking. Jasper was strong, but he shouldn’t have to be. As soon as this was all over, Clay was going to do everything in his power to make sure his son was protected from the ugliness in the world. “Give me a second to get ready and we’re going to climb out that window like ninjas.”
“Okay,” Jasper said, nodding as Clay sat him back on his feet.
With swift, sure movements, Clay unraveled the sheet-rope wrapped around his waist. The rope Marlowe had used to bind Jasper was nearly long enough to reach the ground outside, but the sheets would be easier to hold onto. After a quick glance out the window—assuring himself the garden below was still silent and unguarded—he tied the rope to one leg of the heavy four-poster bed.
Less than a minute later, he had the window open, the screen popped out, and Jasper on his back, ready to make the descent.
“Okay, here we go,” Clay said, making sure his leg was wrapped in the sheet to provide extra leverage. “Hold on tight and don’t look down.”
“I will.” Jasper’s arms tightened around Clay’s neck. “But I’m not afraid of heights. I won’t be scared.”
“Good,” Clay said, pride making his throat tight all over again.
As soon as he had Harley back in his arms, he was going to tell her what an amazing job she’d done raising this brave, resilient little person. He was going to tell her he was proud of her and that he loved her and swear never to let anyone hurt her again.
And he would hold her again. Marlowe wasn’t going to win this time.
Clay repeated the mantra to himself as he slipped out the window and worked his way down the rope, swiftly carrying himself and Jasper closer to the ground. Outside, the air had gone dark blue and the sounds of the crowd gathered near the maze were louder, a haunting mixture of shouts, screams, laughter, and howling that sounded more canine than human.
As his feet hit the ground, Clay turned toward the sounds, a part of him dying to find somewhere to hide Jasper and go after Harley. He had a gun now, six more rounds, and so far it didn’t seem like any of Marlowe’s men had heard the gunshots inside the house.
Thankfully Marlowe had underestimated how much deadly force it would take to get Clay out of the picture. But if he showed up at the maze now, he would be exposed, an easy shot. It would be better to come back once the partygoers had disappeared into the labyrinth. It would be harder to find Harley, but when he did he would have fewer targets to take down to get to her.
And she had made it clear that Jasper came first. She hadn’t known she was walking into a trap, but even if she had, she would have gone. Jasper was more important to her than her own life. Clay had to honor her wishes, get their son to safety, and just hope like hell he got back to her in time.
As he turned and ran through the darkened garden—past the yurt village where lanterns lit up the tents of the more reticent partygoers, and on toward the field where the car was parked—he silently prayed for mercy.
He’d already lived through losing Harley once. He didn’t know if his heart could survive a second time.
Chapter Sixteen
Harley
Jasper is dead. Jasper is dead!
As Cutter pushed her to her knees at Marlowe’s feet, a hundred terrible thoughts raced through Harley’s mind, but none of them as loud as the voice screaming that her son was dead. If Marlowe was here, gazing down at her with a look of predatory satisfaction on his deceptively round and merry face, then her son was already dead.
And Clay. Clay, too.
Oh God, they’re both dead.
Both of them.
Both.
“No, please,” Harley said, a sob bursting from her chest. “No!”
“Well, this is disappointing.” The laughter in Marlowe’s voice was echoed by the men and women gathered behind him. “I thought it would take a little longer to get around to the begging and crying part of the evening, love. You aren’t making this much fun.”
“Please,” Harley begged though she knew it was too late.
She wasn’t even sure what she was begging for. Certainly not mercy, she knew that was out of the question. There would be no mercy. The best she could hope for was a relatively swift death, taking comfort in the fact that she would soon be beyond the pain of knowing she had failed to save her child.
“You’ve been very naughty, Harley.” Marlowe squatted down in front of her, bringing his chest level with her face. “Very, very naughty.”
He was wearing nothing but a pair of black athletic shorts and a mask pushed up on top of his head. With a detached part of her mind, Harley noted that his chest was flabby and his belly soft and wondered how someone so weak and harmless looking could control men like Cutter and his friends.
But of course, she already knew the answer—Marlowe never missed a trick. He was always three steps ahead. She’d been a fool to think she could slip into his party beneath his nose and he wouldn’t notice and an even bigger fool to think she would ever be able to lead a normal life.
There was only one way out of the Raposa cartel and there was nothing normal or life-y about it.
“You lied to me and deceived me,” Marlowe continued, “and put all of us at risk by bringing a CIA agent to a family party.” Marlowe shook his head, tutting beneath his breath as the people gathered behind him made louder, more violent sounds of disapproval.
Just like a studio audience, Harley thought hysterically as a strangled laugh clawed its way free of her throat, responding to the cues of the man who controlled them.
Marlowe smiled in response. “I should kill you. The way I killed the man you were sneaking around my house with earlier today.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t I friends?”
The crowd roared in response, the shouts and screams loud enough to make Harley’s ears ring. Pulse racing, she scanned the faces of the people gathered behind Marlowe, but almost all of them were hidden behind masks. There were wolves, hawks, hyenas with wide, toothy smiles, and wild hogs with papier-mâché tusks already bloodied with paint at the ends.
As the masked people howled for their pound of flesh, Harley realized that these masks weren’t concealing the truth; they were revealing it. Revealing the brutal, blood-thirsty animals society demanded these people keep in check when their human faces were on display.
But now, in the darkness of the shortest night of the year, they were free to wear their true faces, to be the monsters they were inside.
Marlowe held up a hand to the crowd, waiting until they quieted before shifting his attention her way once more. “But you’re a survivor, a scrapper. I like that, and I believe in giving people I like a fighting chance.” He rubbed his hands together, the night now so quiet Harley could hear the dry skin of his palms shushing together. “So we’re going to play a little game.”
“I don’t want to play,” Harley said, tears spilling quietly down her cheeks. “Just kill me.”
“Aw, come now.” Marlowe’s lips puckered in a moue of clearly false disappointment. “Don’t be like that, love. You still have so much to live for. That beautiful boy of yours, for example.”
Harley’s eyes went wide, but she was too terrified to hope, too certain that Marlowe was about to pull the rug out from beneath her if she did, just for the joy of seeing her fall to her knees all over again.
“Jasper has been asking for you,” he continued as he stood. “I
told him he might see you later tonight if you get lucky in the maze.”
Marlowe crooked two fingers at someone over Harley’s shoulder. A moment later, the man who’d held her gently, the one she’d hoped might offer her aid if things got too rough with Cutter and his friends, came forward, holding out a mask.
“Thank you, Lewis.” Marlowe took the mask and turned it toward Harley with a giddy grin.
It was a fox. A predator like the rest, but also a creature that was chased and hunted for sport.
“If you survive until the sun rises, I take you to see your son,” Marlowe said, his pale eyes gleaming in the light of the torches held by members of the crowd. “If you don’t, I bring Jasper to view your body, so that he will know his old life is dead and I am his only family.”
He held out the mask, making it dance back and forth through the air. “What do you say, doll? Ready to play?”
Throat seizing tight with a mixture of terror and determination, Harley plucked the mask from between his fingers and stood. “Are their rules to the game? Or does anything go?”
“Anything goes,” Marlowe said, reaching for the mask atop his head—a hound, of course—and pulling it into place.
“But there will be no man-made weapons allowed in the maze tonight.” He raised his voice as he turned to address the crowd, his hands thrusting into the air above his head. “We’ll be using only our teeth and claws tonight, ladies and gentlemen. That means bottles and torches stay here when the starting gun fires. Anyone who violates the order can play fox next go around.”
He fluttered his short, thick fingers while Harley slipped her mask on and fought to quiet her racing heart. “Any questions?” he asked, spinning to point at each member of the crowd in turn. “No? Well then…”
Marlowe spun back to her, bending his knees like a tiger about to pounce, letting his monster come out to play. “Then run along, little fox. We’ll give you a sporting head start, but not too sporting so you’d best run fast.”
