Blue

by Maddie James

  Her father?

  She shook her head. “No. My father hired Devin."

  Chaco laughed out loud. “Devin killed your father, my dear, if you remember. Killed him right in front of you."

  Devin shouted, “Cyan ... listen! Let me explain. Your father, we had a deal, had come to a compromise...."

  "Shut up, Devin. She's not going to believe that.” Chaco tossed the accusation over his shoulder. “She saw you kill her father in cold blood. You're a murderer. And it's not the first time.” He peered deep into Cyan's eyes. “And he'll do it again. When it suits him."

  Something in Chaco's eyes. Unsettling.

  Devin did kill her father.

  "He killed your father, Cyan. He's not to be trusted. I'm the one you need to trust."

  But he protected me. Took care of me. Loved me. Held me close, made me feel like a woman. Made me feel safe and secure. Protected.

  His voice came to her smoother, soothing, almost sympathetic. “I know what you are thinking, Cyan. You've fallen in love with him. He protected you. Was your captor, actually. Made you dependent on him. There is a term for that. Stockholm Syndrome. When people who are held captive actually begin to trust and care for their captors. It's normal. But we can help you with that."

  No. It wasn't like that.

  "Cyan, don't fall for it. Don't,” Devin begged. He was standing now. Taller. More in control of his body. His voice.

  Chaco stepped closer. “Let me help you, Cyan. Give me the gun."

  She backed up. “Stay back, Chaco.” The gun stayed put. Her arms ached, damn it, with the stress of keeping it there.

  "Please. Let's just get this over with so you can move on with your life."

  My life? Without Devin? What life would that be?

  "Look at me Cyan!” Devin. He wanted her attention. “Look at me."

  She did. His dark brown eyes pleaded.

  "I don't know what to believe,” she whimpered.

  "He killed your father, Cyan."

  "Yes, I killed him,” Devin interjected. “You know that. You were there. What you don't know is that I did it on your father's orders. When I was hired by your father, was sent to protect both of you, the deal he insisted on was this—when the going got tough, and it was evident that I could save only one of you, not both, I was to kill him. He wanted you to live. He wanted you to have a chance at life. He sacrificed his life for you, Cyan. So you could live."

  Her breathing suddenly became labored and tears filled her eyes. Her father had sacrificed himself, so she could get away. Damn it.

  "I'm just sorry you had to see it happen. That wasn't the plan."

  That's right. Her brain swirled with the events of that night a month ago. She'd burst in on them when everything happened. So fast. She'd flown into her father's bedroom when the gunshots came rat-a-tatting on her bedroom window. When they'd invaded. When all hell broke loose. And she'd seen Devin pull the trigger and her father's body fly backward just seconds before Devin had grabbed her, pulled her out the sliding glass back door, and whisked her off into the night.

  "Make a choice, Cyan,” Devin said softly. “Who do you believe. Chaco or me?"

  "The man killed your father!"

  "I know!” she screamed. “I know! Stop saying that!"

  "Make a choice, Cyan.” Devin wasn't going to give up. He never did give up on her, did he? “I love you."

  "I—"

  "Stockholm Syndrome, Cyan. You don't love him."

  I do. I do love him.

  "He's only in this for the money, Cyan. The money. He'll sell you to slave traders before the day is through."

  But I love him.

  "I've never done anything to hurt you, Cyan. Never will."

  "He's a liar. A murderer."

  Devin ignored him. “If I wanted to sell you to the highest bidder, Cyan, I wouldn't have made love with you. I would have wanted you to stay a virgin. Top choice. Higher price."

  Her arms ached. Her hands were shaking.

  "But I didn't do that. I made love to you. I wanted you."

  Maybe best to just end this. Now. She didn't know how much longer she could hold out.

  "Cyan. I love you."

  Trust him. Cyan. Trust him.

  Can I really, Daddy?

  Finally, she exhaled. Long. She looked at Chaco. Avoided looking at Devin. “All right. All right, Chaco."

  He didn't quaver. “Good. Right choice."

  "He used me once. I won't let him use me again."

  She risked one last, long look at Devin. Please understand, Devin. Please.

  She started to lower the gun.

  "Good girl, Cyan. Let me have it.” Chaco stepped closer. She lowered the weapon a few more inches.

  Another step.

  Another inch.

  Two.

  Three.

  When Chaco reached about two arms lengths away, she rapidly raised the gun, braced herself, aimed, and shot him square in the chest. Within the next second, she'd angled her stance away from where he fell into a heap and took out the lead guy, who had barely had time to lift his heavy rifle. Her shot was dead-on, hitting him solidly in the center of his forehead. He fell backward with a thunk against the earth.

  Guess all that target practice her father had insisted on paid off, too.

  Devin had picked up her cue. By the time she'd taken out two of them, he'd knocked the legs out from under the goon holding him in check, broken his neck, whipped his gun away from him and shot the other man square in the face.

  Cyan stopped, looked around at the scene, then flung her gun away in disgust.

  She'd just killed two men.

  Devin had killed the other two.

  She looked to him, her chest heaving. Doubt and fear and every uncertain thought imaginable welled up in her. He stood ten feet away. His chest lifting up and out, sucking in breath after breath.

  Had she make the right choice?

  Trust him.

  She flew into his arms. Devin caught her up, held her tight, and they both exhaled long and hard. He kissed her, held her to him. Devoured her.

  "I do love you,” he whispered into her hair.

  "I love you more,” she whispered back. She did.

  When she pulled away, looking into his face, she saw the mist in his eyes. Knew he was hers. Knew he would never lie to her. Would always protect her. Stockholm Syndrome be damned.

  He placed his hands on both sides of her head, looked longingly and deep into her eyes. “Cyan, I didn't want to kill your father. I did what—"

  She placed a forefinger on his lips. “I know, Devin. I know."

  He closed his eyes for a second. “Thank you."

  "What do we do now?"

  Devin breathed deeply. “We get out of here. The way we came in is blocked. I've seen the maps. Your father gave them to me, when he told me to bring you here. There is another exit. We'll find it."

  "Where will we go?"

  He shook his head. “I don't know yet. Just out of here for now. I'll figure out a plan. Trust me."

  Yes. She would. They might be on the run, but they had each other. And that meant the world to her.

  "We have to do one thing first, though.” He took the sapphire in his hands and then lifted the necklace off over her head.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm sorry, but this has to stay here."

  "Why? It was a gift from my father."

  He nodded. “I know. It was my idea, actually. It has an advanced GPS tracking device in it. That's why he told you to always wear it. In case you got separated from us, from me, we could track you. Unfortunately, I think the government was tracking you too. Better off to leave it here."

  She nodded.

  He tossed it toward Chaco's inert body. Cyan noticed the lingering gaze Devin held on his friend.

  "We're totally on our own now, aren't we?"

  He turned back to her and nodded. “We can only trust each other, Cyan."

  She knew that. I
t didn't matter. As long as she had him.

  "Let's go."

  THE END

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