Stranded (Auctioned Book 2)

by Cara Dee

  “You know the drill,” Darius said, pocketing his knife. “Don’t wait. If you see anything—anything—that’s close enough, you head back in and report to us.”

  “Yes, sir.” He nodded at the arrows. “Are you hiding a bow somewhere? They’re a little short.”

  “Dip ’em in poison and stick the ends in the sand, and you won’t need a bow.”

  “Ouch.” Nikolaj winced. “Is it effective?”

  “We’ll see. If nothing else, a shout of pain will ruin any element of surprise.” Darius passed Niko and went from rock to rock until he was back on the beach.

  The fires were barely visible through the thick tree line, so they were even less visible from the sea. Another thing that was at least a little reassuring.

  The camp was fairly camouflaged on its own now too. Makeshift beds, a hammock made from braided leaves, food storage, and medical supplies had been stowed away. Gray had distracted Charlie, Oliver, and Rob by digging a hole in the ground for everything. Shallow and wide, it was the perfect pit to cover up with the lifeboat, followed by leaves, sand, and bushes.

  And yet, Gray refused to see the asset he was…

  Darius shook his head and—hell, another thing. Another reason why Gray was brilliant. The hole he’d dug on the beach earlier…? To keep fish alive in, effectively giving them a food cache if fishing was slow one day. The kid had a prepper mind, Darius mused to himself.

  It seemed Ryan was on the same page as Darius. As he entered the camp, he spotted his brother putting together a well-used, age-old alarm system. Ryan had found thread somewhere, perhaps he’d taken it from the cushions, and he was tying empty cans to it. Far from the tripwire that would trigger explosives, though it would be helpful to prevent any sneak attacks.

  Gray and Jonas were on the other side of the small camp, helping some of the boys get to sleep.

  “Good call.” Darius sat down next to Ry in front of the boat and dumped his own creations on the ground.

  The satphone was there too. It was almost amusing how obsessed Ryan was with fixing it, despite knowing none of them were very good with tech.

  “Same to you,” Ryan chuckled. He eyed the stakes and spears with a glint of dark pleasure. “This could be fun.”

  “Don’t let Angel hear you say shit like that,” Darius warned halfheartedly. At the same time, Gray approached with Jonas. “You have too much fun with this for a retired grunt.” That gave him pause, and the humor faded, replaced with a pinch of worry. “You don’t miss the service, do you?”

  “Fuck no.” Ryan shook his head and secured the last two cans. “Just…once I’m in a situation like this, I can only be one person.”

  That made sense. Darius could relate. “And it’s not the San Francisco bartender who’s using his wife as a baby factory.”

  Ryan smirked. “Since when do two kids qualify as a baby factory?”

  “Since they arrived at the same time.”

  “You…” Ry huffed. “I’m not gonna respond to that.”

  Darius grinned faintly and scratched his nose. His gaze zeroed in on Gray, who sat down a few feet away where the leftover food from dinner was laid out on two giant leaves. Jonas stoked the fire a bit, and the two made plans to take the “kids” to the waterfall in the morning to wash clothes.

  It was as amusing as it was worrying to Darius that Gray seemed to have this incessant need to be the adult. He wasn’t part of a generation where showing weakness was the biggest crime, and the trait went against everything Darius knew about Gray’s upbringing.

  “You gotta be hungry, Dare.” Gray started gathering grilled fish and fruits on the lid of a container.

  “Has he told you I used to call him Dare as a kid?” Ryan asked with a smirk.

  “Oh yeah, he hates it,” Gray responded frankly. “It’s cute.”

  Ryan laughed.

  Darius rolled his eyes and flicked a glance at Jonas as he stood up and held his hands over the fire to warm ’em up. It wasn’t that cold, was it?

  “No one else is allowed to call him Dare, though,” Jonas commented slyly. His scruff glinted in the fire, and Darius cocked a brow at Gray. The days they’d been stranded had given most of them tans and stubble. Add a scowl on Gray’s face. And a flush? Difficult to see in the dark.

  Gray got defensive. “I feel like it’s my duty to be his personal terror.”

  Which was why Darius didn’t bitch at the name so much. Let the kid have his fun.

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s why, Gray,” Jonas chuckled.

  A loud crack ricocheted through the air, and in a fraction of a second, Darius started looking up to see if it was thunder. You dumb fuck, react faster. Not even close to thunder. No…not thunder. A gasp and a choking sound flooded Darius’s ears. Jonas’s eyes were wide with shock. Ryan had gone rigid.

  Holy fuck. Gunfire. Darius shot himself into action when realization dawned. Jonas fell forward, barely missing the fire pit. Ryan cursed and threw himself sideways, closer to the upside-down lifeboat where his rifle rested. Darius flew at Gray and flattened the kid to the ground.

  Chaos erupted in a heartbeat, hearts that had stopped momentarily. At least, Darius’s had. Now his pulse skyrocketed, and his senses sharpened to assess the situation. The gunshot had stirred the boys from sleep, and a second bullet caused them to sit up.

  “Get down,” he growled. “Get the fuck down!”

  Charlie let out a hoarse scream upon seeing Jonas. Fuck, Jonas had been shot. There was no time to inspect the damage, though.

  “It’s coming from the beach.” Ryan spoke in a rush. “Niko’s out there. I’mma Antolak it.”

  “You’re outta your goddamn mind,” Darius barked out, instantly furious. Gray was shaking beneath him. Darius blew out a breath and pushed the boy closer to the lifeboat. “Gray, get under the boat. Ry, you’re not running out there.”

  “Jonas,” Gray rasped.

  Darius’s mind spun faster than he could process, so he acted on instinct. He managed to reach back and grab Jonas’s foot. While he dragged the listless body toward the lifeboat, he ordered Ryan to take a flank. The darkness wasn’t enough of a cover to pull off a stupid stunt. That was usually what heroic acts were: fucking stupid.

  “I can get behind them,” Ryan whispered angrily. “I ain’t asking for permission.”

  A third gunshot whizzed through the air and hit a tree with a cutting blast.

  With panicking teenagers around, Darius had to let Ryan go. His brother disappeared into the trees, and Darius killed his glare in order to get Gray and Jonas under the cover of the lifeboat.

  Jonas was alive but struggling to breathe, and blood was gushing out of his neck.

  The sheer terror in his eyes would haunt Darius.

  “Jonas, don’t talk,” Gray stammered. “Where’s the medical—”

  “Get under there,” Darius snapped. “Try to stop the bleeding and keep his head level.” He lowered the lifeboat once the two boys were lying on top of their gear and food, then jumped behind the rubber vessel. What a shitty fucking cover he’d chosen, both as protection for Gray and for himself to hide out behind. He had no way of knowing how much the intruders could see, how close they were, who they were…

  He blinked and willed his eyes to adjust to the dark. Dammit. He threw an impatient look at the fire. He needed to kill the flames if he wanted to protect the other kids. They were sitting ducks along the edge of the camp. Or lying ducks, as it were. Thankfully, they’d all plastered themselves to the ground and covered their heads.

  There was no way to suffocate the fire without turning himself into a target, but it had to be done. He sucked in a deep breath and gripped his gun. Make this quick, buddy. In a rolling motion, he was off the ground and darting toward the fire. He fired his gun once, twice, three times into the air, hoping the threat of resistance would give the attackers at least a couple seconds of pause.

  Without looking directly into the bright flames, he ducked down and threw a jug of
water over the pit, followed by two handfuls of sand. Smoke stung his eyes and made them water, and he coughed to ease the tickling burn.

  Heavy gunfire chased him to the farther tree line, though he took comfort in knowing Ryan was answering the fire. The sound of his carbine was rapid, sharper, and louder.

  “Get into the underbrush,” Darius whispered, out of breath. “Hide—all of you. Whatever you do, do not run. You hear me?” He could already see two them immobile and unable to obey orders, frozen by panic. “Stay low.” He hurried over to Charlie and Owen and urged them into the jungle. “Cole, where are you?”

  Owen whimpered. “I thought we were safe.”

  “Shh.” Darius kept one eye in the direction of the beach, where he could hear distant shouting. In Spanish… “Lee, can you—”

  “On it.” Tears were streaming down Lee’s face, though he was quick to act and help out. He grabbed Owen’s arm and encouraged someone else to help Charlie. “We’ll stay low.”

  “Good. Don’t come out of hiding until Ryan or I call, understood?”

  The boy sniffled and nodded jerkily.

  Darius could breathe easier when everyone was out of sight. He used the cover of the jungle to get around the campsite and be closer to the lifeboat again. From there, only a few feet separated him from the beach.

  He neared the last line of defense and peered out on the beach from between the trees. The sand was gray and blue in the pale moonlight, only to grow dark as thick clouds passed over the only source of light. The beach had become quiet, but Darius sensed an air of tense restlessness. He spotted a body in the water—fuck, there. He narrowed his eyes just as a shadow darted from the cliffs toward the jungle.

  Raising his gun, he fired two rapid shots, and the motherfucker collapsed in the sand with a thud.

  “West!” he heard Ryan shout.

  Darius swung his head to the left and cursed viciously. A quick glimpse of another attacker disappearing into the jungle. He suspected his brother was hiding somewhere on the cliffs, and he hoped Ry was good on his own. There wasn’t a chance in hell they could let their runaway escape—and possibly ambush them later.

  He started running.

  He jumped soundlessly over fallen trees and bushes, and he aimed for the stream that led to the waterfall. They weren’t dealing with trained military here; they were thugs who knew how to operate guns. They’d had militia training, but unless they came straight from the hostile jungles of South America, they knew fuck-all about taking cover in the bush. Darius guessed the stream would appeal for its easy terrain as well as give the bastard confidence that no one would be able to track him.

  One way or another, Darius had to intercept.

  All air left his lungs at the sound of a boy’s scream. Darius ducked quickly, then got up again. His mind was locked on the target, and he analyzed the distance between himself and the scream. Picking up the pace, he jumped into the shallow stream and ran for all he was worth. He’d been right; he was on the correct path, but so was one of the boys, it seemed.

  Fuck. Two boys…

  His stomach lurched. Up ahead, he saw two bodies facedown in the water, and he couldn’t even stop to see if they were dead or unconscious. The cartel guy was fast and almost at the waterfall. Darius dipped down and rolled the boys onto their backs so they had air in case they were still alive, then picked up speed again.

  Mere feet away from the waterfall, the motherfucker looked over his shoulder. His movements became jerky, perhaps at the surprise to see someone chasing him. Next, he lifted his gun, but Darius was faster. He’d already stopped short and was aiming his Glock.

  One shot took out his right shoulder, and as he tumbled to the ground and lost his grip on the gun, another shot blew out his kneecap.

  “Ow, madre de—you son of a bitch!” the man shouted.

  Darius took a deep breath through clenched teeth. His chest heaved, his heart pounded. With the adrenaline starting to leave him, his calves burned and his knees felt like they were gonna cave in. Running through water was no picnic.

  “We knew it! You were hiding out here!” The man was scrambling, trying to get up while nursing his knee. “You will fucking pay for this, pendejo. You owe us one shipment!”

  Darius stopped and cocked his head. One shipment? Oh hell, the cartel thought this was all a ploy set up by the slavers to get away with the drugs?

  “Say something!” the bastard snarled.

  Darius remained calm—and quiet. He could feel the rage simmering below the surface, and opening his mouth might unleash more than a few verbal punches. Instead, he bent down and picked up the gun the man had dropped, and he tucked it into his belt. His own gun was pushed down his jeans at the base of his spine. Then he grabbed the fuckhead’s arm, his injured one, and hauled him up.

  “Motherfu—argh.” After a growl of pain, the guy began panting. Sweat poured down his face, and he was losing blood fast. His wavy black hair plastered itself to his forehead. Deep lines around his mouth and scars showed age and a rough life.

  “What did you do to the…” boys. Darius didn’t finish his sentence, spotting a large knife in the water. The rage won for a second, and he delivered a swift elbow to the man’s face, effectively knocking the fucker out cold.

  “Darius, that you?” Ryan hollered.

  Darius grunted, beyond exhausted, and planted a boot across the cartel guy’s back. Then he shoved the fucker out of the jungle before stepping onto the sandy beach himself.

  Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. “There you are. Did you send the kids into hiding?”

  “Yeah. They shouldn’t be far away.” Darius wiped sweat off his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt and glanced over at Niko. He seemed fine, though it was sometimes difficult to know with that guy. His stance was stoic, and he rarely showed what he felt.

  “I’ll go find them,” Niko said.

  “Wait.” Darius blew out another heavy breath. “Ry or I should call for them. I told them to wait until we did.”

  “Then I’ll go,” Ryan said firmly, and he extended something. Ah, a couple zip ties. “We caught one alive too. You can tie him up behind the cliff over there. It’s where the other one is.”

  “All right. Jonas—” Fuck. Darius’s heart sank.

  Ryan was shaking his head grimly. “We lost him.”

  Swallowing hard, Darius pushed forward. “How’s Gray coping?”

  “He’s quiet. He needs you.”

  The ball of anxiety grew in Darius’s stomach, constricting his chest. Ever since he’d checked for vital signs on the two boys—who’d died from having their throats slit—bolts of nausea and unease had shot through Darius’s body. He kept seeing Gray’s face instead of the other two.

  “I’ll hurry,” Darius replied quietly. “Mike and Casper are gone too.”

  “Jesus.” Ryan wiped a hand over his jaw, visibly livid. “Makes me regret not strangling the one we caught.”

  “I want them to talk,” Darius said and cleared his throat. “I think they’re under the impression we’re with the slave organization.”

  “There’s been a mistake!” Oh, so the bastard from the cartel was turning to pleading now. Too fucking late.

  “Yeah, we gathered that,” Ryan answered. If he was responding to Darius or the dead man walking, who knew. Maybe both. “All right, we’ll meet up at the camp in a few. Niko, you up for guarding the captives? I won’t be long.”

  “Yes, sir.” Niko nodded.

  Darius nodded too, and he spared no mercy as he shoved the guy toward the cliffs. At this point, more than his knee, nose, and shoulder were open faucets. Blood seeped from a cut across his forehead too, as well as from a gash where his denim shorts ended. For good measure, Darius grabbed ahold of the man’s hands and broke his fingers.

  “Aaagh!” he screamed.

  “That’s just the beginning,” Darius growled. Hatred burned inside him, hotter than ever before. He wanted to torture both sons of bitches. He wanted them to suf
fer for everything that had happened to Gray and the rest of the boys.

  “No son gente de Alfred, son los malditos esclavos.”

  The two men spoke rapidly to one another, keeping it in Spanish. What they said confirmed that they’d come here because they believed the slavers were hiding from the cartel. The name Alfred was mentioned.

  Neither of them was going anywhere, and that was all that mattered at the moment. The other guy had his hands and feet tied together by zip ties digging into his flesh. He was perched on a small rock, and Darius positioned his own hostage some ten feet away.

  Wrists and ankles were restrained, and before Darius walked away, he delivered one last punch.

  “If you wanna live, don’t fucking move,” he warned.

  The man sobbed into his good shoulder.

  Returning to the beach, he gave Niko’s neck a gentle squeeze. “You okay?”

  Nikolaj nodded once. “Yeah.”

  That drew a faint smile from Darius, even though nothing about this was funny. “You would say that regardless.” He studied the boy’s face, his mild smirk. “You’re not the kinda guy who would hide or keep your mouth shut, and the cartel got past you.” He let his gaze drop, and he spotted cuts and scrapes everywhere. They were hard to see in the darkness at first glance. Redness around Niko’s wrists… He was wet from being in the ocean. His sweatpants had a couple tears around his knees. Darius pinned the kid with a look. “They caught you. They tried to drag you off.”

  “And Ryan saved me before anything could happen.”

  Unlikely. Everything had happened to these young men. But Darius let it go for now. He had to see Gray.

  Eight

  The sight of Gray was a sucker punch that robbed Darius of breath. At the edge of the campsite, he came to an abrupt stop and legit felt his heart cracking.

  Gray had never seemed so lost. Darius could look past the healing bruises, the scars, and how they’d all lost weight. He could even get past the blood that covered Gray’s hands. What he couldn’t ignore was the vacancy in his eyes.