The Tracker

by Leslie Georgeson

  Still Tracker didn’t comply. Instead, he let out a long sigh and turned the motorcycle off. Standing, he pushed the kickstand down and leaned the bike against the stand. The men all tensed and moved closer, shoving their guns in Tracker’s face, eyeing him warily. Not sure what I was supposed to do, I leaned away from Tracker, giving him room to do whatever it was he had planned.

  Tracker turned and wrapped an arm around my waist. He pulled me against him, then lifted his leg over the side, yanking me off the bike with him. Setting me next to him on the ground, he pushed me behind him. My legs trembled. I teetered backward, then righted myself. Though I longed to wrap my arms around his waist and lean into him so I could absorb some of his strength, I stayed where I was. Out of the way. Tracker was so big and hard and strong. A trained killer. I had no doubt he could defend himself. But my presence was an interference. I didn’t want to get in his way, hinder him, especially if bullets went flying.

  Wait a second. Goatee Guy had said there was a reward for bringing Tracker in alive. That meant The Company needed him for something, or they planned to kill Tracker themselves. Which meant these men wouldn’t get the reward if they killed him. So maybe, we could escape. Maybe, there would be no flying bullets.

  I stayed behind Tracker, letting his big body block the danger from me. The gunmen kept their weapons pointed at him, waiting.

  Tracker reached for his helmet.

  Slowly removed it.

  In a swift move, he swung the helmet at Goatee Guy.

  Goatee Guy let out a cry of alarm and lifted his gun.

  The helmet cracked into the side of his head. The gun went off before Tracker knocked it from the guy’s hand. The gun sailed through the air and crashed to the pavement.

  I stumbled back, letting out a soft scream, and dived for the ground behind their Jeep.

  Several more shots rang out.

  Bullets shot past me, one slamming into the back tire of the vehicle. A hissing sound rent the air, and the tire slowly deflated. I curled into a ball on the ground, squeezing my eyes shut.

  Grunts and groans and thwacking sounds filled the air. I cautiously opened my eyes and peered around the now flat tire.

  Tracker moved like a tornado, spinning around as he attacked the men, flying in, then out, with an impressive display of kicks and punches and other body strikes that left me stunned. His face was a cold, determined mask as he fought off the four men. He was a machine. A beast. Unstoppable.

  I stared.

  Wow. He was good. I couldn’t tell by watching him that he had an injured leg.

  Then fear slithered in. It scared me, seeing him so lethal like this. He scared me.

  But I was so fascinated, my fear paled in comparison. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  Goatee Guy grunted and lunged at Tracker again, blood oozing down his temple where Tracker had slammed the helmet into the side of his head. Tracker knocked him aside with a hard blow to the neck that left the guy gasping and clutching at his throat.

  Then I noticed the blood appearing on Tracker’s lower left side. And more blood oozing from his right hand.

  Crap. He’d been shot. At least once. I couldn’t tell if the blood on his hand was his or the blood of one of the men he’d battled with. But the injury on his lower abdomen was definitely from a gunshot.

  Tracker continued fighting as if the injuries didn’t even faze him. He kept swinging around with swift martial arts moves, an elbow to an ear, a hard punch to a face, a backward kick to a knee…until all the men lay on the ground, moaning.

  Tracker turned back to me, the sunglasses riding askew on his face. Lifting a bloody hand, he straightened the sunglasses, then bent to retrieve his dented helmet from the ground.

  “Let’s go.” He reached a hand out to me.

  Still stunned, I stared up at him. At the blood on his hand. “You just…fought off four guys with guns. All by yourself.”

  His lips twitched. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

  I swallowed hard, slowly lifting my hand and placing it in his. “But, you’ve been shot.”

  He pulled me to my feet with a grimace. “Yeah. It hurts like a bitch. Get on the bike. Let’s get out of here before they recover or another band of opportunists shows up.”

  I glanced at the men lying on the ground, groaning and clutching their injuries. Why hadn’t Tracker killed them? They couldn’t come after us if they were dead.

  We mounted the bike and Tracker started the engine. He pulled his helmet back on and glanced back at me. “If we can get back to the underground hideout before I pass out, my buddy Nate will fix me up. He’s The Healer.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. I had yet to meet Nate, The Healer. “And if you pass out before then?”

  He turned back around. “Then you’ll have to go for help. Or dig the bullet out yourself.” He paused. “Or let me die.”

  Nausea rolled in my stomach. He couldn’t die. I wouldn’t let him. I needed him to find Eliza.

  “Why can’t you call Nate on your cellphone and have him meet us somewhere?”

  Tracker sighed. “Because cellphones don’t work underground.”

  Oh. Of course.

  I hesitated. “Why didn’t you kill those men?”

  He flipped the kickstand up. “Because you’re here. You’ve seen enough violence for one day.” He paused. “And I’ll never be good enough for you if I don’t stop killing.”

  What?

  He revved the engine. The bike lurched forward.

  I clung to him, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, his blood seeping into my clothes. Had I just imagined that last sentence that had come out of his mouth?

  I’ll never be good enough for you if I don’t stop killing.

  Did he mean that? Did he really think he wasn’t good enough for me?

  Those men would come after him. I imagined others would as well. He had to know that. But he’d spared their lives simply to keep me from witnessing any more violence. Because he wanted to be good enough for me. Tracker might be cold and lethal in the face of danger. But he also had a caring, compassionate side. He was human, just like me. My chest squeezed. My curiosity about him continued to grow.

  I’d been staying with him for a week now, and I was slowly learning things about him.

  He was secretive. He didn’t like to talk about himself.

  He liked to draw. He was a very talented artist.

  He was a damned good fighter. Even when injured.

  He could be kind. He’d protected me from those men. And he’d saved me from the man in the stairwell.

  And he was sinfully handsome. Hot as hell. Sexy as all get out.

  Okay, yes, I was falling for him. Who could blame me? He’d just fought off four guys with guns, all by himself! The more I learned about him, the more I liked him.

  How could he think he wasn’t good enough for me when I wasn’t sure if plain old me was good enough for a hunky, manly man like him?

  You won’t get to worry about any of that if he passes out from blood loss and dies on the side of the road.

  That sobered me. We had to make it back.

  I couldn’t let him die before I got to know the man he truly was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tracker

  I was losing blood at a rapid rate. I could feel it sucking the life right out of me. If I didn’t pull over soon and take care of the wound, I would bleed to death. But we were still about ten miles outside of Eatonton. If I stopped, those men might catch up to us.

  And if they caught me, I was fucked.

  So I determinedly kept on, forcing myself to remain coherent, even though dizziness swirled in my head.

  Five more miles…

  Four…

  We were almost there.

  Three miles…

  Coldness swept through me, the loss of blood sucking the color out of my naturally olive-colored skin and turning my arms white. I wouldn’t remain conscious much longer.

  But
I had to keep going as long as I could. Why did The Company want me alive? It was a puzzling question that I would have to take up with the other dregs. Maybe one of them would have an answer.

  If Jessica was anywhere near me when The Company caught me, they would torture her before killing her. I might be a heartless bastard, but I was growing attached to my slave and I wasn’t about to let her be hurt on my behalf. She was mine now. No one else was going to touch her. She was under my protection and I would do everything in my power to keep her safe.

  I had to get us back to the underground maze. I had to hold out just a little longer.

  Dizziness swam in my head again, my vision blurring. I shook my head hard, trying to clear it. But all that did was make things worse.

  The bike weaved to the left, crossing the center line.

  I jerked it upright, trying valiantly to remain conscious. Thank God there were no cars approaching from the opposite direction.

  The bike weaved to the right, skidding along the side of the road.

  Jessica’s arms tightened around me. “Tracker? Stop the bike! You’re about to pass out.”

  “No. I got this.” I steadied the bike, blinking rapidly and trying to stay focused. Gravel crunched beneath the tires, flinging behind us.

  My vision blurred again.

  “Tracker!”

  I jerked my eyes open as the bike swerved hard to the left. I yanked it upright and pressed on the brake, trying to even it out. But my reflexes were too slow, and I lost control. Tires screeched. Gravel spewed everywhere as the bike slid off the side of the road, spinning out from underneath us. Jessica’s hands left my waist as she catapulted through the air.

  I slammed into the ground, gravel digging into my right arm and scraping my skin off as I bounced and slid before crashing into a milepost marker. I lay still for several moments, breathing slowly and trying to remain conscious.

  My right arm was scraped raw, having taken the brunt of the landing. I sat up gingerly and glanced down at my stomach. Blood continued to ooze out of the bullet wound, soaking my shirt and my jeans.

  My vision blurred. Nausea threatened. I swallowed hard, forcing it back.

  “Tracker!”

  I jerked my head up. Jessica rushed forward, leaning over me, her face filled with concern. The side of her helmet was dented and scraped, a streak of paint missing. She must have struck her head on the ground when we wrecked. She yanked the helmet off and tossed it aside.

  “Tracker?” She gently lifted my arm. “Your arm is scraped raw. This is probably not the best time to tell you this, but I don’t do well with blood.”

  I snorted. “You’re all I’ve got, slave. Don’t pass out on me, or we’re both doomed.”

  Then I noticed her leg.

  “You’re hurt too,” I murmured. “Looks like some serious road rash.”

  She glanced down at her calf and winced. “Yeah, my leg got dragged across the gravel. But you’re hurt worse. Tell me what to do to help fix your gunshot wound. I’ll try my best to keep it together. You’re getting really pale, Tracker. I’m scared you’re going to die on me.”

  I closed my eyes as another wave of nausea washed over me. My head spun. I swallowed hard, fighting it all back.

  “How bad is my bike?

  She made a face. “Pretty bad. I don’t think it’s drivable. Here, let me help you take your helmet off.” I remained still as she pulled the helmet off my head and tossed it aside. Then she righted my sunglasses, slipping them gently back on my nose.

  I sighed. “Thanks. We need to find a place to hide in case those guys come after us.”

  She nodded, glancing around. “There’s a housing subdivision over there. Maybe we can find someone to help us.”

  I let out a soft grunt and struggled to my feet. “Not likely. I doubt anyone will help us. People no longer open their doors to strangers. It’s too dangerous. But it’s worth a try.”

  Jessica wrapped an arm around my waist and steered me forward. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

  Leaning into Jessica, I let her steer me forward, willing my legs to cooperate. One step. Two. Three.

  After several yards, my muscles started to cramp, and I leaned more heavily into her. She made a soft, distressed sound, and I knew my weight was too much for her, but I didn’t have enough strength to go forward on my own. My head continued to spin with dizziness. I struggled valiantly to stay awake.

  Amazingly, Jessica kept on, her sheer determination keeping me upright. She was one hell of a woman. My admiration grew. If I survived this, I’d tell her how incredible she was.

  My eyes drifted shut, on and off, for several minutes, as I blindly struggled along beside her, allowing her to lead me forward.

  At last, she stopped and I glanced up. We had reached the subdivision. Thank God. Jessica headed to the nearest house and knocked on the door. I sagged against the porch railing, my breath turning shallow. I could feel myself slipping away. Would she be able to save me before it was too late?

  Jessica pounded louder on the door, but no one answered. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she helped me sit down on the porch steps. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared around the side of the house, I assumed to search for an unlocked door or an open window or some other way to get in.

  My eyelids drooped. I fell back against the door.

  Gordon would be here soon. He would have sensed my injury by now.

  But would he arrive before it was too late?

  My heartbeat slowed.

  Thump…thump.

  Thump…

  Then my world turned black.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jessica

  I jog-walked toward Eatonton, pausing to catch my breath every few minutes, then hurrying on again as fast as my road-rashed leg would allow. I had climbed into the house through an unlocked window and opened the front door to find Tracker passed out on the porch. I’d tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t stir. I had no medical training, but I knew enough to check for a pulse. I placed my fingers against his neck, feeling up and down until I finally detected a faint pulse. He was still alive. Thank God. But how long did he have? Urgency swept through me. I tried to move him into the house, but he was too heavy. So, I was forced to tip him sideways off the porch, where he fell into the shrubs lining the front of the house. I tried to make him comfortable, then I pressed a towel I’d found in the house over his wound.

  Now I just had to find help before he died.

  Or before those thugs found him.

  Tracker had said his friend The Healer would help him. But first I had to get back to the underground maze to find The Healer.

  After jog-walking for several miles, I reached Eatonton. A few people were about, but I doubt anyone would help me. They were more likely to call the authorities and turn Tracker in than help him. I paused near the post office to catch my breath. Now I just had to make it through the forest to the mansion.

  Two cars drove past. Another pulled into the parking lot of the post office. I crossed the street and headed for the woods.

  A purple motorcycle suddenly came into view, heading down the road toward me.

  As the motorcycle drew closer, I recognized the big redheaded dreg, The Gardener. Relief swept through me. I rushed forward to intercept him as he drew the bike to a halt.

  “Where’s Tracker?” His gaze darted around, searching for his friend.

  I swallowed hard. Turning, I pointed back down the road. “Back that way. He was shot. He passed out.” Tears swam in my eyes. “Please, we have to hurry. He said to find The Healer.”

  The Gardener nodded. He yanked a cellphone from his leather jacket and spoke into it. Then he focused his attention on me. “I sensed Tracker was hurt. It woke me from my dreams. Thank you for coming for help.” He paused, eyeing me closely. “My name’s Gordon by the way. We were never properly introduced.”

  I hesitated, then shook his huge hand. “How did you…sense Tracker was injured?”

 
His phone rang. Gordon held up a hand while he answered it. “Yes. I found Jessica. She’s going to take us to Tracker. Hurry up.” He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and glanced back at me. “Each of the dregs is paired with another dreg when they are hired on with The Company. I guess you could say we bond with that person in a spiritual way. We share a physical and emotional connection that travels across whatever distance is separating us. It’s kind of hard to explain, but when Tracker is hurt, I can feel his pain to some extent. I can sense when he is injured, and he can feel the same when I’m experiencing physical or emotional pain. All the dregs are connected like that, but each pair is more closely bonded than the rest of the group.”

  Wow. That was fascinating. I took his words in, trying to digest what he was saying. “So, all the dregs know when one of their own is hurt?”

  He nodded. “But only I sensed it, because I’m his partner. I notified the others. Eventually, my connection to Tracker will lead me to him. But you may have saved us hours of searching for him. The weaker he gets, the harder it is for me to locate him. You might actually save his life. Some of the other dregs are on their way. They weren’t that far behind me. As soon as they get here, you can take us to Tracker.”

  They were coming. They would save Tracker. Thank God. I collapsed onto the ground, overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the past few hours. Emotion clogged my throat. Tears threatened to fall. I drew in a ragged breath, then gave up and let the tears fall. I sobbed, unable to hold it back. The tears streamed down my cheeks in a rush of emotion. I gasped in a breath, sobbed again. How badly was Tracker hurt? Would he die? Would the other dregs get to him in time? They were venturing out in broad daylight, risking their lives for one of their own. Any one of the people in Eatonton might recognize one of the dregs and call the authorities. And then it would be all over.

  And I would never find Eliza.

  My leg throbbed, reminding me of the serious road rash on my calf. I was afraid to look at it to see how damaged it was, so I just ignored it. Saving Tracker was more important than my leg right now.