Page 31

They’re gone. They got out.

I did it. I couldn’t save Destiny, but I did save them. With a little help from my friend, of course.

Pride wells in my heart, overtaking the dread at what this means for me. Instead of focusing on what I gave up, I lean into the positive. Now when my time comes to be taken by the general, I won’t be leaving those girls behind, forced to continue living in this hell on earth.

I did that.

The sun shifts in the sky as I revel in the silence and allow myself to daydream. Maybe now Hermione and I can be friends. After she finds out what I've done, been brave like she is, she’ll see me as an equal. I stood up for what’s right. And maybe I'm a little better because I didn't have fucking magic on my side. Or Harry and Ron.

Alone. I did it alone, with a little help from the mystery man.

Okay, a lot of help.

After the past year of being alone, I'm good with being here with the silence and peace of knowing no one can hurt me through another person again. Plus, this way no one else can be hurt by my cursed life.

Me being alone is the way it should be.

Reaching beneath my covering, I clasp the locket around my neck. Hopefully the CIA will keep their promise and still come in three weeks. With the girls away from here and safe, justice is back to priority number one. No way out of this mess now; that ship has sailed, so I might as well follow through with what I came here to do. Scared or not, I'll survive the next three weeks no matter what they throw at me.

And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll muster a little more courage, build on what I already know I can conjure, and take the general out myself. Fuck the justice system back home. If hate brought me to Africa, then hate can help me kill the man who tortured and murdered my sister.

I’m in the middle of plotting the perfect murder when elated chanting outside the shack snags my attention. Swiveling in the dirt, I rearrange to peer through the slats. Fists and guns pump into the air over and over with more shouts of excitement as a mob of men move through the camp. The boards scratch my cheek as I mash my face against the rough wood to gain a better view.

What the hell are they doing?

The crowd shifts, opening a small window between their legs.

Something large and black lies at their feet, but I still can’t tell what it is. A bear? A panther? Maybe I’m lucky to have lived through the escape last night instead of being eaten by whatever predator they’ve killed.

I move down the wall in search of a better view and peer through a larger gap four boards down.

What the hell is...? No. No. Please no. Not him.

Please not him.

The rapid beat of my heart thunders in my ears as I move along the entire length of the wall, peering through each gap in search of the girls but come up empty. Black spots appear in my vision as I watch the group drag the man’s limp body across the camp. Toward me.

I fall back on my ass and scoot across the ground to get far away from the encroaching mob of men with bloodlust in their eyes.

They toss the unconscious man into the sectioned-off area to my right with a few kicks to the stomach and groin before slamming the door shut behind them.

I monitor the body in silence. Should I say something? What do you say in this situation? “Hey, man, sorry for getting you captured. The food’s not bad.”

An unwelcomed thought seeps in—surely they wouldn't have tossed him in there if he were dead. Right? Unless they're just holding onto the body to show the general their American prize. A racking shiver shoots down my spine. What if I’m stuck sharing this shitty shack with a rotting corpse for the next few weeks?

I need to know. Dead or not dead.

"Hey, guy," I say to the body.

Nothing. Not a peep or sign of movement. Dead, then.

My gaze sweeps up and down my new maybe-dead roommate. Long lean legs stretch out beneath dirty black cargo pants. A snug black T-shirt emphasizes a trim waist and strong back. Through the slats, I can make out black and blue ink stamped over every inch of exposed skin along the arm I can see.

Damn, I wish he’d turn this way. If he’s alive, that is. Last night was too dark to even guess what he looks like.

With a sigh, I check out the long dark hair splayed out along the ground in a knotted mess. Interesting. Didn't think tough, tatted guys like him would have girl hair. Maybe I'm delusional, but the mental image of those strong, tattooed arms raised to tie his long hair into a man bun makes an unfamiliar warmth spread below my belly.

There’s definitely something... sexy about him.

Damn, I hope he’s not dead.

Shaking my head to clear out the random lusty daydream, I focus on his back once again and still, halting my own breathing to see any sign of life, but he's too far away. A sense of obligation settles in. Because of me, my actions, this man is here.

I shift to angle my shoulder against the wooden divider between us until I find the most comfortable position to keep vigil. The least I can do is sit with him, dead or not. Is that morbid? I could be watching over a corpse, but something tells me I'm not. Would the bastards out there stand guard over a corpse?

Only time will tell.