Page 57

Shit.

Run. I need to run.

The general’s first step sends me cowering to my side through the small hole I made earlier to comfort my dying friend. And here I am running, leaving him to their evil hands.

The irony knocks the breath from my lungs as I pull to a stop. I was helpless and alone, and he ran to me. Now he's helpless and I’m running away, leaving him with men who get off on others’ pain.

I stare at the door but don’t make a move toward it. My rapid breaths ease, settling my scattered thoughts. Each heavy step the general takes on his way from Nash's side to mine brings me closer to death, but still I don’t move. There’s no way I’ll survive this, and by the look of Nash’s limp body, neither is he. Might as well go down as the badass he thought I was.

When the door swings open, I don't run.

Each pound of his boots against the mud brings him closer. Still I choose not to run. Even as his hand wraps around my throat and my back slams against the wooden divider, I don't fight back.

Instead I say what I shouldn’t. What will strike fear into his heart. Damn it, it’s the last thing I want to see in this life. I want to watch when the realization hits of who I am.

"You wanted me, remember?" I wheeze, barely able to suck down enough air to stay conscious. "I'm here for you. I came here for you." The second his hand relaxes, I gasp air down to my lungs. "You fucking bastard. They will find you, and you’ll pay. Pay for me. Pay for him. And pay for murdering my fucking sister, Destiny."

Yellowed eyes scan from the top of my head to my blue eyes and chapped lips. The slight tilt of his head signals that he sees the resemblance. Or maybe I'm imagining it. Like this pathetic fool would bother remembering the women he rapes and murders.

"Who they?" he breathes as his free hand rips the light blue material from my body.

Instead of answering, I gather what little saliva I can muster and spit in his face.

The back of his hand connects with my cheekbone, which I expected and, due to previous backhands, am somewhat prepared for. But not the second hit. The punch to my ribs sends me flying to the other side of the pen.

Warm liquid streams down the bridge of my nose, dripping to the dirt. My arms quiver as I push up to stand. Swaying a bit, I turn to face him again.

"The fucking CIA, you rat bastard," I choke out, then spit blood toward his black combat boots. "Because of me they know you’re here, know how to find you.”

Needing to remind myself that what I’m saying is true, I grip the locket in a tight fist. The general’s gaze shifts to the hand at my neck.

Well shit. I’m an idiot.

The thin metal chain bites the back of my neck as he yanks it off. Again his callused hand wraps around my throat, but his attention stays on the locket now in his hand instead of me. Up and down, up and down, he tosses it in his hand, staring.

With a huffed laugh, he lobs it to the corner and looks over my shoulder to Nash’s side.

"Kill him. We move. Now."

"No!" I scream, spitting blood and saliva over the general’s face, which only makes his grip tighten.

A click at my back before the booming bang of the gun rattles my eardrums.

My high-pitched scream echoes through the jungle as all hell breaks loose around us.