Page 11 of All The Way Under

CHAPTER SIX

brody

There’s no fucking way I can sleep. The ground is rock hard, and there’s no way to anticipate when these guys will be back.

There are torches lit in the distance, near the stilted building they’re using as a main gathering area.

I’d guess that’s where they sleep as well.

I’ll have to sleep eventually, but that can’t happen until I’ve formed some semblance of trust with the woman sleeping soundly next to me.

I glance over to check on her to find her hands tucked under her chin as her lashes flutter gently. I wonder what she’s dreaming about—who she thinks about when her mind takes over unconsciously. I bet she misses her mansion and money, her soft bed, and the butlers at her beck and call.

Surprisingly, Saylor did not come off as I thought she would.

There’s no sense of entitlement to be found.

Something about this experience has stripped her of everything except her fire, which is unmatched, honestly.

I can’t be like Nolan when she’s like that—so witty and sarcastic.

It’s like she’s speaking to me, the real me, and it’s strange.

I’ve offended her, sure, but perhaps not as much as I’d offend a random person off the street.

She takes my blows with ease and gives it back tenfold.

Saylor knows a lot for the short amount of time she’s been here.

She’s observant beyond measure and knows the exact intel she needs to benefit her overall standing in this village.

There’s a hole in the fucking ground as a toilet, and as cruel as I am with my words, she doesn’t deserve to suffer like this.

I vowed to protect her, but I’m going to go above and beyond now that I know she’s a worthy teammate.

I will be able to count on her. While surprising, it’s welcome.

Gathering intel and figuring out the hierarchy alone would have been difficult, but not undoable. She has done that task for me.

Saylor pulls her knees up, shivering in the night air. She’s using her jacket as a pillow, so choices were made. I take off one of my layers, a half-zip sweater, and toss it on top of her shoulders. Settling in under the warmth of the pullover, she sighs in contentment.

I bet, in the real world, it takes way more than a sweater to make this woman content. It’s a gross thought, because this isn’t the kind of woman who would ever look at me twice, but I allow myself the thought merely because she piques my interest in a way most women cannot.

I still have a thick long-sleeved shirt on top of a T-shirt, and a tank top under that. I was thoughtful in my approach, considering that this situation might arise.

Saylor exhales long and hard, and her breathing evens out again. The sound lulls me into a false sense of security.

There’s fuck-all secure in what’s happening though, and I remember Commander’s words about going with the flow and letting the circumstances dictate my next move.

I didn’t fight them too hard, and I ended up exactly where I needed to be.

In some ways, it felt too easy, as if they knew who I was and who I was here to find.

I know that’s not the truth, but it’s still something to consider.

I fold my arms across my chest and look at the roof, tracing the lines in the red, muddy material.

I read that it cracks during the drying process.

This looks pretty similar to what was in the file.

Saylor was correct in her assumption that this will cave in if the supporting structure is impacted in any significant way.

The most common way these things collapse is weather incidents, tropical cyclones being the main one, and we’re at the end of that season.

Saylor’s breathing lulls me into a twilight sleep. I can still hear the tropical noises, lemurs howling, and insects chirping in a rhythmic cadence. After the harsh reality of setting forth on a mission of unknown length, I feel a strange peace in the calmness.

Even though I’m hungry and cold, there is an essence of something I don’t have in my life in the form of expectations. There are none.

I rub the spot on my wrist that itches because it’s healing over and think about my friends back on the boat.

They’re probably laughing, thinking about what kind of trouble I’m getting myself into.

I glance at Saylor and think it’s not the kind of trouble they think I’m in.

For once in my life, I want my insides to match my actions.

What if I didn’t have to hide? What if I could be myself here?

I bob in and out of sleep, only woken when the chirping insect noise silences.

I sit upright in time to see a new guy walking toward the cage, pushing a motorbike that’s missing parts.

It’s before dawn, yet an inkling of light broaches the horizon in a pink hue.

I stand, careful not to wake Saylor. She’s wrapped in my sweater, blissfully unaware of our visitor.

“I need food. Please let me help you with that. I can fix it,” I whisper, letting my gaze catalog the pieces that are missing and what he needs to get it running.

I run down the list in his native tongue, so I’m sure it’s not perfect, but he seems interested in what I’m saying.

“I promise. I’m not a threat.” I try to hunch down, to make myself appear smaller and avoid direct eye contact.

“They didn’t give me anything to eat last night. We can let her sleep,” I say, nodding to Saylor behind me. If she’s in here, she’s safe.

He looks hesitantly at the sleeping dragon on the dirt behind me.

“A real bathroom too? Please. What’s your name?”

Mako is his name, and he pulls out a damn dart gun as he unlocks the cage and lets me slide free. He locks it so quietly, I’m not surprised Saylor didn’t stir. Mako forces me to walk in front of him with the dart gun pressed to my back.

“You can fix my bike?” Mako asks when we’ve rounded the corner and we’re out of earshot of our cage.

There are a few other cages like ours, but smaller and empty. There are a couple house-looking buildings on stilts that are on the back side of our cage that we can’t see. That’s where they’re watching us from.

“I think someone stole parts, and I’m not sure what it needs. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Yes, I can fix it if we can find the parts it needs. I’m great with machines.”

His face lights up when I start pointing at the engine and explaining what it needs and the process of installing them. I keep him busy with my explanations as I get the lay of the land. It’s hard to tell how far the ocean is without daylight.

“Can I have something to eat?”

“Yes,” he says, bringing me to one of the houses.

We climb rickety stairs that creak under my weight, and each step is followed by a slight sway in the breeze.

This isn’t sturdy by any means. When we get to the house, he opens a door made of bamboo that’s been tied together.

Mako leads me to a table where there are half-empty plates of food. My stomach growls the second I see it.

“You can eat anything here,” he says, eyeing me warily. He took a risk letting me out, and I can tell he’s weighing what would happen if I went rogue.

Raza appears from one of the couple of makeshift doors, and Nery and Ravelo are behind him. They don’t look surprised to see me. It may mean my plan to get out of that cage didn’t even need to be a plan.

I apologize to Raza for the black eye he’s sporting and thank him for the food.

He’s in charge. When the others are in the room, it’s obvious by the way they watch him and their submissive stances.

I’ve taken so many classes on this that there’s no question except who is above Raza, and is this all a ploy to confuse the captors?

“He’s going to help with my bike,” Mako explains. “He is good with machines and building things back up.”

“Is he?” Nery says, twisting his dart gun between two dirty fingers. “Or did asset twelve force him to say anything to get out of that cage?”

I could play it up right now. I could make her seem crazy and solidify their assumptions, but she’d stay locked up, and it would be easier for me if she had some freedoms when it’s time to extract.

“You are fetching a handsome ransom,” Raza says. “And it was agreed upon quickly. Almost too quickly.” He raises one bushy, black brow.

“The government doesn’t play around with American hostages, right?” I ask. “I know that from the news.”

I try to play it calm while also establishing respect. Give to get.

“How long until I’ll go home if it’s already been agreed upon?” It’s the only rational question.

I shove bread into my mouth and barely chew before swallowing.

“These things take time. Sometimes the ransom goes up if we play hard to get. Or if we get new information about an asset,” Ravelo answers, winking when he says the last part. “A month or two, maybe more.”

My stomach sinks. I’ve never been a particularly good liar.

There’s no possible way for them to find out about my background unless I tell them.

There wasn’t anything tracing me to the military on my sailboat.

There’s nothing outwardly damning. No telltale tattoos, nothing.

My language skills and clean body were part of the reason I was chosen for this task.

We were thorough in our planning, but doubt creeps in.

“And the woman?” I ask, even though I have no right to know anything about her.

Nery answers, “Asset twelve is worth more. That one will be here for a while, I think. Even as bothersome as she is, her ransom is going to fund many things. Probably double your hold length. Maybe six months.”

Fuck. If that’s right, I won’t be leaving here without her.

“The other two hostages on the other side of the base are leaving in a fortnight. They have a lower ransom, but we’re holding out for more.”

I try not to look interested. How big is this base? Who else are they holding? How long have they had them? All questions that weren’t answered in the files.