Page 8

Chief Styles Sawyer

Sawyer was glad he wasn’t totally useless. At least he’d been able to catch their chow without Oakley having to risk a bite from a snake.

He sat on a bulging root and started a fire while he watched in fascination as Oakley skinned and prepped the snake, then skewered it on a thin stick he said was a bamboo stalk.

Every few minutes, he thanked the hell out of Oakley’s father—wherever the Army Ranger was—for instilling these life-saving skills into his son.

“You don’t think anyone will see our fire?”

“Nah, we’re far enough inland.”

Sawyer inched away from the flames, trying not to let his mind go back to the explosions and balls of fire that had erupted around him yesterday. Flames that’d overtaken his men.

“How are you feeling?” Oakley asked, his voice low and laced with comfort. “The burns, I mean?”

“Not bad…kinda numb. All the pain is in my feet and thighs.” Sawyer stretched his legs out. “Can’t tell you the last time I humped it so long. Probably was in BUD/S training.”

Oakley was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“Looks that bad, huh?”

Oakley gave him a sly smirk. “You can call me a liar, but you’re even sexier now than you were when I had you pinned to that tree the other night.”

“Fuck off. You didn’t have me pinned.”

“Okay, you weren’t pinned. You were pliant.”

He let out an abrupt laugh. “You’re full of shit.”

Oakley kept his head down with his eyes on their food, hiding his charming smile.

That’d felt good. His heart was so broken that Sawyer had wondered if he’d ever be able to laugh again.

He was stabbing some really large ants trailing beside the log he was resting on with a twig when Oakley yanked the stick out of his hand and threw it behind them.

“Stop doing that,” he ordered.

Oakley’s voice was stern and loaded with annoyance.

“What?”

“How would you like it if someone came into your house and started beating you with a stick?”

Sawyer’s mouth hung open, but nothing came out. He had no rebuttal.

“We’re visitors here. Act like it.”

Geez . “My bad, it was an ant or a beetle or whatever,” he grumbled.

“No matter how small or large, everything has a job and a role to play in this jungle, Sawyer. We only kill what we must to survive.”

Oakley took the skewered snake off the fire. It was charred and cooked far past well done, but maybe that was a good thing. He knew high temperatures killed bacteria.

Sawyer didn’t like that Oakley was still scowling.

For some reason, Oakley being upset with him was causing a mild ache in his chest.

“Hey.”

He waited until Oakley gave him his attention.

Those damn eyes, which glistened even in the minimal sunlight struggling through the dense canopy, made his breath hitch.

“I’m sorry, all right. I won’t kill anything else…not on purpose.”

Oakley’s forehead finally smoothed out and the relief within Sawyer was instant.

He accepted the small chunk of meat he was offered but waited until Oakley took a bite.

Sawyer rolled his eyes when Oakley made no expression to indicate if it tasted good or gross.

“How’s it taste?”

“Like chicken,” Oakley grumbled indifferently.

Sawyer put his piece to his nose first, but all he could smell was burned wood. At least it wasn’t pungent. His stomach clenched at the thought of his first bite, but he closed his eyes and sank his teeth into the meat.

Under the char, the meat was tough, like jerky, and had a weird, nutty-fishy flavor.

“I haven’t been in the brush that fuckin’ long to have forgotten the taste of chicken, Oakley.”

Sawyer tried to chew as little as possible and hurried to swallow, not letting the snake linger on his taste buds.

“This is at least forty grams of protein. We’re lucky because we’re gonna need it.”

He knew that was right.

“I’m not complaining. I’m just letting you know that your description is way off.”

“Noted.” Oakley smirked, then took another healthy bite, smacking and chewing happily as if it were filet mignon.

Once he’d stomached all he could, he waited for Oakley to smother the fire. Apparently, there was no time to allow their food to digest because Oakley pulled out his compass.

He walked as though he knew exactly where they were going. But all Sawyer could see was an endless stretch of trees, vines, and bushes.

Periodically, Oakley would collect a few leaves from certain plants and stuff them in his pockets.

When he asked what they were, all the chief would say was, “They’re necessary.”

Maybe they were souvenirs.

To be honest, he didn’t give a fuck.

Sawyer was exhausted. He was thirsty, and his feet hurt almost as much as his face and neck. It took every ounce of strength he had to not ask Oakley for a break.

These boots were not made for walking, well actually they were…but they no longer felt like it.

Sawyer gave a big, hairy spider a wide berth until he saw it was hovering over a bush full of berries that looked like little tomatoes.

He loved tomatoes.

“Wait, Oakley.” Sawyer was swatting away the scary arachnid with his swatter, “I want some of these tomatoes.”

“No! Stop!” Oakley grabbed his wrist a second before he could pick the first one.

“Jesus.” Sawyer jerked like he’d been backhanded. “What?”

“Did it dawn on you that I may have passed those berries for a reason, Sawyer?”

“I thought maybe you didn’t see them.”

“I know they look like tomatoes, but they’re not. They’re very poisonous, and there’s not exactly a poison control center out here or a stomach pump. For fuck’s sake, man. If I don’t touch it, you don’t fuckin’ touch it.”

Oakley began to walk away, taking hard steps as if he were beyond angry.

Sawyer caught up to Oakley, clutched his shoulder, and spun him. He got in his face, almost close enough for their noses to touch.

“Hey! It was a goddamn mistake, all right. I’m sorry I’m not as skilled as you out here, but you will treat me with some fuckin’ respect.”

“Just stay close like I said, Sawyer!”

“What’s your goddamn problem, chief?”

Oakley bumped their foreheads together, his teeth bared, face turning as red as those berries, and his eyes flashing that brilliant yellow.

“ You’re my problem! Do you think I risked my life and sacrificed my entire goddamn crew to lose you to a fuckin’ poisonous berry? Huh?”

Sawyer gasped, his voice caught in his throat.

“I can’t lose you, not now…not after—”

“Oakley,” he breathed. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna—”

Sawyer was yanked into Oakley’s broad chest as strong arms wrapped around him tighter than the boa had been wrapped around the tree.

His burns and sore ribs hollered out to him, but he didn’t answer.

They panted into each other mouths. Battling for the other’s oxygen.

Oakley groaned in a guttural way that sounded of pure anguish.

“If you die…it’ll all have been for nothing.”