Page 31 of Never Lost (The Unchained #3)

HER

Even better would be a button that would let me scream that Wheatley was on the phone and that he’d pick up when he was done saving people that his partner was willing to let die, clearing the names of people she was happy to condemn, and putting out the flaming garbage fire she’d turned this case into.

Apparently, no button did that. Probably best.

I wondered if Labrecque had told my father where I was, and if so, whether it had registered.

Or whether he was still sitting catatonically in his armchair, trying to calculate exactly when and where he’d started transforming into a monster.

I hoped for the latter. Either way, he wouldn’t be following us because according to Wheatley, now he was being electronically monitored.

The agent had also explained that the remaining three slaves, while also technically frozen, would be allowed to stay in the house with the agents also monitoring them .

Thank God because I’d been terrified they’d be hauled off to some ghastly detention facility—probably the same one Maeve and Sloane had been unceremoniously tossed in.

Instead, as Wheatley drove and alternately badgered, swore at, and thanked the various colleagues whose help he was trying to enlist, I tried to watch the scenery.

It seemed mildly less panic-inducing than waiting for that dot on the GPS—the one that had become my entire world—to either move or disappear.

The fact was, this particular state highway, where strip malls and housing developments gradually gave way to tranquil saguaros and mesquite, had never brought me anything but nostalgia.

But as the line of Lake Pleasant beckoned closer, its waters crystalline amid the aridity, my charming memories of singalongs and Twenty Questions had turned to dust, too.

What an utterly na?ve fool I’d been then.

And he may have told me there was nothing to forgive, but it would take more than that to forgive myself.

Saving his life—if it came to that—might be a good start.

Still, nothing quelled the pounding in my chest or the fluttering in my stomach. How long had he been there, anyway? Was he alone? Why the hell wasn’t the dot moving? Was any of this even part of his plan, or was I crazy?

How goddamn long did this quaint scenic drive take, anyway?

“Good news. They found her owners.”

I snapped my head toward Wheatley, who was finally off the phone. Panic and adrenaline pulsed through my veins, blocking out Labrecque’s irate voice still crackling over the frequency. “Wait, what?”

He mashed a couple of buttons on the radio as he pressed further on the gas.

The scenery outside was flying by at high speed now, the sun glinting off the sluggish surface of the 300-mile-long aqueduct that followed this stretch of highway, diverting murky water from the Colorado River into the lake and points farther south.

We were close enough to see the hydroelectric dam and power facility that had always been a welcome sign that arrival was nigh. But the road stretched on still.

“ Former owners,” he explained. “Erica’s people were working on tracking them down using her network.”

Erica’s ability to still work for the cause with her wife in critical condition and goons stalking her—not to mention being technically dead —made me dizzy.

“Turns out they bought her freedom over a year ago,” he went on. “Paid the fees and everything, but it was never recorded due to some filing snafu. So I told them to release her as soon as it’s safe.”

“Which one?” I asked tentatively. “Maeve?”

“No, the other one. Sloane. Say.” He adjusted the mirror, peering at something I couldn’t see. “Do you know anyone who drives a blue Datsun?”

“No,” I responded, annoyed at his derailment. “And what about Maeve?”

Wheatley paused. “Not so good news. She’s about to be sold.”

“ Sold ?! How is that even possible?” Was there no end to this nightmare this poor girl was trapped in? She must be beside herself by now, and the language barrier would make it worse. She’d have no idea what was even happening to her. “To who ?”

“I don’t know. And neither do they.”

“How could you not know ?”

“Because it’s someone with an offshore shell company and good lawyers who clearly has no interest in being known.”

“That shouldn’t even be legal!”

“It isn’t. And they’re supposed to know that. But given the glorified dog catchers they have working down there, it doesn’t surprise me,” he finished darkly.

“Well, we have to stop this!” I was upright in my seat now.

The sun glinted off the metal guardrails of the canal overpass as the car hurtled toward it. The park entrance was just beyond it, a sign displaying its name in bold letters. Wheatley’s quick glance behind us showed a clear road, allowing him to pick up even more speed.

“If we find him , what am I going to tell him?” I admired the endurance of the agent’s eardrums, given all the shrieking into them I was doing. “That we lost his sister, again ?”

“Oh, fuck no.” Though it answered my question, I suspected it was actually Wheatley’s response to the sudden sound of sirens.

“Game over, Manny,” said Labrecque over the radio. “Turn around and head back to the field office PDQ and I’ll consider telling the director to put you on mental health leave for a week or so. If not…”

My knuckles turned white on the edges of the seat. “Maybe this is a weird time to ask, but why are you doing this?” I shouted over the sirens. “Why are you risking your job for us?”

“Would you believe it’s because of a university course I took?”

“But—”

Swearing again, he slammed on the brakes.

The SUV skidded to a stop nearly sideways, sending me hurling into the dash, restrained only by my seat belt, which I quickly unbuckled.

I could see now why he’d stopped: Two police cars with angry, swirling blue lights blocked the road ahead, trapping us on the overpass.

In the rear, two more had appeared out of nowhere.

This was over. After we’d come so far, Labrecque would never allow us to bridge the distance. And she and the other officers would never listen to me. I’d be lucky if I didn’t get thrown in a cell myself, and despite his protests, my father, too.

And meanwhile, that blinking dot would disappear forever.

A rush of wind lifted me as I robotically opened the SUV’s door, only struggling for a second to work the handle.

In the dry heat, I still shivered at the sight of the inky depths of the canal, but the guardrail wasn’t even waist-high.

A faint fishy scent emanated from the black, sludgy, barely-moving water as I leaned over it.

Was this for real?

From behind me came the sharp clang of metal against metal as car doors slammed. The sounds reverberated off the concrete walls of the overpass, and my heart raced faster amid the distant sound of more approaching sirens. Reinforcements. The voices grew increasingly insistent. There was no escape.

But now that I’d started running, I couldn’t stop. Not now.

And besides, he’d done his part. He’d planned. It was my turn to execute. And yes, maybe this particular execution was more idiotic than usual.

But hey, I’d never claimed to be the smart one.

I assessed the length of the drop, but my horrible spatial reasoning could only conclude that it was somewhere between twenty feet and snapping my spine like a potato chip.

But first things first. I lifted the still-blinking phone. From the middle of the overpass, it would be an easy toss to the other side of the canal, but once it left my hand, there was no going back. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and wound up.

Over on the driver’s side, Wheatley despairingly slammed the door of the SUV. “Fucking Labrecque. Look, we’ve got to think of something else. She’s not immune to reason, even though it seems like it. Maybe if we can explain— holy shit .”

That was the last thing I heard before I jumped.

HIM

Noam did not pull the trigger. Instead, he raised the pistol and sent the butt end careening into my head, blowing part of it open like a ripe piece of fruit.

Was it too late to hope he’d change his mind and shoot me?

Noam laughed, and even though there was nothing for it to bounce off, it echoed—off the cactus, the tin roof, the sky, until at last, he dropped the gun and stepped away.

By then, I’d dropped as low as my chains would let him.

Blood and torn flesh were trailing down my eyes and pooling in the desert sand.

They were all I could see as I gasped for air through the red cloud that choked off my other senses.

For a few seconds, there was almost silence, except for the distant cry of a vulture. Of course.

I wasn’t surprised when Noam returned, but I was by his weapon: A pickaxe.

The exact same kind they used to give me in the winter to work in the quarry two villages over, when there was nothing to do at the farm.

But it also made a fantastic improvised weapon, against a fellow slave if you wanted forty lashes, or an overseer if you wanted death.

I’d witnessed both, but nobody had ever successfully turned it on me .

Until now. It connected with my ribs, shattering what felt like at least two of them with a nauseating crunch.

My body jerked and twisted under the impact, sure I could feel the splintered edges of my own bones tearing into my organs, not to mention what remained of my clothes, blood soaking into the fabric.

Still, the thug aimed for one of my kneecaps and shattered that, too, adding a few kicks for good measure.

My breaths were coming out in shallow gasps now, each one more excruciating than the last. I tried to push myself away, to twist or duck, but all my strength had left me.

I had no choice but to hang there, weak and unresponsive, limbs heavy and numb.

This was what death felt like, I was pretty sure.

Noam lifted the ax, aiming for my head, again.

But the blow didn’t come. Of course I wouldn’t be so stupid this time to expect that it never would.

But it didn’t.

And not only that, a second later, it was all gone—the noise, the weapons, the vehicle, and Noam’s gargantuan shadow.

Instead, there was a pair of slender hands tenderly cradling my bloody, savaged body, their graceful fingers carding through my matted, blood-soaked hair, wiping away trails of bloody tissue from my face.

Wavy tendrils fell around my rescuer’s cheeks, traces of her own tears framed in a glistening halo of light.

Resi’s lips were as cool and soft as a satin pillow against my skin. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t tell him to kill you.”