Page 23 of The First Lost Boy (The Shadows of Neverland Duet #2)

Hudson

My knee sinks into the mud as I brace my shoulders against the bars and burst upward as much as I’m able. The bars flex but don’t give much, and my foot slides sideways in the muck. Though my manacled hand limits my movement, I will not stop.

I roar and ram against the cage bars. Again and again. And again…

Over.

And over.

Bruising my shoulders.

My back.

Until finally, one of the rusted, stubborn, old-as-fuck pieces bends.

With a few more bursts of violent persuasion, the bar I’m shackled to breaks in the middle. I slip my restraint off the rusted, jagged edge and tear the rest of the bars free until I can fit my body through them, then crawl out onto the sodden ground and catch my breath as the rain pelts the thick, smelly mud off my skin.

I still don’t know who I am.

Warm firelight cuts through the trees just ahead. I couldn’t see it from my confines, and given the fact that someone threw me into that tiny pit in the first place, I doubt I’m welcome among whoever built that fire. But I see no other light, and I’ll be damned if I waste another minute wandering in the dark.

The muscles in my legs quake, but adrenaline fuels my steps. As I walk into an area that has been cared for, claimed, and cleared from the jungle’s grasp, the rain slows to a sprinkle and then stops.

From ahead, I hear the rumble of gruff voices and smell wood smoke. I see structures – the humble backs of houses built high into the trees.

A branch cracks directly behind me.

I pivot, my hook raised to slash as a hand slaps my back.

“Don’t!” a young man with wide, frantic eyes urges, shrinking back from the weapon I wear.

I’ve never seen him before, but I’ll shred him if he tries to toss me back into that damned hole again. “Who the hell are you?” I demand, the tip of my hook digging into the soft flesh under his chin, raising it centimeter by centimeter until he holds my stare.

The man curses and mutters something about my shadow being stolen, which doesn’t make any sense. “I’m Bones. I’m a friend,” he assures me.

“How can I be sure you weren’t the one who tossed me in that muddy pit to drown, Bones?” I bare my teeth.

“Oh, it wasn’t him. Bones is your ally,” a newcomer interjects breezily. His wet hair hangs to his shoulders. Intelligent hazel eyes stare back at me, unflinching. Not an ounce of fear rests in them. “My name is Thorn, and I put you in the cage.”

Bones’s eyes flick behind me just before something strikes the back of my head so hard I see stars. I sway and then list sideways, landing hard in the wet grass at the strangers’ feet. Thorn has a strange accent. It’s almost… familiar.

My vision swims, blurring and sharpening in woozy rhythms as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.

The guy who tried to warn me – Bones – is dragged away toward the houses and fire by a pale man with bright red hair.

He pushes at his captor and curses him soundly. “Get off me, Lock!” He knows these men. And yet, Thorn claimed Bones was my ally. He’s clearly not theirs.

“Hudson!” Bones shouts, spittle flying from his lips. “ Run !”

My arms are leaden, but I try to push my body up. The world spins and I can’t get my bearings or balance. Something warm and wet slips onto my shoulders and slides down my back.

“Head wounds bleed terribly,” another male observes as he crouches beside me, casually resting his forearms on his thighs.

I finally manage to focus on his face, though everything else still moves in dizzying circles. When he smiles, goosebumps spread across my skin because it doesn’t reach his bright green eyes.

“Welcome home, Hudson.”

Beyond him, Thorn beats Bones until he stops struggling, then he binds and gags my ally until all I hear are his pained, muffled groans.