“Jax!” I scream. “Just fucking answer me, you shithead.”
Finally, slowly, he takes off his bike helmet. Shakes out his hair.
Hisblondhair.
My mouth goes slack with horror.
It’s not Jax at all.
It’s jerk guy from Paradise Beach.
The guy who was going to abduct me the day Jax rescued me.
His teeth glint menacingly as he smiles at me. “Hello again, sweetheart.”
OTIS
Jax and I are sitting in my office, listening in to the recording from the tiny bug under the desk in the army captain’s office.
Their voices are clear as a bell, which is fantastic. It means the messages from above ground are reaching us.
Except nothing is being said that’s worth listening to.
The captain and his second in command are trying out the cigars Jax delivered last night.
“Smooth as,” the captain rumbles.
A volley of coughing follows. “Yeah,” croaks his subordinate. “Amazing.”
Jax rolls his eyes. “That little fucker has never smoked a cigar in his life. He’s just sucking up to the boss.”
For the next ten minutes they talk about frivolities. About the movies they’ve seen, the leave they’ve taken, how they are going clubbing next weekend at the resort they are allowed to frequent as higher-ranking soldiers. The women they’re going to fuck.
“Perks of the job,” Jax explains.
I yawn. Jax slouches and vapes.
We sit for another ten minutes listening to this garbage. The subordinate laughs at everything his superior says, a high-pitched sound like a donkey braying. And the captain is a thick-skulled idiot who loves the sound of his own voice.
I’m about to stop listening and go and do something else when suddenly there’s a commotion. I hear the sound of a door banging, then chairs scraping, as if the two men are jumping to their feet.
I sit bolt upright, all my senses on red alert.
A voice shouts, “I’ve got a defector. Get me transport to HQ, now.”
“Let me go, you bastard!” screams a female voice.
A voice I know.
A voice I love.
I stare at Jax. Jax stares at me.
“That’s Clem,” I croak.
“What the fuck!” Jax shoots out of his chair. “How did they get her?”
“She went to the markets this morning,” I say, the blood draining from my face.
