I hated this guy.
Grabbing the hem of the antique fabric, I unrolled it. My heart squeezed. Soon, its beauty would be lost to the world.
While I dragged the fabric bundle up as a sack filled with heavy monstrance adorned with gems, Hunter and Tom carried a half-empty chest. Garry and Jack took a smaller trunk with silver and gold relics. We stopped several times to catch our breath and let our limbs rest.
When we reached the beach, the sun was at its highest point in the sky, making the air impossibly thick to breathe in. Sweat soaked every fiber in my clothing, and the scrapes burned and itched under my shirt. Leaving things on the dry sand, we marched back to get more.
Hours bled into each other. With only a quick break for lunch of a cold canned soup Jack brought from the boat, we made multiple trips from the cave to the beach until I couldn’t move my feet. Hunter and I didn’t get a moment alone, so I wasn’t sure of our plan. It was well after midnight. Tom, Jack, and Hunter went inside the cave to retrieve the last few items, but Garry consistently stayed out to keep an eye on me. There was something vile in the way he constantly looked at me, the way his eyes slid from my face down to my legs. The large flashlight on the ground cast the light behind him, making him look like a horrendous beast.
I sank to the ground by the tree, drawing my knees to my chest, and pressing my head to them. I smelled him before I saw him stepping close to me. Garry’s arm was outstretched, the sharp point of the sword inches away from my nose.
“What the fuck.” I recoiled, standing up and pushing my back flat against the tree. My stomach twisted with anger and fear. Garry scraped the sword tip down my neck, over to my chest, stopping in the center of the valley of my breasts.
Hunter’s hand came out of nowhere and gripped the blade. “Don’t,” he said through his clenched teeth. Their eyes locked. If Garry moved a fraction, he would slice Hunter’s hand open. And then both of his hands would be damaged.
Not letting the metal out of his grip, Hunter pushed the sword down, and I slipped out of its reach. When I was far enough away, Hunter uncoiled his fingers and stepped aside. Garry just laughed, throwing the blade on the ground.
I took Hunter’s hand to examine a bleeding cut across his palm, but it was hard to see well. I thought (hoped) the cut wasn’t deep and, in my humble medical opinion, didn’t need stitches, but we needed to bandage it.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said, looking up at him. “It’s good that you are up to date on your tetanus vaccination,” I teased.
Hunter wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me to his chest. He buried his face in my hair. “Sydney,” he whispered. The quiet but urgent way he said my name made my pulse gallop. “Take off your sandals.” With caution, my legs moved to do what he said, the soles of my feet finding the cold stone under me. “I’ll start a fight. You run.”
I jerked to look at him, a burning sensation developing behind my eyes. “No,” I rasped, my voice creaking, knowing he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
We agreed not to get separated. It was suicidal for Hunter to stay with the three of them. I felt petrified. Tears spilled, and I shook my head.
“Yes.”
“I’m too tired.”
“You can do it.” Hunter took my face in his hands and brushed his lips against mine in a gentle kiss. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He smiled, letting go of me, and marched to Garry, his right hand, the good(ish) hand, made into a fist.
ChapterThirty-Two
My heart beat triple time as I charged through the jungle, branches clouting my face, my toes hitting roots. I picked the shorter path to the hut, the one that we hadn’t used today. My heavy breathing and pulse flooded my ears, blocking any other sounds. Was anyone after me? Perhaps I should have pivoted to the right and run toward the trap. Hunter didn’t say where I should go. We didn’t agree where we would meet. The beach? The trap? Like a knife, heavy and sharp, worry about Hunter twisted in my gut. I should stop and wait for him or return to the cave and help him.
My ankle twisted and I tumbled face first, sliding on my chest and stomach into low ferns. I pushed off the ground and stiffened. Someone else moved fast through the woods. How long had they been following me? Was it Hunter?
They stopped. My breathing ceased. There was a complete cessation of sound.
My eyes were adjusted to the night, but I couldn’t recognize who it was.
I wanted to call out Hunter’s name, but fear (or self-preservation) took a firm grip on my vocal cords.
Panic pulsated in my neck, sending a vibration all the way to my toes. My heart drummed inside my ribcage to the point whoever it was probably heard it.
If it was Hunter, he wouldn’t stop running. If it was Hunter, he would whisper my name.
It was one of the three thugs.
A twig broke too close to my left. I sprinted. I abandoned the idea of taking a straight pass to the hut and changed my course. Trees whipped my face, setting my skin on fire. My mind rushed over every idea of how to lose the chaser. They didn’t know this island as well as I did. High levels of adrenaline diluted the pain from stabs of rocks and twigs under my feet. I made unnecessary turns and passed the garden.
If I reached the shed, I could grab the gardening tool, and if I reached the workshop, I could snatch a hammer. If only I could make it.
Why wouldn’t they yell at me so I would know who it was?
