6
Just the simpletask of walking was becoming harder and harder. Reaper’s energy was tapping out, and it would continue to drain until he plugged the hole in his chest. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, pain burned through his shoulder constantly, making every incremental move torture. Not that he couldn’t handle a little torture. He just preferred not to be pain.
If he lost consciousness before he was able to locate a safe hiding place for them to recuperate, there was no doubt that the general would find them, siphon Caroline until she was bled dry, and more than likely dissect Reaper to try to figure out what made him tick.
Oddly enough, one of the things grounding him to the present was Caroline’s soft hand clasped in his. She was so tiny, her head topping out at about the center of his chest. Everything about her screamed fragile, from her bone structure to her size to those big blue eyes that practically swallowed up her entire face. She needed his protection.
It was a thought that should’ve been annoying, but it instead sent a surge of primal satisfaction through him. Feeling such a riot of emotions when she was near made him oddly off-balance. He was so used to being on solid footing, to making split-second decisions without regret or doubt. His little golden goose was making him feel weird things.
And that kind of weakness was nothing he could afford.
“So did my father give you the orders directly?”
Reaper winced at Caroline’s innocent question. Of course her father hadn’t given him any orders. The senator had been dead for well over a month, killed by Jack Mankel, the very man responsible for convincing Reaper and his team to join Project Mayhem. But if the princess thought her daddy was responsible for her sudden exit from the experiment, Reaper sure as hell wasn’t going to break the news. He needed her cooperation—at least until he fully recovered from the gunshot wound. He couldn’t risk that she’d escape while he was too weak to give chase. “Don’t know.”
Her frustration was a rubber band snapping him in the back. He could practically feel her glare pinning him between his shoulder blades. She tried to yank her hand free, but he held on, unwilling to sever their connection.
“What do you know?” she said.
Reaper detected the distant sound of vehicles hauling ass into the jungle from the direction of the bunker. The general and his men would be in hot pursuit. Even if they weren’t worried about capturing and killing Reaper, Caroline was the key to the whole project. Without her, Project Mayhem wouldn’t make Gen. Rainier his fortune.
“What I do know is that they’re chasing us. The more you talk and distract me, the slower we go and the more likely it is that we’ll get captured.”
She gasped and tried to yank her hand away again. “You are grumpier than a toddler at naptime when you’re hurt.”
Reaper drew up short. “Did you just compare me to a child?”
The woman had lost her mind. Reaper spun and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at her. He couldn’t help but notice the dark purple shadows underneath her eyes and the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath that god-awful hospital gown. His little blabbermouth was running low on energy too, probably the adrenaline wearing off. Was that something women did when they were getting tired? Talking, talking, talking for no reason?
But apparently she had enough energy to plant her fists on her hips and glare right back at him. “Yes, I did. Did that hurt your manly sensibilities?”
“I don’t have manly sensibilities.”
She sniffed, a cute little curling of her nose that clearly showed her disdain for his comment. For the first time in his memory Reaper felt the need to defend his actions. “Would a child be able to rescue you from a compound of killers? Or get you out of a jungle full of creatures that want to eat you alive?”
Her firm lips drooped into a slight frown.
“Would a child kill for you? Take a bullet for you?”
Her once firm shoulders now drooped considerably. Caroline’s defiant gaze dropped to the ground and her bare toes curled in the spongy moss beneath her feet. “You’re right.”
“Damn straight, I’m right.”
Thinking the conversation over, Reaper quickly scanned their surroundings, focusing his energy on the still-distant sounds of engines and men. Sounds Caroline wouldn’t be able to detect, not for at least another couple of miles.
“It’s just that you’re the first person who’s talked to me and even touched me in so long,” her trembling, breathless voice drew his attention. Fat tears filled her eyes. “I feel so strange, Reaper. I haven’t seen my father or my friends. I-I didn’t even know if they were still alive. And that shot Dr. Winters gave me is making me feel so weird.”
One tear escaped her lower lid and trailed down her cheek. Her chin wobbled.
Reaper took a step back, completely at a loss for what to do. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a crying woman, and he definitely couldn’t afford for her to waste precious minutes sobbing.
“Yeah, well, I’m not letting him take you back.” There, he’d reassured her.
Only it didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of stopping the tears, it made them flow more freely. “I owe you my life.”
He scrubbed a hand over his skull-trimmed hair, the movement sending bolts of pain through his injured shoulder. This was a lose-lose situation.
When he didn’t know what to do, he usually asked one of his teammates. Granted, that didn’t happen very often. As a matter of fact, it had only happened one time—a chunk of concrete had slammed into the side of his head from an explosion in one of the houses they’d raided. He’d almost been knocked unconscious.
