“Put dirt on your face, you need to camouflage your skin as much as possible.” His voice was getting rougher and she knew he was closer than ever to passing out. She quickly did as he asked, not wanting to put any additional strain on him. Once she’d finished with herself, she turned to him. “Do you want me to do you too?”
He stared at her for the longest time before answering and she got the eerie sensation that he was looking inside of her.
“Yes, please,” he said.
Had he really just said “please” to her? He was closer to passing out than she’d thought. She hastily covered his face and then leaned back to study her work. While the dirt covered up some of the lightness of his skin, it would only work from a great distance. Like her hair covering, it was better than nothing. Caroline took his hand once more, seeking that connection. “I know you don’t want me to go anywhere, but we need to be realistic. If you pass out, I don’t have a clue how to treat your wound. You need to tell me what to do.”
Reaper closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, the lines of weariness on his face deepening. “You’ll need to disinfect it with something stronger. I need antibiotics to prevent infection, and you’ll have to dig the bullet out, otherwise I could get gangrene and die from blood poisoning. Then you’ll have to stitch the wound back together and cover it.” He spat out the list so matter-of-factly, like he’d done it before. Who was she kidding? He certainly had done it before.
But she hadn’t—the most medical experience she had was putting a Band-Aid on a scrape. Caroline fought to keep her voice steady and level, praying her voice didn’t betray the absolute terror ricocheting through her, Caroline said, in what she hoped was a confident voice, “Perfect. Thank you.”
If Reaper passed out, her best hope would be stealing his gun, finding a hospital and forcing a doctor to come with her and treat him. Maybe she could pull that off. Or would she just wind up getting caught again? Brought back to the bunker?
Reaper sounded like he was familiar with this area, which meant he probably knew if and where there was a hospital for her to get the supplies. “Reaper, where’s the hospital?”
He didn’t respond; he didn’t even open his eyes.
Panic gripped her. “Reaper?”
He didn’t even twitch. Was he dead? Caroline fumbled around his neck, searching for a pulse. When her fingers found a steady beat, she almost wept with relief. He had just passed out.
What was it that he needed from her? There wasn’t anything else she could do at this point other than sit and wait. He’d been correct in saying it would be too dangerous to make a move before sundown. The activity out front of the building seemed to be picking up. The men becoming more frantic in their search for their missing captives.
She leaned her head back against the pockmarked wall and closed her eyes. This was the first time she’d gotten to rest since being jolted awake from her drug-induced coma. She let her mind wander backward. She needed to remember her captivity so she could tell her father everything that had happened. Anything to help him track down Rainier.
She remembered the sharp pain in her chest and hearing Dr. Winters tell Reaper about the adrenaline injection. And then the feeling in her chest was joined by the pounding at her skull at the bombardment of noise and light as they made their escape. The fear had been even worse than the pain.
The General’s face surfaced in her memory, melding together with the visage of a polished, older, black-haired man who’d moved her around like a commodity, mostly keeping her unconscious. And then there had come the lab. The white walls and floors and lab coats. Dr. Winters constantly watching her for any change. And always the needles. They’d refused to even speak to her there, in the brief moments she was allowed to be awake. And then, lastly, she remembered General Rainier standing over her bed staring down at her with a look of complete ownership. Was this all some sick twisted plot orchestrated by him to get back at her for leaving him at the altar?
She might understand that if they’d actually had feelings toward one another, but their marriage had been nothing more than an arrangement. They’d had easy camaraderie, closer to that of a father and daughter than anything else. No love. At least not on her end.
No, she’d known the General ever since she was a toddler in diapers. He wasn’t a man who acted on emotion at all. The only reason he’d agreed to marry her was to protect her from her father’s political enemies.
She had to be imagining his presence in the lab. Could a man she’d known so long really have fooled her into thinking he was kind? Human? She couldn’t bear to think it possible.
She had no idea what kind of drugs they’d given her, but surely she’d hallucinated plenty. But she would remember, even if she had to go to psychotherapy to delve into her subconscious, and she’d do everything she could to stop these men from hurting anyone else.
“Check the building, men!” said a man in a clearly American voice.
Caroline jolted from her thoughts, sitting up ramrod straight. That voice was just out front.
“Just bodies in there, boss. No people!” Another voice, just as heavily accented as the one before, called back.
There was a scuffle outside, something that sounded like a loud slap and then the first voice spoke again. “Check the damn building. The next time you don’t follow my orders, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
An invisible vice closed around Caroline’s throat and she immediately began trying to wake Reaper. “Reaper, they’re coming. I don’t know what to do. Please wake up.”
His head lolled to the side and he didn’t move. Dear God, dear God, she had nowhere to hide. Nothing—
The stack of bodies loomed up next to her, a hand sticking out from beneath the tarp.
The latch jiggled on the rusted metal front door.
Time seemed to stand still for an instant.
She didn’t have a choice. She could pull the pistol from his belt and start shooting, but at best she’d only take out one soldier. They’d be as good as captured. As good as dead.
Boom! She jumped. The man outside must’ve kicked the front door. He jiggled the latch again.
