Page 25 of Bounty Hunter

This is the beginning of what it feels like to die in the depths of the river. I know it. I’m screaming, choking, kicking frantically. I almost don’t hear the dark-haired friend next to me when he speaks.

He spits out a mouthful of water as he gains the surface again. “We’ll find you.” He gasps out as he struggles to stay above. And then I know he’s going to let go, sacrificing himself to help their friend, so the criminal and I have a better chance of survival.

The panic and fear, and the strange camaraderie that’s only built during situations such as these between strangers has me feeling a sudden wave of compassion toward these supposedly evil mercenaries who decided to rescue me, and who will probably die in this river tonight.

“Moneyre.” I shout. “Meet us in Moneyre!” It’s where Rhette was meant to deliver Ikar—the criminal—to the officials. They can find him there. Reducing their need to search for each other is the least I can do for their aid in rescuing me. I hope I don’t come to regret it, but we all know it’s not likely they’ll be meeting us anywhere. I don’t even know if he heard me, but he lets go of my hand and immediately disappears beneath the surface.

“Rhosse! Darvy!” Ikar shouts, his voice strangled. “No!”

He scans the river in every direction, searching, but we never see them rise again. I don’t know if the river took us away, tookthemaway, or if they died.

Besides our splashing and heavy breathing, and my teeth beginning to chatter, Ikar and I are silent. I feel numb inside and out. Two men, likely dead. Ikar pulls me along, fightingthe current and heading toward the opposite shore from where we entered. I’m content to let him lead—for now. I wait for a bump against my leg, a bite that will dig in to my soft flesh and drag me under the dark surface, something the likes of what Darvy and Rhosse experienced. But besides my blood seemingly freezing to ice in my veins and my chest tight with shock and sorrow, nothing happens. After what seems like hours, we make our way out of the river and onto a gradual incline, still muddy, but not so steep it’s difficult to climb. Ikar doesn’t let go of my hand until we’re both completely out of the water and several feet away from the river’s edge. Then he sits down heavily in some patchy grass, rests his arms on his knees, and lets his head hang. I fall flat on my back, breathing hard and shivering a couple feet away.

A light breeze blows over my chilled body, and my shivering increases. And while all I want to do is close my eyes, sink into the dark blackness of sleep, and pretend this night never happened, I’m forced to face reality. I can’t help but feel sorrow, and a hefty dose of guilt, for the two men who died in the river tonight while rescuingme. I feel strangely empty at the thought. They can’t truly be gone, can they? But I saw them go down and never come up. I try not to imagine what they suffered. More guilt spreads through my body. All this because I broke the rules and didn’t wait for Rhette. Not only that, but I don’t know if Rupi will be able to find me now that the river has carried us who-knows-how-far-away. I hope she can find her way home without me. I take a deep breath, trying to relieve the tight worry in my chest. It doesn’t help much.

I turn my head to the side and look at the criminal that sits beside me. He carries a commanding presence around like it radiates from his core, but his shoulders have dropped, and he presses a thumb and finger to his eyes like he might be stopping—No. Mercenaries are heartless and violent. They don’t cry, or mourn, or have friends. He probably just has silt and river creature blood in his eyes and is simply clearing his vision so he can continue with his dishonorable life.

Even with that explanation filling in the cracks of my guilt and sorrow, it feels like the ultimate lack of gratitude to now place a cuff on him, the criminal who has become my rescuer. I scramble to sort through all the rules I’ve been taught, but none of them shed light on this bizarre situation. Law says he should be captured, but it feels so wrong. Then I remember that he’s not just any man. He’s a mercenary, and if he knew that I’m a Tulip, he’d capture me in a heartbeat and kill me. I feel the resolution building. I already tipped his supposedfriendsoff to his future destination, in a weak-hearted act of compassion, so if they survive, they can find each other that way. That’s as far as my gratitude goes. My heart hardens further. He’s the one who broke an agreement with a noble and hunts Tulips. And on top of all that, the reward money is staggering, and I need it badly. Hence, why I’m here on this dreadful river bank in the first place.

He speaks and snaps me out of my thoughts.

“You okay?” His voice is smooth and deep.

“Yeah.” My voice is raspy from screaming earlier, and I swallow to try to moisten it, all while telling myself it’s not true concern I hear in his voice.

The cuff that I’ve never had to use before practically burns my chest through the fabric of my shirt. It’s supposed to be for emergencies. I think this counts. I realize that it’s now or never, and right now, he isn’t expecting anything besides gratitude and weakness from me. I shift to pull the cuff bead from my vest pocket, then reach over like I’m going to lay my hand on his in a thankful or comforting sort of way. Instead, I touch the bead tohis bare skin, and it sizes itself to his wrist like an inky, slithering snake. It glows a bit before it turns a matte black of interconnected chain links.

He lifts his wrist and takes in the presence of the cuff. “What the he?—”

Faster than I can blink, he has secured both my hands above my head with one hand and straddles me, my throat at the mercy of his other large hand. He looms over me, all concern and kindness now eerily absent. His face is a handsome mask of dark ice, and I can almost tangibly feel the magic behind the cuff pushing against its brand new lock. I tremble, and I want to blame it on my cold, drenched state, but I’m terrified. Here is the Class A criminal in all his glory.

I find very quickly that it is quite difficult to speak while half-strangled, but I force the words out before he finishes the job. I have never actually made an arrest, but I’ve seen Rhette and others do it, so I do my best to copy them.

“You are under arrest.” I suck in air with an attractive wheeze. “Letter. In my pocket.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. He gives me a prolonged, murderous look before he removes his hand from my throat, and I breathe in lungfuls of air. As much as I can with his weight still atop me.

“Which one?”

“Left side of my coat.”

He is careful to touch me as little as possible. I’m not sure if that implies he’s a gentleman to a point or that I’m so disgusting right now even a loose-moraled mercenary doesn’t want to touch me. I assume it’s the latter. He pulls the remains of a document from my pocket, now heavy and dripping with river water. His lips flatten. He does a quick pat down to check for weapons within my reach before he releases my arms. Treating me as thoughIam the criminal. The nerve. His weight effectivelyholds me prisoner while he carefully pries open the sopping parchment. I can only hope it’s still readable. His brow furrows as he scans the page in the moonlight. Then he stands, his intimidating figure towering above me in a way that has me scrambling quickly to my feet to decrease the difference in our height. Not that it does much—he still stands almost a foot taller than me.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he growls.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me.” I fold my arms across my chest and try to stop my teeth from chattering. Chattering teeth aren’t professional.

“I’m not explaining anything.” His eyes darken. “Remove the cuff.”

There is something so forceful in his command that I actually feel the urge to obey, but I won’t. He is a criminal, and I need to protect the Tulips… and I need the money for Renna.

“You are under arrest,” I repeat. “If you hurt me, kill me, or run off, your magic is gone.” I surprise myself by making a poofing gesture for good measure, and his face drops to a handsome scowl. Having him under my cuff has me feeling all sorts of powerful tonight. I begin to see why bounty hunters do what they do.

“I am familiar with charmed cuffs,” he says, frustrated.

I raise my brows at him. “That comment doesn’t improve my opinion.”

He’s got the dark and broody look down pat. I swallow.

I’m left wondering how many times this man has been arrested. Nothing has gone as I expected with this contract. In fact, that original contract is now void. I’m on my own. In addition to that, I expected some drunk, filthy, half-starved ex-soldier of some sort. Like I said, the bounty sketches usuallygive a lot in the looks department. In his case, it didn’t give nearly enough. I purse my lips.

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