Page 19 of The Rebel King

In the near-dark of the cave, I hope there is just enough light for this monster to catch defiance in my glare when I stand and look at him.

“You, too, Dr. Murrow.” He kicks Wallace’s leg and flicks his head toward the opening of the cave, swinging his automatic rifle between us. “Move.”

Wallace stands, and we share a quick, confused glance.

“I said”—he pokes Wallace in the hip with the gun—“move.”

We take a few cautious steps toward the mouth of the cave. Is there a camera out there? Will he shoot me out in the open? Willhe make Wallace watch? I have no idea what’s about to happen. Fear claws through my skin, and anxiety leaks from every pore. Wallace stretches his cuffed hands toward mine and gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Outside, I squint against the sudden brightness of the sun. Nixon stands with the six other men who have shadowed our every move, traveling with us since the brothers intercepted our jeep on the narrow mountain trail.

“Where’d you say you saw movement?” Abe asks, his big body deceptively relaxed. I sense tension coiled in his every muscle, tightening every line, even though on the surface, he seems almost indolent, his blue eyes placid behind the mask.

“Down there,” one of the dark-haired men replies in heavily accented English, pointing toward the river barely visible through the tall trees and tangled foliage below. “I counted ten men.”

I hold back a gasp of relief. Movement? Ten men? Has someone found us? HasMaximfound us? I caress my compass charm, a touchstone for the dregs of faith I’m drawing from.

“Ten, you say?” Nixon frowns. “We gotta move then.”

“Yup,” Abe agrees. “And we need to travel light. You know what that means.”

“Plan B?” Nixon asks flatly.

“Plan B.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Abe fires in quick succession, shooting each of the three men to his left in the forehead. In a cruel choreography, Nixon executes the three other men with clean shots through their foreheads, too. The men fall like dominos, some still wearing the wide-eyed, gaping-mouthed expressions of sudden death.

“Shit!” Wallace shouts. He closes his eyes, clamping his lips together so tightly, a white ring forms around his mouth.

I swallow a sob, refusing to show Abe and Nixon my horror, my terror. I deaden my eyes, focusing on a point above where themountain range kisses the sky. I even suppress the hope springing in my heart at the possibility that someone has found us. That someone is coming for us.

Maxim?

I shift my glance to the monster with the cherubic curls, and for one mad moment, I want to urge him to hurry. To put as much distance between us and our potential rescuer as possible. I’ve seen him kill Paco and the six men on his own team in cold blood and with a heart of stone. He could kill Maxim. My imagination conjures the awful vision of Maxim slumped to the ground, a bullet through his head, that same startled death stare stamped on his face.

“Let’s go,” Abe says, stepping over one of the dead bodies and shoving the gun’s barrel into my side. “Move.”

I step quickly in the direction he pushes me, glancing over my shoulder to see Nixon poke Wallace, who walks up and falls into step beside me. Our backs are to them, and Wallace slants a sideways smile my way, one filled with surreptitious excitement and hope. With a set of malevolent eyes burning blue fire in the back of my head, I don’t even dare smile back.

“I hope we don’t regret going to Plan B so soon,” Nixon says just a little behind us.

“We need to travel light.” Displeasure colors Abe’s voice. “Don’t punk out now.”

“I’m not punking out. I’m just thinking if there are ten men chasing us, it’ll be good to have some backup.”

“Our contact didn’t make arrangements for a group that size. He’s made arrangements for three.”

Three.

Not four.

A lump of trepidation forms in my throat, and I blink at tears. If there is a rescue being staged, it may not be in time to save me.

We march through the brush, and the more distance we put between us and the cave, the more conflicted I feel. Obviously Abe’smen spotted some kind of rescue team heading in our direction. By the time they arrive at the cave, we’ll be long gone. Absorbed into the lining of the hungry forest’s belly. Untraceable.

We’ve walked at a quick pace for about fifteen minutes when we reach the river. The water rushes, the rapids intense and raging. As soon as we wade in, we’ll be taken. They may as well shoot us now if they’re going to toss us to those turbulent waves.

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