Page 17 of The Rebel King

It feels like the last day of my life.

A misplaced smile cracks my dry lips. “‘We Didn’t Start the Fire.’”

“Oh, I remember that. Elton John?”

“Billy Joel.” I twist my wrist in the plastic cuffs to touch the compass charm dangling from my bracelet. “Maxim and I sang it in Amsterdam. He made up all the words, and we…” The little doomed smile dies, and tears sting my eyes. “We saw the tulips that day and the windmills. We rode bikes along the coast by the water, and it was a perfect day.”

I close my eyes, and the memory rises so rich and vivid that the dankness of this cave fades, and fresh air filters into my lungs. Sea spray cools the sweat from my skin and sprinkles salt on my lips.

Raised voices speaking Spanish beyond the mouth of the caveyank me back, and reality turns the sea spray on my lips to the salt of my own tears. I swipe my body’s confession of fear from my cheeks, determined these fools won’t have the satisfaction of seeing.

“By my calculations,” I say, my voice soft and resigned, “my forty-eight hours are almost up. I’m out of time soon.”

“He won’t…” Wallace’s voice fades, and his eyes glaze over. I wonder if, even as he assures me Abe won’t kill me, he sees Paco’s body, his blood spilled on the ground. Because I do. The sight will haunt me forever. “We’ll figure something out.”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, pressing my back into the cave wall. “It doesn’t look good.”

Wallace grabs my hand. “Don’t lose hope.”

How do I tell him I lost hope long ago? Now I live between flashes of faith and glimpses of hope, even as I fight. The one thing that has given me hope, the one thing that has renewed my faith, is another thing I’ll lose.

Maxim.

“Wall,” I say, squeezing his hand with new urgency. “I need you to promise me something.”

“No.” He shakes his head, his eyes panicked. “No promises. You’ll make it out of this.”

“You have some leverage. Maybe not much, but promise me you’ll try to do what I ask.”

“What…” He swallows and looks down to the dirt of the cave floor. “What is it?”

“My body,” I choke, blinking back tears. “Make him send me home.”

“Lenny, no.” Wallace hangs his head, clenching his eyes closed. “Please no.”

“Yes.” I lift my cuffed hands under his chin, forcing his gaze to meet mine. “Try to do this for me. My father can’t go through that again. Not knowing. Never seeing. Not sure. He needs closure, no matter how bad it is.” I stuff a sob back down my throat.

“And Maxim,” I say, “he’ll need that, too. God, I never got to tell Maxim I love him, and now it’s too late.”

Tears leak from under Wallace’s closed lids, dampening his lashes. He shakes his head. “I hate that you got dragged into this. I’m so sorry. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not your fault.” My tears win, coursing over my cheeks.

I cover my mouth, capturing the painful sob before it escapes and reveals my vulnerability to the bastards guarding the cave. Hot tears leak over my fingers and burn a trail down my neck. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath from the well of strength inside me that I pray is deep enough for what’s ahead.

“You sound like you’ve accepted this,” Wallace says. “That’s not like you. You’re a fighter. You don’t surrender. Remember?”

“You can still fight with fear in your heart.” A watery chuckle escapes me. “Sometimes it’s the greatest motivator. The fear of what you’ll lose can make you that much more determined to win. My life is at stake, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this alive, but if I don’t, I have to think about the ones who mean the most to me.” I discipline my mouth into a firm line. “I’ll be prepared for the worst and fight for the best.”

I reach over and grab his hand, our shackled wrists overlapping. “There are two things thatdogive me hope, Wall.”

“What?”

“Did I ever tell you that I dream of my mother?”

The question seems to startle him. His brows lift, and he fixes all his attention on me. “No. What do you dream?”

I recall the night I huddled in Maxim’s arms after a nightmare and can almost feel the strength, the comfort I found in him.

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