Page 63 of Chasing Paradise

Wick grabbed my hand harder, pulling me down the side of the cliff, clearly seeing something that I didn’t. Not that I was seeing much, mind you, with sweat pouring into my eyes.

It wasn’t until we were right up on it that I realized what he was pulling me toward.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I said, seeing the rickety old rope bridge hanging loosely across the cavern.

“We have to get across. And maybe cut it,” Wick said, too matter-of-fact and practical to care about my fears.

“Wick, it’s ancient,” I objected between gasping breaths.

“It’s the only way to get ahead of them. I’ll go first. So you know it’s safe,” he said.

Before I could even take a breath, he was taking off across the sporadic wooden planks.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered when I watched the whole goddamn bridge start to swing as he ran.

My stomach rolled.

But there was no going back now.

Not even if my whole body felt like it was shaking as I moved to the edge of the cliff to press a foot onto the ridge.

“Violet!” Wick yelled, making my head shoot up to see him standing on the other side, safely on solid ground.

It took a split second to realize it was the first time he’d said my name.

And that he’d said it in a full-on panic.

I didn’t bother to turn around.

I knew what he was saying.

They were right behind me.

Grabbing the rope sides, I rushed out onto the bridge.

Fine.

‘Rushed’ was probably pushing it.

But I wasn’t frozen, shaking, and crying, so that was a win in my book.

I felt it the second one of the men stepped onto the bridge.

The whole thing swayed hard enough to make me worry it might just flip.

My hands burned from gripping the rope as I kept moving across, trying to make sure each foot fell on a plank, not the open spaces between.

The man kept coming, the bridge objecting to the weight.

I heard a crack and felt my foot falling.

My stomach sloshed and my heart took up vacation in my throat as my hands gripped the rope harder, pulling myself back up to my feet.

My pulse was a thunderous beat in my ears, drowning out the rush of the river beneath me, the encouragement of Wick, the shouts of our pursuers, even the pop-pop-pop of sporadic gunfire as the assassins took aim at Wick from the other side of the cliff.

But I did hear one thing, probably the quietest sound of all.

The snap of the rope somewhere behind me.

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