Page 24 of Hunter's Mission

I dodged the bloody machete and as my guy twisted his body with the blow, I kicked his knee. He staggered sideways, giving me a clear shot at his head. I punched his temple hard, and he crumpled to the ground unconscious.

Wyatt had his man on the ground, pinned face down with his hands behind his back.

“You got any cable ties?” He waggled his head.

As I looped the thin plastic over the man's fists, he thrashed against Wyatt's grip and screamed. The zip-tie did its work to secure him, and I slapped a piece of gaffer tape over his mouth to shut him up.

Wyatt limped back, dusting his hands. “Now that’s how you do it.”

“Yep.” I surveyed the bodies around us. “These men aren’t soldiers. They’re fucking villagers.”

Layla was right in her request that we don’t kill them, and I was glad we didn’t.

“So why the hell did they attack Layla?” Wyatt asked.

“Don’t know, but let’s go find out.” With my heart still racing, I drew my gun.

The room beyond the door was screened with netting that looked like it had been shredded by an angry tiger, giving us a clear view of what was inside. The good news was that there were no more men in sight. The bad news was we couldn’t see behind the door at the back.

I stepped over the broken front door and into a room that had a kitchen area on one side and an eating area on the other. The walls were lined with shelves housing strange objects, bones, and jars filled with unknown liquids. The room was dimly lit with a few candles scattered around and a strong smell of sweat, dirt, and something else that I couldn't quite identify tainted the air.

I gave Wyatt the signal that I was entering through the door, and he nodded.

A shout rang out behind us, and we ducked down.

Peering through my binoculars, I studied the area where the natives had been looking.

My blood drained. Men in tattered remnants of militia uniforms shoved through the bushes. Their eyes were cold and dead; their steps were slow yet with intent.

Every one of them held a rifle across their chest.

“Fuck,” I said. “We’ve got company.”

CHAPTER 6

LAYLA

The open doorwayprovided enough dim light to allow me to see around my ransacked laboratory. The place where I’d dedicated nearly a year of my life was a shamble. My research—gone. My computer and satellite phone—smashed.

I still didn’t know what Na-lynied and his brothers wanted. Why were we still alive?

And where the hell was Neville?

Cody groaned and his eyes flickered open.

“Hey, are you okay?” I asked.

It was a stupid question. He wasn’t okay. A thick, red gash on his forehead had spilled blood down the side of his face, and the bruise around it was the color of a nasty storm. A lump had formed over his cheekbone and his swollen lip had a split through it that would be painful.

He’d rolled in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours and each time Cody had tried to communicate with the natives it had been like a game of roulette. They would either punch and kick him, or they’d give us food or water or let us go to the toilet.

He squinted at me, probably trying to focus without his glasses that Na-lynied had maliciously stomped on.

“Lay . . . Layla,” Cody slurred, struggling to sit up. “Wha . . . what happened?”

“Shh, Cody,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from lack of water.

Cody wrestled against the tattered twine tying him to the desk leg next to me as he dragged himself to a sitting position. “I’m so thirsty.” Cody smacked his lips together.

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