23. Grant
CHAPTER 23
Grant
Spears of fire shot up my arm, lurching me from a dark fog. Something scurried over me, and I snapped my eyes open to a world tilted sideways. A sharp pain stabbed my neck, yanking me fully conscious. Moonlight cast strange shadows over broken glass and twisted metal.
My face was pressed against spiderwebbed glass on the side door window. Memories flickered like a dying lightbulb—spinning, screaming, falling.
Oh fuck! We crashed.
The helicopter is on its side, and I’m still in the cockpit.
I tried to push away from the glass, but white-hot agony exploded through my legs. A scream tore from my throat as reality slammed into focus. My legs were crushed between warped metal and shattered controls.
The windscreen was gone, just jagged glass teeth rimmed the frame. Beyond it, moonlight painted the jungle in shades of silver and shadows. Something dark stained the passenger seat. Blood. John’s blood.
Oh God. John.
Memories of him rushed back like a tidal wave: his severed arm, his screams, him hobbling away while I begged him not to leave me.
A bug crawled across my face. I swiped at it, blinking through a crust that sealed my right eye shut. Is that blood? I scraped at the flaky bits with trembling fingers until my vision cleared. Another sting pierced my flesh. Craning my neck, I looked down my left side.
Ants!
“Shit!”
Hundreds of ants swarmed over my arm, feasting on my dried vomit.
As I flicked them away, more details of the crash careened through my mind: John wrestling the controls from me, the earth spinning up to meet us, the rotor blade punching through the cabin. John’s blood spraying across the cockpit as he screamed in agony. John dragging his battered body through the shattered windscreen.
“John!” The word came out as a brittle croak, scraping up my raw throat.
Nausea rolled through me as I wrestled against the mangled metal trapping my legs. The sharp stench of fuel stung my nostrils but thank Christ, the smoke that had curled through the cockpit was gone.
“Anyone!”
The relentless drone of insects was the only reply. I craned my neck, searching the shadowy undergrowth beyond the wreck. I couldn’t see his body.
The bastard really did leave me here to die.
I tried to sit up, but pain shredded through my shins like they were being fed through a meat grinder.
“Son of a bitch!” The words came out as a sob.
I’m trapped.
“Help!” My voice echoed in the empty cockpit.
Another sting pierced my neck. I slapped at an ant, crushing it against my sweat-soaked skin. Ten more crawled into its place, then twenty. An endless army of black ants swarmed up my arm and down my collar.
“Help me!”
As I frantically slapped them away, panic blazed through me. How long had I been here? The last thing I remembered was John staggering away with blood pouring from his severed arm. When I vomited, the sun was setting. Now moonlight spilled through the shattered windscreen.
How long have I been here? Hours? Days?
Bile rose in my throat.
Oh God, don’t let it be days.
Had Cody made it to the cops? The thought slammed into me like a sledgehammer. Had John gone to the hospital? If so, the staff would likely alert the cops. Would John spill his secrets? That treacherous bastard knew everything—the trafficking, the drugs, my real name.
I was already on Australia’s most wanted list. The cops had been breathing down my neck for months. John could hand them my location and enough evidence to lock me away forever.
My chest constricted as paranoia set in. For all I knew, the cops could be closing in on me right now.
And I was trapped like a wounded animal.
Twisting my neck, I searched the darkness beyond the wreck. There was nothing around me but trees and tall grass swaying in the moonlight. Maybe John was out there somewhere, dead, or dying. Good. I hoped he suffered a fucking excruciating death. That bastard deserved to die.
Ice raced through my veins.
If I don’t get free, I’ll starve. Or worse, be eaten alive by dingoes, or fucking ants!
“No!”
Gritting my teeth against waves of agony, I shoved the twisted metal pinning my legs. Each movement sent fresh spikes of pain shooting through me, but the wreckage wouldn’t budge. The twisted metal bit deeper into my flesh.
John’s rifle was wedged against my side, half-buried in debris. Clamping my jaw against the pain blazing up my legs, I wrestled the rifle free.
I jammed the barrel against the crushed panel, bracing it where the metal bent inward and using it as a lever, I groaned as I pushed up the buckled console.
“Come on, you fucker.” Sweat dripped into my eyes as I pushed with everything I had.
The metal squealed as it shifted. One final heave released my legs, and I shrieked in agony as bone ground against bone.
My hands shook so violently that I could scarcely fix my gaze on the gruesome wounds where jagged metal had sliced through my shorts and across my thigh.
“Oh God!” Raw flesh and muscle tissue bulged beneath flaps of skin.
I forced myself to look farther down at my legs, half-expecting them to be severed like John’s arm. Something pale jutting from my left shin caught in the moonlight. Frowning, I couldn’t work out what it was.
Oh, sweet Jesus. My bone is sticking out of my leg.
Bile surged up my throat as dark blood oozed around the exposed bone and dribbled down my calf. My right knee was almost twisted completely sideways.
“No. No. No!” A sob burst from my lips.
Panting like a dog, I fought nausea blazing in my belly.
I slammed my head against the side door and a sound tore from my throat that wasn’t human. The edges of my vision went gray as spots danced across my eyes.
This can’t be happening!
I broke out in a cold sweat as sheer panic tore my thoughts to shreds. A wave of nausea raced up my throat and I vomited again, splattering the ants attacking my arms.
Gasping for breath, I wiped my eyes, forcing my brain to focus.
Get it together!
Blind panic sliced through my thoughts like a monster. My hands trembled. My brain hurt. My heart hammered against my ribs.
I need a hospital.
No, that would be suicide. They would have me in cuffs before the first drop of morphine hit my veins.
I am completely fucking alone.
Fresh panic swam through my brain. The walls of the cockpit pressed in, and the metal groaned like it wanted to finish me off. Something between a laugh and a scream bubbled up in my chest.
I will not let those bastards win. Not John. Not Bruce. And not that bitch B. I’m going to drag every one of them down. My hands stopped shaking as fury burned away everything but crystal-clear hatred.
I would treat this like I did everything—one problem at a time. I drew in a ragged breath, steeling myself to assess the mess of bone and bloody flesh that lay across my legs. Cover the wounds. Stop the bleeding. Get out of this death trap. Crawl back to my place and patch myself up. Then vanish.
And once I’m safe, I’ll hunt down John, Cody, Bruce, and B, and kill every single one of them.
I tugged off my five-point harness and removed my belt. Every movement was like wading through wet cement. The wreck groaned around me as I threaded my belt beneath my left thigh. Stars burst behind my eyes as I cinched the buckle tighter, but the violent throbbing in my shin faded to something almost bearable.
I pulled off my T-shirt, and using the twisted metal, I ripped the clothing into strips. The cotton was filthy with sweat and vomit, but infection was the least of my worries. Clenching my jaw against the pain, I wrapped the makeshift bandages around the biggest gashes.
The worst part was still to come. I forced myself to look at the gruesome spike of bone piercing through my shin. Bile rose in my throat as I wadded up the remains of my shirt and pressed the padding against the wound.
A scream tore out of me, echoing through the wreckage. My vision went white with pain as I fumbled with the strips, binding the pad in place. Blood soaked through the cloth, but at least the bone was covered.
Time to move.
Moonlight fractured in the jagged glass around the windscreen, casting broken shadows across the cockpit. A distant cry of night birds pierced the silence, and the damn things sounded grief-stricken like they were practicing for my funeral.
“I’m not dead yet, you fuckers!”
Clenching my jaw, I braced against the seat, ready to push myself over the shattered cockpit glass where a smear of blood marked John’s escape. Ants had already found it and the tiny black bodies feasted on the gore. I followed their trail along a thick smear of blood and froze. Pinned in place by the rotor blade was John’s arm with his watch still around his wrist.
My stomach heaved. Twisting away, I retched bile onto the wreckage floor. My vision blurred to gray again as panic froze me in place. As the world wobbled around me, delirium inched into my mind.
No! I have to get out. Now. Before I pass out again.
Clenching my teeth, I leaned forward, gripped the edge of the panel, and dragging my ruined legs behind me, I hauled my body toward the shattered windscreen.
This was going to be hell. I sucked in a breath and wrapped my fingers around the twisted metal. No, this was going to be worse than hell.
Black spots danced at the edges of my vision and as I dragged myself over the blood-slicked console, careful to avoid the jagged glass teeth, the scream that tore from my throat didn’t sound human. The twisted angle of the chopper turned every movement into a war against gravity. Fresh agony blazed through my legs with each inch gained, but I ground my teeth until my jaw ached and kept crawling.
One more pull. Just one more.
Jagged metal scraped over my bare chest and sliced my skin. My legs blazed as I dragged them over the rough edge. Ants were everywhere, swarming over my hands, marching up my arms, crawling across my neck. I wanted to scream. I wanted to brush them off. I wanted to crawl into a ball and cry.
I pushed out to fresh air. Darkness crept at the edges of my vision, and my arms shook so badly I could barely grip the frame.
Don’t pass out. Do not pass out.
Glass crunched under my palms, and my arms trembled as I dragged myself through the opening and out of the wreck following the swarm of ants tracking Bruce’s bloody escape.
I lost my grip and toppled out.
A scream ripped from my throat as I hit the ground side-on with a crucifying crunch that shot excruciating agony through my body.
I rolled onto my back, heaving gasps of air that reeked of aviation fuel and blood. Above me, the moon and stars spun in lazy circles, while the helicopter hulked over me like a broken beast. Ants marched across my body, tickling my chest as they aimed for the fresh blood, but I couldn’t even lift my arms to brush them away.
Somewhere in the distance, an engine growled. Police? Search parties? The sound faded before I could focus.
Get up. Get moving.
My limbs had turned to concrete, refusing to obey as the moon strobed in and out of focus—razor sharp one moment, a smeared ghost the next.
Get moving. Now!
My body overpowered my brain, and I was done.
Consciousness came in waves, and each time I snapped my eyes open, the moon had shifted, telling me I’d lost time.
Move! Goddammit!
I rolled onto my stomach, and a howl of agony burst up my throat when something jabbed into my thigh wound. Gasping for breath, I rolled onto my back. Fighting a wave of blackness, I dug my elbows into the dirt and hauled myself backward, dragging my legs behind me like a pair of anchors.
Each pull over rocks and exposed roots sent fresh shockwaves through me, but the pure agony kept me awake. The sounds of my ragged breathing were a wheezy backdrop against the birdsongs that echoed through the trees and the critters that rustled through the undergrowth.
My movements became a mantra.
Pull. Rest. Pull. Rest.
Minutes ticked on. Hours did too. Stars wheeled overhead and as I carved a path through the brittle weeds, every few stops, I checked my wounds, making sure the makeshift bandages were still in place. The blood had become tacky, and I had no idea if that was good or bad.
Bruce’s bloody trail had long since vanished. Was I even going the right way? Every tree looked the same.
Christ! Am I lost?
Just keep moving.
Any direction was better than staying near the wreck. If they came looking for me, that chopper was more visible from the air, than I was amongst these bushes.
Pull. Rest. Pull.
The stars faded one by one, and first light painted the clouds pink and orange. Morning birds started their happy chorus that grated on my nerves. Sweat or dew soaked my back, and my arms trembled with exhaustion.
A helicopter thundered somewhere in the distance. Clenching my jaw, I dragged my body under the leaves of a giant palm. Squinting at the pre-dawn sky, I searched for the chopper. Was that the cops? Air/sea rescue?
Were they looking for me?
I should be in my house. No, I should have been halfway to Thailand by now. To the penthouse apartment my brother and I had bought. Cooper and I were going to live like kings with fancy cars and top-quality equipment, and we would buy exclusive women to show us a good time.
I released a wet laugh that sounded more like a sob. I had no idea why I was laughing. Cooper was dead, and if I didn’t fucking move my ass, I would be dead, too.
Maybe I was already dying. How much blood could a person lose? Did the heat radiating up my legs mean my wounds were infected?
No. I’m not dying in the fucking dirt.
The chopper noise was gone, and I pulled myself out from under the palm leaves. As I searched the sky, the sun speared right into my eyeball, rendering me blind. I snapped my eyes closed and the blazing heat seemed to fry my brain.
My trek over the brutal ground was endless. Time blurred into a haze of pain and determination. Finally, I saw a tree that I recognized. The massive gum tree dominated the tree line flanking my place, and I’d contemplated cutting it down prior to construction.
Thank Christ I hadn’t.
Just a little bit more.
Pull. Rest. Pull. Rest.
By the time I reached the rough bark of the gum tree, I was verging on collapsing.
I eased onto my side, fighting a wave of vertigo as I studied my house through the bushes. The specially designed privacy-glass windows that had cost a fortune were black from the outside so I couldn’t see a damn thing. The irony of my own security measures twisted in my gut. Anyone inside could track every movement I made while I squinted uselessly at the dark windows.
A dense silence swam around me. Not a whisper of breeze. No kookaburras laughing at my bullshit.
Something soft brushed my side and I jerked, stifling a cry of pain.
“Tiger!” Tears welled in my eyes as I ran my hand over my cat’s ginger fur. “Hey, girl.”
My voice cracked as she curled up against me, purring like I wasn’t broken and bleeding in the dirt.
How had my life come to this?
Sobs wobbled up my throat without warning, and as I pulled her to my bloody chest, I cried. The last time I’d cried like this was when that bitch cop Lacey murdered my brother, Cooper.
This was somehow worse.
All my careful planning and years of work were gone. My assets and bank accounts were frozen. My allies were either dead or they’d become my enemy. The Nazi gold Cooper had died for had been confiscated. My hardworking, honest parents would know that not only was Cooper a criminal, but I was too. Worst still, my carefully constructed lie about me saving gorillas in the Congo—the fiction my parents had been so proud of—would be exposed as nothing but a front for my criminal involvement with Scorpion Industries.
They would be devastated to learn that I’d been lying to them for years.
Tiger’s warmth against my chest highlighted how cold everything in my life had become. My isolation pressed in like a vice, threatening to crush what was left of my sanity.
I had nothing to live for.
Tiger purred and nuzzled under my chin. My tears spilled down my cheeks and I didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away.
“I have nothing to live for, Tiger.”
She purred louder.
“Except you.” I ran my hand along her back and up her tail. She twisted around, encouraging more.
A chuckle released from my throat. My best friend was a cat.
Truth was, I’d never had anyone I’d called a friend. Everyone who I thought I was close to had used me. Every single one.
I clenched my jaw. I was wrong. I definitely had something to live for—revenge.