Chapter 28
Kyle, Quinn, and Geri sat out on the patio as the sun baked the little island. There wasn’t even much of a breeze right now, so the heat and humidity just sat there, weighing down on sore exhausted shoulders.
It felt so foolish and pointless, just waiting for Rich to kill one of them, destroy another, and send the third back to their old life. They should be running. Fighting. Doing… something . Anything besides sitting here like livestock who knew they were headed to the slaughterhouse tomorrow morning.
But much like that livestock, they were penned in. Watched over. There was nowhere to go and no way to fight back.
There was nothing to do except wait to die.
No. No, Quinn refused to accept that. Not until his blood was actively spilling. He was beyond despair now, but maybe if they worked together—maybe if they put their heads together and at least made some kind of last stand, they could, if nothing else, go down swinging.
“We have to do something,” he whispered. “We have to get out…” He trailed off, not even sure he had the energy of finish the thought, never mind follow through with it.
“What do you have in mind?” Geri asked.
Shaking his head, Quinn turned his vape pen over and over between his fingers. Keeping his voice as quiet as possible so Tyson and Kevin didn’t hear him, he murmured, “I don’t know. I just know that if we’re going to get out of here, this is our last chance.”
Geri nodded, gazing at the cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She seemed to rally a little, and she quietly said, “We know the terrain better than we did the first time. The odds still aren’t great, but I like them more than I like staying here and waiting to die.”
That injected a little life into Quinn. She was right. It wasn’t great, but they weren’t flying as blind as they’d been the first time. “Agreed. Rich’s guys have blocked off the path up to the cliffs and the one we took the first time, but there’s—”
“There’s no fucking point,” Kyle hissed. “Can’t you see that?”
Geri and Quinn both watched him.
He huffed sharply and shook his head as he waved at them and their surroundings. “Look at this. Look at us. They’ve told us the endgame, but they’re not keeping us apart. They’re not keeping us locked up.” He grimaced and slouched back in his chair. “They want us to try to escape. It’s part of the game.”
“Of course it is,” Geri said. “But what choice do we have? Just lay down and wait for them to finish us off?” She looked at Quinn, then back at Kyle. “I don’t know what our odds are of getting away, but I’ll take my chances if it means I don’t wind up dead tomorrow or in prison when I touch dry land.”
Kyle’s jaw worked and he avoided her gaze.
Quinn wasn’t any happier with her proposal, but he didn’t have any better ideas.
Geri took a deep breath, glancing at the men who were keeping watch out on the patio. Dropping her voice even more, she whispered, “I can find the booster. It’s out on the beach—I know where I dropped it. Quinn, is your phone charged?”
He nodded. “I can get it from my room.”
“Okay. We already know if we get far enough out, there’s a signal. It’s not a lot, but it’s there. This time, we’re just going to have to take the risk and keep the signal on until we connect with someone.”
Kyle furrowed his brow. “You… managed to call out?”
“I’ve got a booster my company developed for the military, and it’s strong enough to ping a satellite once we’re far enough from the hotel.” She paused. “I managed to get some text messages out, but they bounced. I think this time, I need to call out so I can be sure something connected. And I need to keep the phone on until I get an affirmative response.”
Kyle pushed out a breath. “That… Okay. That, um… That might work.” At least he was onboard now.
“It’s all we’ve got,” Quinn said. To Geri, he said, “And you’re sure you can find the booster?”
“Yes. The place they picked us up—there were some boulders nearby that I’ll recognize. If I can find that spot, I can find the booster.”
“Okay. Okay, good.” Quinn ran through a few potential escape routes in his mind, but there was a problem. The sentries already knew escape attempts were a possibility, and they clearly knew the terrain better than the escapees. Especially with only three people left to keep an eye on and several access points now blocked off, it wouldn’t take much for them to intercept the small group when they tried to run.
Unless, of course, they had other things to keep them occupied.
He leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the edge of the table. “Look, of the three of us, I guarantee they’re watching me the closest. I’ve already made two attempts, so…” He waved a hand.
“If you’re about to suggest leaving yourself behind,” Geri said, her voice hard, “stop right there. We’re all getting out of—”
“If we’re going to play the odds,” he said, “then we should at least try to stack those odds in our favor.”
She blinked.
“If I do something to get their attention,” he went on, “they’re going to focus on me.” He paused. “Especially if I do more than just try to run out another exit.”
Kyle cocked his head.
Geri raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”
“Fire, mostly.” He beckoned to Geri. “Leave me your lighter. I’m pretty sure I can create a solid diversion here that’ll keep Rich and his minions busy.”
Geri regarded him uncertainly. Then she dug in her pocket and pulled out her lighter. As she pressed it into his palm, she said, “Be careful. Please? We’ll find a way to come back for you.”
He nodded. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Okay, so you’re going to create a diversion,” Kyle said. “Geri, what are we doing?”
Geri quirked her lips. Then she leaned in. “Okay, first I think we should wait until after dark. It’ll be more dangerous to move around, but we’ll be harder to see, too.”
“Good idea,” Kyle said.
“Right. So once the sun goes down…”
As he ate and smoked with Geri and Kyle, Quinn tried and failed to make sense of how he’d ended up here. He came up empty.
He did find one tiny flicker of comfort in this whole shitshow.
Sitting out here with his last two “competitors,” his head throbbing from the projectors and speakers that had kept him awake every night, he realized this was his last night here. As he sipped a disgustingly warm glass of whiskey, he clung to that truth—that no matter what happened, he would never spend another night in this place.
Tomorrow, he’d leave this island forever. Maybe he wouldn’t survive to step onto dry land—odds there were one in three—but he wouldn’t have to spend another night like this.
He’d always loved the thrill of a risky bet, especially when the stakes were high.
One in three odds of losing? Those weren’t bad at all. They didn’t even favor the house.
Except in this case, it was a one in three chance of dying in whatever creative and sadistic way Rich Price dreamed up.
It was also a one in three chance of returning to a world turned upside down by allegations—some true, some not—that no reputation could ever survive.
The truly winning bet felt like losing, too. Go back to the world he’d left behind? Resume living as Quinn Hayworth, billionaire socialite who had the world at his feet and high-rolling gambler who thought the world was his oyster? He didn’t even know who that person was anymore. Too much had happened in front of his eyes. Too much had broken parts of him he hadn’t imagined could ever be broken.
The memory of Paul’s body hitting the rocks haunted him, and not just because it had been the brutal end of a man overwhelmed by despair.
I should’ve jumped too.
Over and over, he replayed that memory as that thought echoed in his mind. Nothing that came after today would be better than a sudden crunch on sharp rocks. Even if he hadn’t died on impact, even if he’d had to lie there, broken and in agony, it would’ve ended by now. Whatever future lay ahead of him tomorrow… wouldn’t end any time soon.
He closed his eyes and pressed the glass to his forehead. It was cool, but not nearly cold enough. What if he “won” this competition? What if he had to face the life that seemed alien and wrong now? He’d seen too much. Too much death and violence, but also too much of the ugly underbelly of his own world.
He could join Paul. Not off the cliffs, since Rich’s people had sealed every hotel exit, but he could end it. A noose made from a belt or a sheet. A broken bottle as a makeshift knife.
But there was that chance—that one in three chance—that he’d be the one to return to his old life. And if that happened, he could change something. He could do exactly what he’d pleaded with Paul to do—be the voice of reason and use his platform and his reach to change things.
He wasn’t sure what that would look like. How he could make enough of a difference to soothe his battered soul. But if he ended things right now, then he could do nothing.
There wasn’t a lot of hope right now. It was entirely possible he was foolishly setting himself up to die horribly at the hands of their sadistic “host.”
But ever the gambler, he loved a long shot.
And if nothing else, the prospect of helping Geri and Kyle escape kept him from lying down and giving up. Forget the odds of “winning”—they could escape, or they could die trying.
All he knew in that moment was that, one way or another, this was his last night on this godforsaken rock.
The three of them finished their drinks, their food, and their smokes, and they casually left the patio and made their way back up to their rooms. Kyle and Geri confirmed the time and place they were going to meet, and he headed to his suite.
Geri continued with Quinn. When they reached his door, he stepped inside and returned a moment later with his phone. As he handed it to her, he said, “It’s fully charged, and the location settings are turned off. Turn them on when you need to transmit your location, but don’t leave them on or it’ll drain the battery.”
She smiled as she slid it into her pocket. “I know. Does it need a passcode?”
“Not anymore.”
“Good.” Turning serious, Geri took his hand. “Please be careful.”
“You too.” He chuckled nervously. “Won’t do me any good to make a big fireworks show if the two of you have already been caught.”
She gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, well, there’s no point in coming back for you if you’ve been caught, so…”
“So… we agree—don’t get caught. Deal.”
“Deal.”
They locked eyes for a moment.
Then he cleared his throat. “I’m, uh…” He gestured toward his door. “I’d better start putting some things together.”
“Me too. Good luck out there.”
“Same to you.”
They held each other’s gazes. As he started to go, she said, “Quinn?”
He turned around.
She watched him for a couple of heartbeats, then stepped closer, cupped his face, and pressed her lips to his. When she drew back, he stared at her in surprise, and he almost didn’t catch when she said, “I mean it—be careful.”
He swallowed. “I will. And I mean it too— you be careful out there.”
“I will.” She pushed herself up and kissed him again, letting it linger for a moment.
They shared one last look before they headed in opposite directions.
Quinn’s heart pounded as he walked. He was determined to survive this. He was determined to help Geri and Kyle survive it too.
The stakes had never been higher, the odds never farther from his favor.
But he was going to fucking win this hand.
Darkness was settling in around the hotel when Quinn returned to the deserted restaurant downstairs. Heart thumping, he went to the bar to pour himself a drink while Tyson watched with a bored expression from the exit leading to the patio.
Quinn made a show of being indecisive between the various bottles of liquor. Finally, he selected two that were more than half full—some cheap vodka and some not-so-cheap tequila. He pulled them from the shelf, then started back toward the lobby.
“Hey!” Tyson barked, and he jogged across the restaurant. “Where the fuck are you going with those?”
Quinn glanced down at the bottles, then at the armed-to-the-teeth asshole. “To my room? So I can get absolutely fucking shitfaced for my last night on earth?”
Tyson narrowed his eyes. “The liquor stays in the bar.”
“Or what?” Quinn let his shoulders drop. “The licensing board will take away the hotel’s liquor license?” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, dude. There’s a one in three chance I’m a dead man in less than twenty-four hours.” He held up the bottles and looked plaintively at Tyson. “Can’t I just drink in peace?”
The man’s expression remained unchanged.
Quinn huffed and shrugged. “I mean, it’s your call. I can take them up to my room. Or… you can stand there and listen to me sob like a teenage girl who got dumped on prom night.” He jiggled the tequila bottle. “Because that’s what this shit does to me.”
Just as he’d hoped, Tyson wrinkled his nose in disgust.
To drive it home, Quinn added, “And that’s before I start puking like a firehose in every direction until—”
“For fuck’s sake. Fine!” Tyson put up his hands. “Go drink in your room, you fucking pussy.”
“That’s what I thought.” Quinn paused. “I mean, you can come join me. We can have a nice manly cry together for—”
“Fuck. Off. ”
Quinn chuckled and left the bar, bottles in hand, grateful Tyson couldn’t hear his heart slamming into his ribs. He hadn’t been sure if that gambit would work. Hopefully his luck would hold.
By the bank of elevators, he unscrewed the cap on the tequila and took a swig. He grimaced and shook his head as he swallowed it; God, he hated tequila, but it tasted better than vodka, so… whatever.
He had no idea if there were security cameras out here, but he worked fast just in case. Eyes still watering, he pulled a torn strip of bedsheet out of his pocket and stuffed it down the neck of the bottle. He sloshed the liquor around a little to make sure the rag was as saturated as possible, then left a piece sticking out of the top as he put the cap back on to keep the rag from sinking to the bottom. He did the same with the vodka bottle.
He glanced around, and he listened. No one was coming, at least not that he could see or hear.
He took Geri’s lighter from his pocket, flicked it, and held the flame to the fuse sticking out of the vodka bottle. It caught, and he let it burn down until it had reached the liquor-soaked parts. Then he stepped out of the bay of elevators and hurled the bottle toward the hotel’s front desk.
Glass shattered. Flames spread. Papers and fake plants ignited.
And Quinn ran .
Chaos was erupting behind him, but he didn’t dare look back. He shouldered open a door and ran down a short hallway into the kitchen. Here, he dumped cooking oil on the floor, making sure it spread. Then he tested an emergency exit, making sure it wasn’t locked. It opened, so he lit the second Molotov cocktail, threw it toward the puddle of cooking oil, and sprinted out the back.
There was a smaller patio out here that was probably meant for the cooks to use for smoking, as well as to take trash out. He hurried down a small flight of stairs and found himself by the loading dock and a large staging area, which were—
Not deserted.
Several men were working out here. Some patrolled with guns. Others were loading a flatbed truck. Near the building, there were two drab green Humvees, and if he wasn’t mistaken, those were some very large guns mounted on top.
And on the loading dock itself, were those—
Holy shit. Geri had said she’d seen someone moving body bags the night they’d arrived. If the bagged shapes lying on the pavement beside the truck weren’t bodies, Quinn had no idea what they were.
He also didn’t have time to stop and worry about it. Chaos was beginning to break out inside the hotel, with alarms going off and shouts emerging from the patio area.
No one had seen Quinn yet, so he ducked into the shadows and hurried along the edge of the loading dock.
Then he heard it—a diesel engine.
He looked around and found the source. One of the flatbed trucks was idling.
The driver? Nowhere in sight.
Well, hell. Sometimes when you played a risky hand with long odds, you hit a jackpot.
He glanced around, then sprinted to the truck, hauled open the door, and climbed up into the cab. He threw the vehicle into gear and gunned it, and tore out of the staging area. Men shouted and tried to get in his way, and he thought a couple of bullets pinged off the truck, but they didn’t stop him. He peeled through the exit and followed the narrow road, bumping and fishtailing on the uneven ground.
Up ahead—oh, hell. Another jackpot.
The airstrip.
He floored the gas and tore across a narrow green belt, bounced off a curb, and nearly lost control of the truck. When he’d straightened out, he raced down the long airstrip as fast as this old-ass truck would go.
Behind him—headlights.
Then another light came on and started to rise.
He wasn’t going to be able to outrun a Humvee in this thing, and he sure as shit wouldn’t outpace a helicopter. Time to bail.
He moved to the right, getting closer to the tree line. There was still some solid distance between him and his pursuers, but it was narrowing fast. For a hot second, he debated seeing if action movies were accurate and a person really could jump out of a speeding vehicle without dying or getting seriously hurt.
Rational thought caught up, though, as did the realization that the fence along the trees was topped with concertina wire.
He pulled the seat belt down over his shoulder and fumbled with it until it clipped into place. Then he slowed down just enough that the truck wouldn’t flip, and then he turned and rammed it straight into the fence.
It bumped and bounced, slamming him around and throwing him against the seat belt. Metal shrieked, though he didn’t know if that was the vehicle or the fence.
The truck lurched to a violent stop against a tree. The seat belt drove a cry of pain out of Quinn as it yanked him back, but at least he didn’t go flying through the windshield.
He unbuckled it. The door was jammed shut, but the windshield was broken. He shouldered, then kicked it free, and climbed out and jumped to the ground. His pant leg snagged on some of the concertina wire that the truck had uncoiled; getting free tore up his fingers and nicked his ankle, but he got loose.
Then he ran like hell into the jungle, stumbling blindly in the darkness as he tripped over roots and bushes.
Something tangled around one foot. Then the other. Momentum carried his center of gravity too far forward, and he fell. As soon as he tried to get his feet under his again, though, pain burned around his ankles and calves.
“Fuck,” he whispered, trying to kick free, but both the pain and entanglement got worse.
He tried to roll over, but that didn’t work. He reached down to untangle himself, and—
Cold fear shot through him.
More concertina wire.
Oh, fuck. It had been so hidden by the undergrowth he wouldn’t have even seen it in the daylight.
He frantically brushed at it and pulled at it, gritting his teeth as the razor sharp wire slashed his hands and feet.
Light bobbed nearby.
Fuck. Fuck!
He tried harder to get loose, but only succeeded in getting more tangled.
Footsteps.
Careful, sure footsteps.
Coming closer.
Was it too much to hope that was Geri and Kyle? That they’d somehow found him?
No, they were up the island’s coast by now, assuming they hadn’t been caught.
This wasn’t Geri and Kyle.
Panic had him shaking and almost hyperventilating, and he kept trying like hell to get loose from the wire and the undergrowth.
A stick snapped under some kind of weight. Then a light shone right in Quinn’s face. He flinched away, swearing under his breath because he knew what was coming.
Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d just shoot him right here and be done with it.
Somehow, he doubted it.