Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AMES
The phone call he’s taking is obviously serious. As normal, when his club calls, he’s stepped away, so I can only make out his side. What I hear isn’t good, though I can make no sense of it.
The call ends abruptly, and Flynn spins round, approaching me fast. “Run! Run as if your life depends on it.” He points up to the track behind me. “Head straight up the mountain and over the top. The road switches back. The club will be waiting for you there.”
What?
Gone is the man who shared his darkest secrets with me a moment before. Missing is the lover who’d kissed me so tenderly, then rejected me all in the same minute.
“Get going, Ames,” he screeches. “Run. Your brother’s coming, and he’s close.”
Oh shit no. Running forward, I grab hold of his hand. “You’re coming with me.”
He pushes me away, so hard I stumble. “I can’t fuckin’ run, you know that. Just go. I’ll be fine. The club’s on its way.”
“Flynn…”
“Go, Ames,” he roars. “Just get the fuck out of here.”
“I’ll stay. I can shoot.”
“I know you can. But fuckin’ run. I can protect myself, but I can’t if you distract me. Ames, for fuck’s sake, just run. Keep running, don’t stop.”
I glance at the mountain towering over us. It’s high, but then we’re already a good few thousand feet up. “You can make it.”
“I can’t.” He pauses a moment, then adds, “It’s only Malachi. I’ll take him out. Then you’ll be free. Go, run. I can handle him, but I won’t take a chance of you catching a stray bullet.”
Flynn can take one man, I’m certain he can. “Are you sure it’s only him coming?”
“Yeah, Bullseye told me. You get yourself safe, so I can concentrate.”
His voice is forceful, but I don’t believe him. Everything tells me to stay and fight.
Then his face tightens. “Ames, just do something fuckin’ useful for once. Get yourself the fuck out of here.” The lover is now totally gone. In its place is the asshole who’d first brought me here. “Run, before I shoot you myself.” He rolls his eyes. “Run, you stupid bitch.”
He’s gone cold. So cold, I half believe him. Was everything we’d been through together the last few days a lie?
As if he knows what I’m thinking, he says, “I was leading you on, wanting to get my dick wet. But now I’m focused on getting my money. And I won’t get that if you catch a stray bullet. So darlin’.” he sneers the endearment. “Fuckin’ run.” Then he turns his back and starts limping away from me.
What can I do? I run.
I run, and run, half-blinded by the tears running down my face.
Nothing was real. His softening toward me was just a joke to get me into his bed.
I’m as stupid as he just told me I was. And to think I was trying to seduce him…
I need my brains tested. It was all a lie.
I run, putting one foot in front of the other.
None of it was real. He’d just been leading me on.
His confession, his history he told me… All of it was made up to get my sympathy.
The way he held my hand, twisted the wedding ring on my finger…
Just after I break through the tree line, I stop.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m leaving Flynn there, barely mobile, when I could have been by his side providing backup.
He turned nasty just to make me leave. Clarity hits me like a sledgehammer around the head as I cancel out the horrible words playing on repeat, and half close my eyes to picture him instead.
His body language had screamed his concern for me.
Godfuckingdamn him for taking his job as protector so seriously.
I shouldn’t have left him. If it’s only one man he’s facing, perhaps he’ll be able to win, but I suspect he was lying about that.
While I’m now hidden by the trees, I have a direct line of sight back to the cabin.
Crouching low, making sure I’m not visible from below, thanking whatever deity there might be that today I’m wearing a simple brown t-shirt and khaki shorts, which blend in.
Deciding, if Malachi has someone with him, I’ll sneak back down and use the element of surprise to help him out, maybe be some kind of distraction to enable him to take a shot.
Even if he swears at me for disobeying his order, at least he’ll be alive.
We’ve come so far. If this were a romance, the trope would be enemies-to-lovers, or at least good friends.
And friends don’t leave each other when one of their lives is in jeopardy.
I wait. For a few minutes, all I can hear is birdsong and the gentle breeze rustling through the trees. It seems wrong, as if nature should be able to sense the approach of something ominous. Then I hear the sound of an engine. Straining my ears, I try to distinguish whether there’s more than one.
Oh fuck. It’s not one vehicle. It’s three driving up to the cabin, and then they disappear from my sight as they obviously park up front. How many men are in each car? My fist goes to my mouth. One thing’s for certain, Flynn’s outnumbered. Gunfire starts, shots firing rapidly.
Oh my God, is Flynn already dead? Rooted to the spot, I watch in morbid curiosity as men come to the rear of the cabin, throw something up at the back wall of what had been my bedroom, and watch helplessly as the logs explode.
A gasp escapes as one of the men climbs up and enters the cabin via the hole.
I start to stand with the intention of going to help, then a helpless sob leaves my lips. There’s nothing I can do for Flynn now. To return would be suicide. Paralysed, I stay glued to the spot. It’s me that they want, not him. Maybe they’ll just disarm him and come searching for me.
No, he’s probably already dead.
Tears flood down my cheeks. I’m crying for Flynn, for the loss of what might-have-beens, for the thought I’ll never see him again. Asshole or not, I’d even started picturing a future with him, our marriage being not just on paper but real.
I waver, not knowing what to do, in shock perhaps. Unable to believe I’ll never see him again.
Run, Ames, run.
His final words echo in my head. Though I want to just drown in my misery, if Malachi finds me, he’ll kill me. Flynn’s sacrifice will all be in vain. The only thing I can do to honour his last request is to do exactly what he said.
I’m doing this for you, Flynn.
With an agonised howl, I get to my feet, turn and run, trying to keep going in a straight line in the direction he’d pointed out.
Even when the trail disappears, I still head up, lungs heaving, trying to orient myself when my way is blocked by trees.
When my breathing gets too laboured, I stop, resting my hands on my knees, drawing the ever-thinning oxygen into my tortured lungs.
A glance at my smart watch shows I’ve gained seven hundred feet, and that I’ve been running for about forty minutes.
Oblivious to the dangers around me, once I’ve caught my breath, I continue as best as I’m able, slowing to a hiking speed when the incline gets too steep, and in places, crawling up on my hands and knees.
When it levels out a little, my feet pound the ground.
I barely feel the undergrowth tearing at the bare skin on my legs.
Another break, another check, and now I’ve climbed fifteen hundred feet since leaving the cabin.
But I’ve no idea how much further there is to go.
My quads and glutes are killing me, and despite my urgency, I slow. Frustration makes me scream. I don’t know if I’ve gotten turned around, or even if I am heading the right way, or whether I’m going at an expected speed. What if I do reach the road, and there’s no one waiting for me?
Keep running, don’t stop. It’s almost as if Flynn’s in my mind, talking to me. He’s dead. The realisation starts me sobbing again, and I start to sink to the ground, but pull myself up at the last minute. He died giving me a chance to be free. I force myself to resume moving.
Another half hour and my watch tells me I’ve now ascended two thousand feet, but finally I seem to have come to the top.
I’m out of breath, sobbing uncontrollably.
But I stumble on. The going is easier as I’m heading down, though the trees and undergrowth still try to impede my way.
Now it’s my calf muscles and hamstrings that start protesting as they come into play from my constant braking in an effort to stay in control.
I lose it at one point, my legs flying out from under me.
Someone must be watching out for me, as I’m able to stop my tumble, my pride injured more than any part of my body.
I start descending again, this time, a little more carefully.
Much sooner than I expected, a break in the trees allows me to see the road. I’d neglected to realise that, as it looped around, going up the mountain, the downward journey would be shorter than my ascent.
But there’s no vehicle waiting for me. I reach the edge of the pavement and fall to my knees.
I’m alive, Flynn’s presumably dead. And I’ve taken so long, they’ve given up on me.
It’s taken me nearly three hours to traverse five miles of steep terrain.
Of course, no one would still be hanging around.
Opening my mouth, I let a frustrated scream escape.
Then I lose it completely as grief overwhelms me.
I sit huddled with my head on my knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
Flynn’s gone. And I’ve no idea what’s going to happen to me.
Whether from dehydration or just the natural order of things, but gradually, no more tears flow.
Malachi won’t stop coming. Am I just going to sit here and let him win? Flynn wouldn’t have wanted that for me.
But what do I do now? I’m too tired to walk back down the road toward the cabin, and too scared to see what I might find there. I don’t know if I can cope with seeing Flynn’s dead body, doubting I would survive that reality.
An engine sounds. I stand warily. Friend or foe?
Should I hide? But a glance behind shows it’s a long way to retreat to the safety of the tree line, and I just don’t think I’ve got it in me.
If it’s Malachi, I’m as good as dead. Even so, I’ve got no energy left to run anymore.
The adrenaline that had fired me has gone.
Around the bend, a black SUV appears, driving slowly. It’s him. He’s found me. I shake uncontrollably as it stops next to me. I don’t even lift my face, knowing what fate lies in store.
Then a man steps out of the vehicle. “Ames?” His gentle voice has me raising my head.
Air rushes out of me. It’s the prospect who’d stocked up the cabin. Summoning the last of my energy, I stand fast, almost tumbling over my feet, as I close the distance between us.
“Flynn?” I scream at him. “Is he okay?” Then, at his look of bemusement, realise he probably only knows him by his club name. “Rattler? Is he alive?” I steel myself for the news that he’s dead. There’s no way he could have survived. There were too many against him.
But all he does is shake his head. “I don’t know. My orders are to get you to the clubhouse.” His eyes scan my body. “Fuck, girl. You’re a sorry mess.”
His pronouncement makes me look down at my body.
I’m covered in dirt, and blood streaks my legs.
Touching my forehead, I feel a lump and the wetness suggesting I’m bleeding, which must be a result of my fall.
But my minor injuries fade into insignificance when I think about what must have happened to Flynn.
I’m safe. I’m alive. But it doesn’t feel like anything to celebrate.