Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
August 17 th
6:11 A.M.
A bloodbath.
That was all Connor could describe it as.
Over a dozen men dressed in black moved through the village. People screamed as they ran in the fields and along the one dirt road that ran the length of the village and then disappeared off into the jungle.
The assailants appeared to be striking at random. Passing by some farms and then hitting another. Shooting at random at the parents running through the fields with the children, seeming not to care who they hit.
This wasn't some targeted attack, and he wondered why this village had been chosen.
Was it odd that even though Becca had been living in Cambodia for several years, less than twenty-four hours after he showed up they were attacked?
That was crazy.
Wasn't it?
This whole conspiracy thing was really getting to him, and it was hard to tell these days what was real and what wasn't. The other men involved in his mom’s rape had already proved they were willing to go to any lengths to try to get his family to back off. Everything Cole and Susanna had been through was proof of that.
Were they determined enough—or crazy enough—to try to target the village where his ex-girlfriend lived and worked?
As badly as he’d love to say no, Connor couldn’t.
With his one handgun, he was no match for the well-armed attackers, and if he tried picking them off one by one, he’d only be signing his own death warrant. Which he would be more than prepared to do if it meant saving Becca’s life, but right now, he was possibly the only thing standing between her and death.
So he had no choice but to slip soundlessly between the trees as he headed the way he’d told Becca to run. He knew she was going to be angry he hadn't been able to get to her friend and the children, but the kids were scattered throughout the town, and several men were standing around the house Becca shared with Isabella.
There was nothing he could do, and he hated it.
Hated knowing the tiny woman who hadn't hesitated to tell him to stay away from Becca was likely going to be murdered.
If she was lucky.
Because if Bella wasn't she was going to be wishing for death before it finally came for her. He knew what these kinds of men were like, knew the torture they delivered to beautiful young women like Isabella. She’d be raped for sure, possibly trafficked, so he had no option but to hope she was already dead.
Becca would no doubt blame him, which he would absolutely take if it meant he could get her out of this mess alive.
There wasn't anything he wouldn't shoulder so she didn't have to, anything he wouldn't take to make her load a little lighter. If she had to blame him for Isabella and the villagers’ deaths to process them then she could.
After all, she might be right.
Had the people after his family followed him here? Had he brought this horror right to the doorstep of the woman he loved? As much as he didn't want it to be true it quite easily could be. After all, when he was off alone on the other side of the world, he was a much easier target than when at home surrounded by his brothers.
He moved faster than he’d advised Becca to go, partly because this was his job and he knew how to move making barely a sound, blending into whatever landscape he found himself in, but mostly because he ached with the need to get to her. Needed to see her with his own two eyes, needed to confirm that she wasn't streaked with blood like the villagers he’d seen lying dead in the fields.
Like she had been the night of her assault when he’d rushed to the hospital as soon as he received a call from a cop friend who’d been on the scene.
Nothing could erase those images of her from his mind.
So small, so broken, laid out on a gurney. Most of the skin on her left side torn from her body, her ankle hanging off, barely attached anymore. Machines and wires had been attached to her body, and she’d been unconscious.
The stuff of nightmares.
In fact, he’d had nightmares about it regularly those first several months. Even after their relationship ended, he had them. Even now he had them often enough.
Now he needed to know his girl was okay.
Even if she wasn't really his anymore.
Only a sudden change in the atmosphere had him freezing. His gut screamed at him and he wasn't going to ignore it. Something was wrong and he needed to know what.
He’d been following the trail Becca had made so he knew she had been going in the direction he’d told her, the direction he thought would give them the best chance at escaping unscathed. She was likely around here somewhere, he hadn't been gone that long and she was scared and in shock. Catching up to her should be easy.
“Such pretty girl,” a voice said in a slimy tone he recognized as one some men used when talking to a woman they felt they held all the power over and could do to her whatever they chose.
There was no response, and his heart rate doubled.
If the man was talking to her then Becca had to be alive.
And there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Becca was indeed who the man was talking to.
Even though everything in him screamed to rush in and rescue his girl from whatever fate these men wanted to deliver, Connor forced himself to move forward slowly, creeping toward Becca rather than running headlong into danger and making things worse.
“Pretty girl,” another voice crooned.
So there were at least two of them. Easy enough to eliminate so long as there weren't too many more. He’d strike before they were even aware he was there.
Footsteps sounded, moving in a slow, almost lazy pattern, and he wondered what the hell was going on. He needed eyes on Becca sooner rather than later.
Another few yards and he finally spotted her.
She was maybe twenty feet or so ahead of him. Two men dressed the same as the ones who were attacking the village and similarly armed were circling around her. Her gaze kept darting from one to the other as she was forced to spin in slow circles in an effort to not allow the men to get behind her.
There was fear on her face, but something else was there too.
Determination.
His girl wasn't going down without a fight.
Pride swelled inside him, and he palmed the knife he’d pulled free from the neck of the man he’d killed earlier.
Creeping closer, he watched as the men continued to circle Becca, their attention focused solely on her.
Their stupidity was going to be the death of them.
As soon as their backs were to him, he threw the knife, lodging the blade in the back of one of the men on his left side, where Connor knew he’d hit his target and pierced the man’s heart.
The other one yelled and spun around, lifting his weapon to fire.
But before the man could get off a shot, something hit him in the side of the head.
Becca had snatched up a rock and thrown it at the man distracting him. Connor was laughing as he launched himself at the man, knocking him to the ground and landing on top of him.
“Shouldn’t have looked at my girl,” he told the man right before he snapped his neck.
When he stood, Becca stared at him, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. Did she see him differently now she’d seen him kill several men? Was she afraid of him on top of hating him?
“That was …” Becca trailed off and he couldn’t place her tone over his growing panic. Then a small smile lit her face. “Can you teach me to do that?”
“Do what?”
“The knife thing. You hit them both right where you aimed. It’s very cool.”
Her response had him chuckling, a little of the tension easing out of him. While her assault had changed her and she was no longer the sweet innocent girl he’d fallen in love with, he still loved her every bit as much. There were some sharper edges to her now, before she’d been all soft, so it was jarring in a way, but he was so proud of her for adapting and coming out the other side of her trauma still fighting. Still living.
Which reminded him that if he wanted to keep her alive, he had to be vigilant, had to be at the top of his game. Bending down, he scooped up both weapons and handed one to Becca.
“I can teach you, but for now I think this is going to be a more effective tool.”
“I've never shot a gun before,” Becca said tentatively.
“Point and shoot, only if I tell you to,” he instructed. Hopefully she wouldn't need to, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
“Could you … save anyone?” Becca asked.
“I'm sorry, Becca. I would have if I could have, but there were too many of them.” While he braced himself for her anger, especially when she found out about her friend, she didn't ask anything else, just gave a tight nod.
“I understand.”
Wanting to get her as far away from the bloodshed as he could, Connor set a brisk pace, one he knew would be difficult for Becca to keep up with. But his need to get her safe was all-consuming.
And pointless as it turned out.
Because they made it only about a half mile away from the village before the sound of an approaching engine had him freezing.
A black jeep with half a dozen armed men in the back appeared through the trees.
Once again, he’d failed the woman he loved, only this time she would wind up paying for that mistake with her life.
August 17 th
6:29 A.M.
Instinct had Becca inching closer to Connor as a vehicle carrying more armed men approached.
As badly as she wanted to turn and run in the opposite direction or lift the weapon Connor had thrust into her hands and fire at the car, she didn't do either of those things.
Because neither did Connor.
Tension emanated from him, his posture stiff, the weapon clutched tightly in his hands. She wished he would tell her what to do or start doing something so she could follow his lead.
But he didn't.
Just stood there, glaring at the jeep and the men in it.
“Connor,” she hissed. “Shoot them.”
“Can’t, honey,” he said, never taking his eyes off the vehicle.
“Why?” They should be doing something. Should be fighting. Already Connor hadn't been able to do anything to save Izzy and the villagers, but he could do something now. The odds were better, two of them to eight of the others, and this time they were both armed.
“Because they’ll shoot back, and I won't stand here and watch you die.”
The force behind his words rocked her. He meant that. Actually meant it. While her logical mind had always known Connor hadn't run that day because he didn't love her but because it was all just too much to handle, her heart hadn't been so convinced. There had been so many times she wondered if she’d been wrong about Connor all those years, if he’d never really loved her at all.
“They’ll catch us,” she whispered, the old, dirty taste of fear filling her mouth. Over time, she’d forgotten how foul it tasted, but now it was back, and with crystal clarity, she remembered the last time she’d been this afraid. The night of her assault.
Only this time she wasn't alone.
This time Connor was there.
Delusional or not, Becca knew she could trust Connor to protect her, to keep her safe, and maybe even find a way to keep them both alive. It was only her heart she would never again trust in his hands.
Even if Connor couldn’t save her, at least she wouldn't die alone as she had truly believed she would the night she’d been raped. That made her selfish, she was aware of that. Connor had a family at home who loved him and needed him, so being glad he would die with her probably made her a terrible person, but she couldn’t help it. Anything was better than dying alone.
The vehicle stopped in front of them and the men in the back jumped out. Becca pressed closer to Connor until her body touched his. Just an hour ago she would have sworn that his touch would have made her feel ill, that the last thing she wanted or needed was any physical contact between them, even the most casual of touches.
Now it was the only thing that grounded her.
“Put weapons down,” one of the men ordered, gesturing at the rifles she and Connor held.
When Connor bent and laid his on the ground at his feet, Becca did the same thing. Connor could do the impossible, somehow, she believed that. He had always been her superhero, the man she loved, the one she wanted to give every part of herself to. He’d betrayed that trust in the worst possible way, but she still believed if anyone could get her out of this alive it was him.
“Get on knees,” the man issued another order.
Hard as it was to watch when Becca knew if she wasn't there and he wasn't worried about her getting hurt or killed, Connor wouldn't have hesitated to take on these eight men, he got down on his knees.
“You too,” the man yelled at her when she stood frozen in fear.
She couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t.
It was like agreeing to let these men do whatever they wanted to her.
No longer was she the sweet, innocent girl she’d been back when she was twenty and raped. Now she knew the world wasn't sunshine and roses, you couldn’t just smile, offer support to someone, and make things better.
The real world was full of darkness and people hurt one another just because they could. Because they prioritized themselves and what they wanted above all else.
These men would hurt her.
Because they could.
No one would stop them.
And Connor had already given up their only chance to fight.
When she didn't comply with the order she’d been given, the man who was standing closest to her swung his assault rifle at her. It slammed into the side of her head hard enough that she saw stars, and with a groan, she swayed and fell to the ground.
“Touch her again and I will rip you to pieces,” Connor growled in a low and dangerous tone she’d never heard him use before.
Stupidly, the man who had hit her laughed like Connor was joking.
Only he wasn't.
She could tell by his voice that he was deadly serious, and it sent a cold shiver through her.
The boy she once knew wasn't this man kneeling beside her, calmly staring down eight armed men. Her Connor had been sweet and supportive, she’d seen him angry plenty of times, over what happened to his mom and stepdad, and with Dylan after her rape, but he’d never sounded like this. Like a man perfectly capable of ripping another human being to pieces.
It would scare her if she hadn't been absolutely certain he would never lay a hand on her.
The idiot who hit her obviously wasn't very smart.
Because he didn't leave it at just laughing mockingly at Connor’s threat.
Nope.
Instead, he rammed his weapon into her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs, and Becca crumpled, gasping as she tried to suck in air.
Vaguely, she was aware of a commotion happening around her, but it was taking all her effort just to breathe through the piercing agony in her chest.
Her vision cleared enough to process that the shouting was coming from the men and was directly aimed at Connor, who was no longer on his knees beside her. He’d moved and was proving he was good at following through on his threats because his arm was around the neck of the man who had hit her.
How he’d managed to pounce without anyone shooting him she had no idea, but fear for him flooded her system.
He was going to get himself killed.
While looking the man who appeared to be the leader directly in the eye, Connor snapped the man’s neck.
“Connor, no!” she screamed, positive she was about to witness his death. No matter how she felt about him, all the hurt, anger, and betrayal, she didn't want him dead. Not ever. A part of her heart would always belong to Connor Charleston because he was her first love, possibly even her greatest love.
As though they’d forgotten she was even there, weapons spun in her direction until they were all aimed at her, and she curled in on herself, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. Although how that would help her if seven assault rifles all opened fire on her at the same time, she had no idea. Well, actually, she did, and it wouldn't help her at all.
Not looking the least bit concerned, Connor released the now-dead body of the man who had hit her twice. “Told you what would happen if you touched her,” Connor said calmly, that same deadly undertone evident.
“You will pay for that,” the man in charge snarled, but Connor merely shrugged like he didn't care. He’d made his point, and he seemed happy with that.
When two of the men jumped at Connor, swinging their fists, hitting him over and over again, he didn't make a sound. Didn't so much as grunt in pain.
Unlike her.
Becca screamed and begged and pleaded.
Not that it did any good.
The two men stepped back only when Connor lay limp and unmoving on the ground at their feet.
Even then, one delivered a final kick to his still body.
“Take them,” the man in charge ordered, and the two men who had beaten Connor grabbed his arms and hauled him up. He still wasn't moving, and she worried it was because they’d either killed him or seriously injured him.
What was she supposed to do if that was the case?
How could she get herself out of this mess much less herself and an unconscious man double her size?
When another two men approached her, Becca whimpered and shrunk away from them. She didn't want them touching her. It had taken years for her to accept even the most innocent of touches from anyone. Connor’s touch had always been okay, even in those early days when her rape was still so fresh and vivid, but anyone else’s felt like spiders scurrying across her skin.
These men didn't care about that.
They reached down and grabbed her roughly, their grips around her upper arms hard enough to leave bruises. She was taken to the back of the jeep where Connor’s still limp body already lay and was tossed in beside him. Then, the armed men climbed in with them and the vehicle began to drive.
Taking her away from the village that had been her home.
Taking her away from any chance at escape.
Taking her away from life and firmly toward death.