Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
August 18 th
3:38 A.M.
If it was the last thing he ever did, Connor would get Becca home alive.
That was all that ran through his mind as he swept up the tent flap and stepped through it.
Okay, it wasn't all that was on his mind.
In reality, his mind was running in a million different directions, covering everything from his fear for Becca to his regret over the past, to the knowledge that she’d been going to say no when he asked if she could give him another chance.
Maybe he should have begged for one.
He absolutely wasn't too proud to do anything that would allow him to keep Becca in his life.
It didn't matter that he’d told himself when he decided to come to Cambodia that he had no expectations, that he just needed to apologize, and he could handle just being friends, it was all a lie.
Because he wanted it all.
He wanted the future he’d cheated all three of them out of.
Even though he knew the miscarriage likely had nothing to do with him leaving Becca that night and making the worst mistake of his life, he couldn’t help but wonder if their son would have lived if he’d stuck around.
Which was not a productive road to be running down when they were trapped in the middle of a camp full of men who wouldn't hesitate to rape and kill Becca. Not him though, because apparently, this whole ordeal was meant to push him into convincing his family to back off on their hunt for answers.
Not that it would work.
Just like targeting Susanna to hurt Cole hadn't worked.
He and his family would do anything to protect Becca and make sure she wasn't hurt again but they wouldn't give up.
If anything, this was more fuel added to the fire.
Becca stayed close to his back as they slipped through the night. The fire that was still burning brightly when he’d been out there fighting against the men had mostly burned itself out. While there were still a few men passed out drunk around it, most seemed to have taken themselves off to their tents and put themselves to bed.
As much as he wanted to kill every single man there because all of them would have participated in torturing Becca, he couldn’t do that. It was too great a risk, and in the end, keeping Becca safe and alive mattered more to him than empty revenge.
Empty because when it came down to it, he was the one who had hurt Becca the worst.
Too bad he couldn’t kill himself and offer his own heart on a platter as an offering and proof of how deeply he regretted his actions that fateful day twelve years ago.
They made it past two tents before he saw a man stumbling about. Using the weapon he clutched in his hand was a last resort, the noise would wake everyone, even those who had passed out drunk, and put Becca in greater danger.
“Stay here,” he whispered to Becca, then sprung at the man.
Just before he reached him, the other man noticed his approach and reached for his weapon.
Thankfully, years of training meant Connor knew how to be both quick and efficient and the man was dead and dropping to the ground before he had a chance to grab his weapon or alert his friends.
Without pausing, he had taken the man’s weapons—a handgun and a knife—and was back at Becca’s side, urging her on. There was no time to worry about how watching him kill man after man was going to affect how she saw him, make her think he was more monster than human, to see how different he was from the boy she had once known, because they had to keep moving.
Whatever it took.
Even if that was killing hundreds of men and shattering her perception of him.
Becca would always come first. Never again would he make the mistake of allowing anything to sneak in ahead of her, not even his own fears and emotions.
They made it another two tents over when he heard voices. At least three. Too many to kill without one of them alerting the entire camp.
“Stay here,” he whispered to Becca, gently pushing her behind the closest tent and down onto the ground. “Use this first, gun second,” he added as he pushed the handle of the knife he’d just procured into her trembling hand.
“Where are you going?”
“To separate them. I’ll be right back,” he promised.
A small smile quirked up one side of her mouth. “You broke the rules.”
“The rules?”
“Horror movie rules. You never say I’ll be right back,” she explained, and he almost choked on a laugh in his attempt not to make a sound.
Even though Becca had always had such a big and loving heart, so caring and compassionate to everyone who entered her orbit, she was a horror movie junkie, and they’d spent many hours watching them together when they were a couple. She could handle more blood and gore than he’d been able to as a kid, and she loved to tease him about it.
“I live to break the rules,” he told her with a grin, so proud of his Becca—and there would never be a time when he didn't think of her as his—for being able to hold it together as well as she had.
“No you don’t, you were always a goody-two-shoes,” she teased.
There was a smile on his face as he dropped a kiss to the top of her head and then circled the tent toward where he’d heard the voices. He’d missed her so much. More as each year passed by. How had he managed to wait this long before tracking her down? Guilt and shame weren't good enough excuses. This is what he should have done in the beginning.
He hadn't fought for his girl like he should have. Like she deserved.
Now it might be too late.
When he peered around the tent, he could make out the three figures he’d heard. Two of them appeared to be engaged in a secret make-out session, and the third looked like he was playing lookout.
Bending down, his hands ran over the ground, stopping when they touched a stick large enough to make a sound when he threw it. Picking it up, he pulled his arm back and hurled it with all his might out into the surrounding jungle.
It landed with a small thud that caught all three men’s attention.
“What was that?” one of the make-out partners asked, sounding scared. Afraid because he didn't want to get caught in the middle of a sex act with another man when what he should be afraid of was his impending death.
“I’ll check it out,” the lookout assured them and took off in Connor’s direction.
Once the man was within striking distance, Connor pounced.
A snap of his neck, and another dead body dropped.
Dragging the man further behind the tent so he wouldn't be immediately noticeable, he moved closer to where the other two men were likely still making out, secure in the false belief that their lookout had things handled.
Well, he didn't.
And they were both about to die.
“Oof,” he called out, trying to match the tone and cadence to that of the man he’d just killed.
“Did you hear that?” one of the men asked.
“Sounds like Dior needs help,” the other replied.
“Think someone saw us?” the first asked.
The second didn't answer but the two men split up as they searched for their friend. One headed in his direction, the other back the way he’d come.
In Becca’s direction.
Right as he was approaching his prey, about to pounce and take out another threat to Becca’s life, the man who had headed toward where his girl was hiding spoke.
“What are you doing out here?”
The voice made his target turn, catching sight of him just as he was about to strike.
“Hey! You shouldn’t be free,” the man snapped, managing to dodge a blow Connor aimed at his head.
With no time to waste, fear for Becca, fear that the entire camp would be woken and their chance at escape thwarted, Connor launched at the man, aiming low this time and managing to tackle the man to the ground. His opponent put up a fight, and a few blows were exchanged before Connor managed to lock a hand around the man’s neck. Aiming to cut off blood supply not his breath, it didn't take long for the man to pass out. Then it was a simple snap of his neck and he was on his feet and heading toward Becca.
There were no other sounds, and he didn't like that.
Why hadn't the man alerted the camp to the escaping woman in their midst?
Why had there been no sounds of a struggle?
Orders were to kill Becca, but surely the man wouldn't decide to do it on his own without all of them getting to play with her first.
When he rounded the tent, he saw the answers to his questions.
Becca was right where he’d left her, huddled on the ground, but the man who had found her lay at her feet in the middle of a growing puddle of blood. In her hand, Becca clutched the knife he’d given her.
The knife that had saved her life.
Because his girl had just killed to protect herself.
Pride and sorrow warred within him. Connor was so proud that his girl had been able to do what she needed to do, no matter how afraid she must be, but his heart also broke with the knowledge that she had just changed in a way that was irrevocable.
There was no time to dwell on it though. They were far from safe and if they wanted to stand a chance, they had to get out of there.
“Moonlight, it’s me,” he said softly as he approached, not wanting to startle her. “You did so good, Becca, but let me take the knife now.”
She didn't stop him when he pried it from her white-knuckled grip, and she allowed him to tug her to her feet.
“I didn't think, just did it,” she whispered, her gaze locked on the dead man.
“You did amazing, honey. I’m so proud of you,” he told her as he gripped her shoulders and squeezed just enough to draw her attention to him. “Now we have to get out of here. In a few hours, everyone will wake up and realize we’re gone. We have to get back to the village, find someplace to hide out, or hope that the survivors have called in help and the gang can't get to us again. You with me, moonlight?”
It was a lot to ask of her, especially since those villagers were her friends and she hadn't had time to process their deaths. But he knew his girl had it in her to conquer the entire world if she set her mind to it.
“I'm with you,” she answered softly.
As he grabbed her hand and they took off into the trees, Connor could only wish she meant she would be with him forever.
August 18 th
3:52 P.M.
Exhaustion coated every cell in her body.
But Becca wouldn't give up.
It didn’t matter how loud her muscles screamed for a break or how badly her stump ached since she hadn't been able to tend to it in several days or given it a break from the prosthetic. A headache pounded between her temples and her ribs, likely cracked but probably not broken, protested each breath she took.
After hours of walking through the jungle, her breathing was harsh and labored, adding to the pain.
As anxious as she was to get back to the village and find out how much damage had been done, she was equally scared. How many people had been killed? Had Isabella survived? Was she going to get back there to find that it had been a complete bloody massacre and there were no survivors?
Since she and Connor still weren't really on speaking terms—although she couldn’t say that the silence was uncomfortable—she had no idea what the man back at the camp had meant about wanting to silence him. Even though she definitely wanted answers and would make sure she got them before they parted ways, Becca sensed she wasn't going to like what she heard.
It had to be something about Connor’s mom and stepdad. After all these years, had he and his brothers finally managed to prove their mom was innocent and never betrayed her country or her husband?
She hoped they had, Connor deserved closure. But if that closure had come at the price of the lives of her best friend and the villagers she loved like family, that seemed so high.
Still, she couldn’t begrudge him answers. They’d been best friends back when his dad had died and then his mom had immediately remarried. She’d been there for him when he was consumed with anger about what he perceived as his mom’s betrayal, and when he learned that the remarriage was in name only since his mom and stepdad didn't share a bed. That revelation had come too late, after his mom was arrested, and he and his siblings never got to see her again and make amends for the months of anger that had simmered between them.
Just like he’d been there for her after her rape, she’d been there for him during that difficult time. Held him while he cried over the loss of his dad, soothed the rough edges of his anger when he didn't understand his mom’s actions, and tried to shoulder as much of his guilt as she could when he realized his mom had never stopped loving his dad. She’d promised to help in any way she could to prove that neither his mom nor stepdad were traitors.
A hand on her arm stopped her, and Becca had to lock her knees to keep from sinking to the ground. Connor had frozen and she wondered if he’d sensed something dangerous up ahead.
While she knew this area well, they’d taken a long route back to the village because Connor was worried that since they had vehicles the men who had taken them would get their first, and she was a little turned around. His plan had been to circle around and approach the village from a different angle, one they wouldn't expect, so that he could scope the place out first. It had meant walking for hours longer than it would have taken them to work backward from the camp to the village, but she had agreed it was a good plan.
“Village is only a quarter mile ahead,” Connor said softly.
He seemed to have learned how to speak without his voice carrying very far, it was a great skill to have in the world he lived in now, but she couldn’t copy the skill, so she merely nodded.
“I want you to stay here and I’ll make sure it’s safe,” he whispered.
Again, she just nodded. This was Connor’s area of expertise, not hers. If he had a plan she was going to listen to it. Too many things filled her head for her to worry about the past right now. Being kidnapped, almost being raped, killing a man, fear for her friend and the villagers had pushed her anger at Connor right out of her. Well, at least pushed it right into the background.
“You have the knife and the gun, you use either to protect yourself,” Connor ordered.
Then he turned and walked away. There was no hesitation to his steps, he moved soundlessly and looked so strong and confident. But he could be walking into danger alone just so he could try to protect her.
That was the Connor she remembered, the one she’d grown up with, the one she’d loved. There wasn't a single thing he wouldn't do for the people he loved, and … maybe he still loved her.
She just wasn't sure that could change anything, even though … maybe she still loved him, too.
“Connor,” she hissed, trying to make her voice soft like he did but failing.
Immediately, he hurried toward her, concern in his eyes. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”
Although they’d walked mostly in silence, he’d stopped her regularly to check in and ensure she was physically and emotionally capable of continuing. She was struggling on both fronts, but neither were going to get the best of her.
“I'm okay, I just wanted to say, be careful.”
His entire face softened at her words. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”
Despite his promise, that rock of fear continued to sit heavily in her stomach as she watched him walk away again. This time she didn't call him back even though she wanted to stick close to him.
Just a few days in his presence, and she could already feel herself being pulled back into his orbit.
Something she couldn’t allow to happen.
Trust.
It all boiled down to trust.
Theirs had been shattered, and she wasn't sure it could be rebuilt. Even if it could be, there were sure to be pieces missing. Things could never go back to the way they had been before, and she wasn't sure there were enough pieces left to put together to make something that would even resemble trust.
Seconds ticked by.
Fear grew inside her.
Her fingers curled tightly around the handle of the knife in her right hand and the butt of the gun in her left. She wouldn't hesitate to use either to save herself if she had to, but she didn't want to have to.
Had the men who had been ordered to abduct and kill her to try to keep Connor and his family silent made it to the camp before them? Had they killed any survivors of the first assault? Had they killed Connor too?
Finally, just when she thought she couldn’t handle another single second of waiting, she saw him. Moving through the trees toward her. Coming fast. Was that a good sign or a bad one?
Unable to stand still, she hurried toward him, meeting him halfway. “What happened? What did you find?” she asked, forgetting to try to keep quiet in her need to find out just how bad things were.
The expression on his face was one she didn't like.
One that sparked more fear inside her.
“Connor? Are they all dead?” she asked her greatest fear. If everyone was dead there was no way she wouldn't blame herself even if the village had been attacked because of Connor and his family. Connor was only there because of her. That made it her fault.
“No, honey,” he assured her, reaching out to take the weapons from her hands. What did that mean?
“You're scaring me, Connor. Something is wrong. Your face … it’s the one you always make when you have bad news you don’t want to tell me.”
A half smile wiped away a little of his anxiety. “I forgot how easily you can read me. I promise you not everyone is dead. In fact, there are fewer dead than I originally thought. I spoke with the leader of the village. He said the death toll is standing at six, but there are a couple of people in critical condition and a lot in serious condition.”
Her chest eased a little at those words.
Those six dead would eat away at her, but it wasn't as bad as she’d feared.
“They were able to get help?”
“Yes. They got to the nearest town, and there are cops and military in the village now.”
“So those men that took us, they’re not there?” The last thing she wanted was to set off a second assault on the village by being there.
“No. My guess is when they realized we were gone, they packed up their camp and fled back to wherever they came from. That camp wasn't a permanent one, and it was close enough to the village that they were probably keeping tabs on it so they knew that the military had already moved in, and it wasn't safe for them.”
“Okay, okay, that’s … good … I'm glad not too many died.” Her voice wobbled a little on those last words because even one death was one too many. Things were better than she could have hoped for, better than she’d believed these last few days. But … Connor had that look she knew meant something was wrong.
Something he hadn't told her yet.
Something she dreaded hearing.
“What aren't you telling me?” she demanded, directly meeting Connor’s blue gaze.
One of his hands rubbed the back of his neck, the other dragged down his face. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Becca. But your friend Isabella is gone.”