Chapter 13 #2
“No, I don’t,” Leighton admitted, then indicated to Owen. “But he does. He works with them.”
“Not quite,” Owen slurred and shoved Dante’s touch away. “Scions don’t like Omen.”
“Young and immature,” Luther said as he urged Owen to an upright position, bracing him on either side.
“He trusts them, so I do,” Leighton focused on the Kenyan doctor. “Can you tell us what drugs you’ve given him?”
“Saline, antibiotics. Oral ketamine.”
Luther muttered an oath.
“Explains the agitation,” Dante said, sliding in to assist and steady Owen on the edge of the table.
Feeling powerless, Leighton watched as Owen stood. His knees gave way, but Dante caught and steadied him. Her stomach tightened, imagining how much it must hurt Owen to hook his right arm over Dante’s shoulder, what with the raw flesh and stitches.
“At least it’ll wear off fast.” Luther gathered some supplies, stuffed them into a backpack he had, then moved toward Abeni.
With a heavy breath, Owen darted a look around, reached for Leighton.
She started toward him, but his hand returned to Dante for support. “Are you sure you’re up to this? You can’t even stand on your own. You nearly died.” She looked to the other men, needing them to understand. “He nearly died.”
“We saw,” Dante said quietly, then adjusted to support Owen better. “I see your fear, but you can trust us.”
“I trust Owen,” she countered, not liking this rushing Owen from the doctor, but also aware that if Maaz sent people to retrieve her, that front door could open any minute and deliver more trouble.
“And like you said, he trusts us.”
“But I don’t like you,” Owen groused, touching his jaw where the stitches had left the flesh angry.
The nurse hurried to him and held out a bottle of pills. “The cuts are deep. He’ll need to stay on antibiotics for a couple of weeks. We don’t have that much, but this will get him through until he can see his own doctor.”
Owen swiped the bottle, glowering at Dante, then he eyed the pills. He squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Everything is blurry.”
“Hey! Hey!” came a shout from the front, then thundering down the hall seconds before Mugo rushed in, skidding to a stop to avoid colliding with Owen and Dante. “The Cruiser—the royals are coming. They are almost here. You must go.”
Luther handed the camp manager a stack of bills. “Thanks.” Threading his arm into the backpack, he nodded to Dante. “Ready?” He produced a weapon.
Surprise held Leighton fast—not just that he had the gun but also that they’d bribed Mugo to stand watch? It was…clever.
Dante angled toward the door with Owen, whose feet seemed to be jelly. He wobbled, making her yelp, expecting him to crash to the wall or floor. Owen met her gaze. Gave a stiff smirk. “No more tears, right, Princess?”
Heat scorched her cheeks, but she straightened, surprised he had noticed her red-rimmed eyes. “You’re hallucinating.”
“Do you have a back door?” Luther asked the doctor.
“No.”
“Front door it is.” They shuffled Owen down the hall.
Leighton hurried behind them, not convinced moving him was the right decision but also well aware they had no choice. She watched Dante maneuver Owen to the side as Luther tactically opened the door, cleared it, then motioned them on.
Darkness beyond the door surrendered to string lights, pole lights, and naked bulbs that allowed the local market to descend into nighttime revelry.
She eased the door closed behind her as their steps thudded on the hard-packed dirt path.
When she turned, Leighton aimed toward the men.
Somewhere in that turn, recognition struck.
“Wait.” She’d seen a familiar pair of eyes that dumped ice down her spine.
She drew in a breath, freezing as she searched the street carts and faces of the locals.
“Princess.”
“They’re here,” she breathed, unable to move. “I saw Ghalib!”
Owen faltered. “What—” He whipped around…and lost his balance. Staggering, he tried to right himself, but a vendor’s display of small wares clipped the back of his legs.
“Owen!” Leighton lunged to catch him.
He caught her hand. Blue eyes widened even as he realized gravity had won the battle—and yanked her down with him.
Pop-pop! Pop!
Her knees cracked against the hard ground. Leighton fought to avoid injuring Owen. “Sorry. Sorry.”
He grunted. “What is your problem?”
Shocked at his irritation, she met his blue eyes for a half second. Recalled what Dante had said—the agitation was because of the drugs. But his retort still hurt.
“Princess.”
Acutely aware of her position atop of Owen, she shuttled aside and looked at the men from Omen, not sure which had called her.
“Where’d you see the guy?” Dante asked.
“When we came out, he was straight ahead, slightly to the left.”
“Like a clock,” Dante said. “Eleven or ten?”
Oh, that made sense. “Eleven.”
“Apollo, you good?”
Owen blinked, looking at his Scion brother, who adjusted positions, aimed out toward the incoming fire.
“No thanks to you.” Man, it felt like his skin was crawling—and yet also seemed like he didn’t know where his feet were.
He cursed himself for biting Leighton’s head off.
The ketamine was wrecking him. “Thought we were exfiling, not sitting around.”
A curse seared the air—from Luther, who crouch-ran toward them. “Car’s gone—someone took off with it, and enemy reinforcements just pulled up.”
“Let’s go.” But when Owen pushed up, his knees said heck no, sending him back down. Humiliated, he looked around to see what he’d tripped over—but it was only his own two feet.
“He’s impaired,” Dante said. “No way we can hoof it out of here.”
“We have to try,” Luther insisted. “Options are that or surrender.”
“Not on your life,” Owen growled.
Both men glanced down and to the side, listening.
That’s when Owen noticed their comms devices. They were listening to Pike, no doubt. And not sharing that info. Which ticked him off. “What’s happening?”
Dante exchanged a long look with Luther, then gave a grim nod. “We can do it.”
“What?” Leighton asked, as she shifted closer.
Man, why was she all up in his business? Owen rolled his shoulders, telling himself to let it go. Keep his mouth shut. His head was jacked because of the drugs.
“If you don’t tell us what’s going on,” Owen bit out, “then—”
“We came in light with the plan to get you into the car and out of here,” Luther snapped. “But now we have no wheels. And overwatch reports five vehicles inbound with armed combatants.”
“Badly outnumbered and outgunned,” Dante growled.
Owen struggled back to his feet. “C’mon.” He’d barely gotten there when he was forced to steady himself by leaning against the table. “We need to move.”
“Are you crazy?” Leighton objected. “You can barely walk straight.”
“Straight or crooked, it’s better than going back to the royals.”
“Is it?” she challenged, then looked at Dante and Luther. “I appreciate the chance, but we don’t have a prayer. Do we?”
“Talk later.” Luther herded them to a bigger vendor cart, crouched there. Positioned himself and popped off a couple rounds.
Leighton glanced at the three of them. “Jeddah—”
“We’re in Jeddah?” Owen asked, mind feeling like a thick vat of sludge.
Leighton frowned at him. “What? No—”
“It’s the drugs. Causes disorientation and confusion,” Dante muttered.
It was? Owen shifted his gaze to the ground. Tried to recall how they’d gotten here.
“I was trying to say Jeddah may be too late for a rescue after this,” Leighton said. “We go back to camp, and since you’re wounded, we tell the royals you can’t go out on safari.”
“That’s dumb—they don’t care about me. They’ll still make you go.”
“Maybe, but we can play on the king’s order for you to protect me. And I can claim exhaustion and weariness after the lion attack. Then you need to insist on me staying behind. You’ll demand they comply with the king’s orders.”
Owen stared at her. “Who made you the boss?” And why hadn’t he thought of that?
“Shut up, man,” Dante said. “You’re not thinking straight.”
Crack! Pop!
Dante ducked, then faced the threat, both he and Luther firing back. “We have to move. We’re too open.”
“The alley,” Luther barked. “Go!”
When Leighton reached to help him stand, Owen shoved her off. Nearly faceplanted. Felt the world shifting and dived for the alley. But relentless little princess was right there, manhandling him. “Get off—”
“Owen, I’m just trying to help.”
“Why should I listen? You won’t listen and let me get you out of here,” he huffed as he slumped against the plastered wall. He tightened his jaw. Knew he was being a jerk. “Sorry.” He scratched a hand over his skull. “The drugs…”
“I know.” Leighton’s expression was taut with offense but she let out a shuddering breath. “Seeing you nearly die made me realize what’s at stake. The risks are too high.” She palmed Dante’s spine as he backed into the alley, firing.
Shots pinged off a metal pole. Another cracked a wall nearby, sending them deeper into the alley. “Maybe you should leave and check out the Serengeti—get there early.”
“Jeddah is more familiar, easier to recon,” Luther said.
“If we survive that long.”
“Yo,” Dante said with a huff. “That is not cool.”
“Let’s bake a plan,” Owen insisted.
“Not happening. Not discussing this without the chief,” Luther said.
“Yeah, don’t change any plans. Stick to the itinerary already in play,” Dante said. “Just be ready.”
“When?” Leighton asked.
“All the time.”
Owen knew that’d be the answer but he didn’t like it. Couldn’t plan accordingly. A constant state of readiness was quickly exhausting. And he was already exhausted. Hated that his legs wouldn’t cooperate better. He felt drunk and had nothing left after the lion attack and blood loss.
“What do we do?” Leighton asked as they huddled up in the alley.
Dante rubbed his jaw. “Hike out—”
“He cannot do that,” Leighton countered. Then she flinched. “I’m sorry. I mean—”
“No, it’s good.” Owen hated it, but it was the truth, and he needed to face that. Figure out a path to safety and success for Leighton. For both of them. Well, not really him—he wasn’t the point here. “She’s right—I’m in no shape. If there’s no car, I’m just a liability.”
“You’re not a liability,” Leighton objected.
“Agree to disagree,” he said, then eyed the guys. “Okay, new plan, but first—we have to make this look good.”
“Come again?” Luther knelt far enough back to be out of sight but close enough to the opening to provide protective cover.
“They”—Owen bobbed his head toward the fighters—“need to believe you were attacking us, trying to kidnap us.”
Dante grinned. “For ransom.”
“Yeah, right,” Owen said, glad his thoughts were actually making sense this time. “That we weren’t trying to escape. Because if we go back and they don’t believe that…” He gave a cockeyed nod. “Won’t matter if we die here in the streets or in a tent—dead is dead.”
“If we do this,” Leighton said, eyeing the Omen team, “can you two get away safely?”
“Incoming!”
Before Owen could move, he felt more than saw the bullet that seared past. It hit a metal downpipe. Ricocheted.
Leighton yelped, jerking aside and clapping a hand to her cheek.
Pulse jammed, Owen pushed to her. “Leighton!”
“I’m okay,” she said, her voice tremoring as she lifted her hand. A trail of red streaked her cheek. She managed a smile. “Will this make it look good?”
He wanted to curse, but a shaky laugh was all he managed. “Yeah.” He flinched to the guys. “Go! Go! We’ll slow them down, hopefully enough to stop them from coming after you.” He took Leighton’s hand and started back toward the street. Prayed the swimming vision would clear.
“I’m scared this won’t work,” she murmured as they ducked behind a cart to avoid being shot.
“Same.” One thing after another had gone wrong, and Owen feared he was failing her already.
“My mom always said prayers are better than fear, so—God? We could use a miracle.” He ducked around the cart and glanced back, hoping the guys were getting clear of this mess.
Two able-bodied and healthy operators had a better chance without an impaired operator and a girl with no training.
His balance shifted. He stumbled into Leighton, then tripped over her feet.
He went down, and since their hands were clasped, he again pulled her down with him. Heard her yelp in his ear.
Thuds behind him warned the enemy was close. “Scramble with me,” he whispered. And they did, as if fleeing for their lives. When he turned, he found two armed men staring down rifles at them.
“Help!” Leighton hadn’t missed a beat. She was on all fours, pleading for help from the gunmen sent by the royals. “The men…” She looked back down the alley. “They tried to take us.”
Impressed with the little actress, Owen did the same.
Relief chugged through him that there was no sign of Dante or Luther.
But when he looked back up, he found the curled lip of Ghalib and Nasir.
“Never thought I’d say this,” he said, trying not to laugh at the great irony, “but I’m glad to see you two. ”