21. Chapter 18 – Nikki #3
I released a small sigh and bent down to investigate the width of the crevice.
If he had truly done something, if I had more than just valid but unsubstantiated suspicions, I might convince myself of its necessity.
But unfortunately, I was not a murderer.
My delicate sensibilities wouldn’t allow it.
“Hang on, mate,” I muttered, placing the hatchet far out of reach on a flattened rock above my head.
Three inches of space was all we had to work with between his chest and the stone cage.
If I wiggled my hands under his armpits, I could lift him up enough to free his arms, and he could pull himself out of the hole.
It was a working theory, but the only one I had. It was that, or abandon Diaz to meet his own fate, becoming a murderer by proxy. I hadn’t forsaken my royal title only to take up the new crown of Killer.
“Alright.” I forced false cheerfulness into my tone as if I hadn’t just contemplated his beheading. “I’m going to wedge my hands under your arms and lift, okay? Try to push your body against the rock for leverage as I do. We’ll harness physics today and get you out in no time.”
“Just do it,” Diaz grumbled, voice laced with a bit more panic. The imbalanced pitch satisfied me almost as much as a slice to the head.
Reaching between his chest and the uneven edges of basalt, I maneuvered my hands into place, stifling a grimace when his sweat slicked my palms. I’d have to steal a tiny drop of Ambrose’s sanitizer when he wasn’t looking.
“Three, two, one, push,” I counted, moving to my knees for a bit more force behind my tug.
My biceps strained and my quads burned at the awkwardness of the angle, but he budged a few inches, enough to free his elbows so he could wiggle his arms out of the crack.
“Can you manage now?” I asked, leaning backward to get a good look at him.
He pressed his newly released palms against the rock and pushed. It was the oddest pushup I’d ever seen, but it got him over the lip and onto the same rock where I’d been standing. Moving backward to give him some space, I grabbed the hatchet from its resting place and held it tight to my side.
This field trip had been a little too much of a test of wills, and I was more than ready to return to Marley’s side.
My brows furrowed when the bloody gash continued to seep down his face and into his eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was shallow or deep, but it was bleeding like a bugger.
I fingered the small bottle in my pocket. My emotional support bottle. Using it on Diaz would be such a waste, but hadn’t I just contemplated killing him? The karmic gods would grant me some grace if I tended to his wounds, surely.
Drawing it out of my pocket, I handed it to him. “You’ll want to clean that up, mate.”
He could do it himself. I drew the line at roleplay when it came to Florence Nightingale on an asshole.
Continuing forward, we got through the mess of rocks and back down to our original harvesting spot, where we likely should have stayed. Diaz cleaned up the wound as we walked, and we said nothing else for the trip’s duration.
Diaz picked up half of the pile of small logs we’d left, and I picked up the rest in an awkward one-handed shuffle, determined not to put the hatchet down for even one second.
Need grew in my belly for another drink. I had only half a dozen bottles left, but rescue would come before then. I needed just another little nip to get me through.
We had shelters to build, rescues to wait for, and hawk eyes to keep on our dangerous house guest.
A scream cut through our travels back to camp.
Fuck. Marley.
We were a ten-minute walk away. Was it another jaguar? She didn’t have the gun.
Fear pierced my heart like an acid-tipped arrow, and I took off at a run, desperate to get back.
Rounding the corner after what felt like a lifetime of running, I dropped the load of wood and the hatchet on the sand at my feet once I saw Marley in the distance, holding a first-aid kit. Vanessa held a bandaged hand against her chest as Tessa rubbed circles across her back.
Oh, thank fuck. Thank fuck, it wasn’t her.
When I was within reaching distance, I pulled Marley into my arms and bound her tightly to my chest, heart pounding like a war drum against the soft swells of her breasts.
“Thank god, you’re alright,” I whispered into the top of her head, refusing to let her out of my hold when she tried to stare up at me.
Once my heart calmed enough to release her, I pressed a gentle kiss to the warm skin of her forehead.
The most beautiful blush bled across her cheeks as she pushed me away and offered a small smile. “I’m fine, Nik. I’m sorry you panicked about me.”
Resolve flooded my bloodstream like the euphoric hit of a designer drug.
“Baby girl, as long as I’m here, your safety is my top priority.”
I meant it. She was my purpose now. Her safety, our rescue—it was the only thing that mattered.
“Alright, then,” she stammered with an adorable wrinkle of her nose. Her next intake of air was so aggressive she nearly choked.
Seeing her flustered under my touch made me preen like a praised kitten. Perhaps she was not so immune to me either.
“Alright, everyone,” my captain—my fixation—announced, clapping her hands. “We’ve got work to do.”
I’ll walk to the ends of the earth for you, Captain.
With that silent vow, I followed her back to camp.