Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
First light meant she had to start walking again.
By some miracle, Makayla survived the night.
The temperature had dropped a lot lower than she’d expected, and she had nothing other than the thin maid’s uniform to protect her from the cold.
At one point, she was pressed with her back against a tree, with anything she could gather piled on top of her, so cold that her body shook violently, and she’d thought she wasn't going to make it.
A sleepy haze, different from regular tiredness, pressed down upon her.
It would be so easy to give into it, just allow everything to end in a somewhat peaceful manner.
She wouldn't have to worry about being found by the people she knew had to be out here somewhere looking for her.
Wouldn't have to worry about going back to that glass cage, wouldn't have to worry about being punished for escaping.
Wouldn't even have to worry about the crushing guilt of what she’d done to escape.
But every time she thought she could just give in, let the cold take her, slip away into sleep and never wake up—which, given the fact she’d been trafficked, was a much nicer death than what would have been waiting for her—she heard Van’s voice in her head.
You do whatever it takes and don’t even think about the consequences.
That’s what Van had made her promise. That she would survive, however she had to, and worry about the consequences later. At the time, she’d been confused about who Van was and why he wasn't punishing her for holding a knife to his neck, but she’d still made the promise.
A promise she now felt like she couldn’t break.
If she gave in to the crushing weight of exhaustion and let herself slip away, die in the night from hypothermia, then that would be breaking the promise, and she couldn’t do that to him. She was afraid that if she broke the promise, she’d also break him, and she just couldn’t do that.
So she fought against the sleepiness crashing into her mind, and instead, she tried to rest without sleeping.
Meant she now felt every bit as tired as she had when she first lay down, but at least she was still breathing, watching the sun rise, knowing that so long as she wasn't spotted, she could survive another day.
Whether she could survive another night was up for debate, though.
Maybe she’d have found help by then. A day of walking through the forest hadn't dulled the fears of finding help only for that help to turn around and send her right back to the place she’d managed to escape from.
Still, fear couldn’t paralyze her. Maybe she’d survived last night, but the weaker her body became, the less likely it would be that she could survive another. So really, she had to find her way to help today and then take her chances.
Since the only way to do that was to start walking, Makayla pushed up onto her knees, then used the tree trunk beside her to lever herself up into a standing position.
The pain was so sudden and so severe, catching her completely by surprise because she’d kind of forgotten about it throughout the hours she’d lain huddled here, that she almost fell right back down again.
Screaming wasn't a good idea because she had no idea whether anyone was close enough to hear it, so she clamped her teeth into her bottom lip, whimpered, and leaned against the tree trunk, using it to take most of her weight and take the pressure somewhat off her feet.
They felt like they’d been torn to shreds.
Before she’d settled for the night, when it got too dark to keep walking without risking an injury that would render her immobile, she’d used a nearby stream to wash them off and try to make sure there wasn't too much debris in them.
The last thing her body needed was to try to fight off an infection.
Washing them had been unpleasant, and she’d had to walk on them a little more to find herself a place to hide for the night, but while she’d been resting, the pain in them had eased.
It wasn't like she thought they didn't have cuts and bruises or that walking on them again today would be fun, but she hadn't expected them to hurt that badly.
Tears streamed down her cheeks because the only way to completely get pressure off her feet was to sit back down again. But if she did that, Makayla was fairly certain she wouldn’t be getting back up again.
Staying put was a death sentence. Either the cold would get her or she would be found. That, or she’d eventually pass from dehydration. So she had to suck it up. Had to keep walking, had to shove away the pain, lock it up, and refuse to allow it to snatch control of her.
Dragging in a ragged breath, she clenched her free hand into a fist as she used her other to push herself off the tree trunk again.
The pain was no better this time around, and she let out a whimper.
As awful as it had been, she’d rather be back in that room with Van standing over her, the cane in his hand, striking her tender and already bleeding flesh.
At least then she’d known there was an end coming.
All she’d had to do was get through the ten strikes, and then it would be over.
But this felt like it had no ending.
That she might walk around for days, lost and alone, possibly walking further away from help, until her body couldn’t do it anymore and she just collapsed, passed out, and then passed away.
If she wanted to stop that from happening, she had to start walking, so she just did it.
A whimper escaped despite her best efforts to hold in all sounds because the pain was so excruciating as she took that first step.
The second was no better, and neither was the third.
It was probably prudent to try to get to the water and clean them up again, but that wasn't really going to solve her problem. It wouldn’t ease the pain, and wouldn't stop infection setting in because she had to keep walking across the dirty ground.
The only way to do this was to block out everything, shut down everything, become empty inside like Van had made himself. It was her only option, so she cleared her mind, removed everything from it, fear as well as hope. If she let anything remain, she kept the door open for everything to remain.
It worked for a while.
Hours maybe.
She stumbled along through the forest, no idea where she was going, just knowing that moving was her only hope.
More than once, she crashed into something, trees or rocks. Her body was likely littered in bruises by this point, sometimes she almost lost her balance, but each time she did her best to maintain it because she was pretty sure she wouldn't get up if she went down.
At one point, she passed a stream, and the desire to stop and drink was so strong she almost gave in to it. But again, Makayla knew that if she stopped and stooped down to reach the water, she’d go down, and then she wouldn't be getting up.
So she just kept going.
Until the inevitable finally caught up with her.
Her foot caught in something. She couldn’t catch her balance in time, and she swayed and fell in slow motion. At least that’s what it felt like to her. When she hit the ground, a cry tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, and fresh tears drenched her cheeks.
Then she saw it.
A shadowy form approaching her.
One of the guards of the man who bought her had found her, and now he was going to grab her, drag her back there.
No.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Reaching a hand into her pocket, her fingers closed around the handle of the knife, and she pulled it out.
When the man dressed all in black reached for her, she slashed the knife toward him, managing to catch them if the surprised grunt was anything to go by.
Fresh red blood on the blade of her weapon confirmed that she’d made contact.
When the man released her and took a stumbling step back, she didn't allow herself time to wonder if she’d delivered another death strike.
Finding strength she was sure had deserted her, Makayla took advantage of what could be her only chance to escape, and shoved to her feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in them, and ran.
September 1st
10:24 A.M.
“Almost had her,” Lefty’s voice came through the comms unit, and Van froze.
Almost?
What did almost mean?
Either you had Makayla or you didn't. As far as he could see, there was no in-between.
“What happened?” he demanded, probably harsher than he should have considering these guys were doing him a favor.
They'd pretended to be mercenaries hired to do a job with him and played the part perfectly.
He owed them big time, and he was grateful as hell, but none of that meant that he wasn't desperate to get his girl in his arms.
So desperate he wasn't even going to examine the idea that he kept thinking of Makayla as his when he knew full well she wasn't, and she likely never would be.
“Approached her and she freaked. Stabbed me and ran,” Lefty explained, making a couple of the guys snort in amusement.
It wasn't that they wouldn't have worried if he’d been stabbed and was bleeding out, but it was clear from the man’s tone that he wasn't badly injured.
“She stabbed you?” Grover said with a snort. “At least I only almost got shot.”
Maybe he’d laugh about this later—because he supposed it was amusing that a highly trained special forces operator got stabbed by a wisp of a woman with absolutely zero training—but right now, all he could imagine was what Makayla had been feeling when she’d defended herself against a perceived threat.
She wasn't a fighter, not like that. She fought to survive, to rebuild herself, to heal, but she didn't like causing others pain. Her heart was too big and soft for that. On top of having to kill that woman to escape, she was likely struggling big time with what she’d done, and that sucked any amusement out of the situation.
“I'm fine by the way,” Lefty said, although there was a tinge of amusement along with the concern in his voice.