Chapter 22
Fear was there. Of course it was. It sat cold and heavy in Lark’s stomach as the man dragged her through the brush with a gun pressed against her back.
But underneath the fear was something else. Anger. Alot of it.
She was angry at herself for coming here. Angry at the men who had invaded her island. Angry that they’d broken into her store and destroyed so much precious artwork. Angry that they’d disturbed the place she’d chosen for her bell.
And, irrationally, she was angry at the weather. Because apparently the universe had decided she hadn’t suffered quite enough. The first crack of thunder rolled across the river. Then the sky opened. Rain came down in sheets.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” one of the men shouted.
The man behind Lark swore. “Keep working!” he barked.
The clearing suddenly became chaos. Lark stumbled as she was dragged forward, trying to keep her footing in the rapidly turning mud.
She counted them again. Five. The man with the gun.
Shorty, as she’d privately dubbed the shortest of them.
A man dressed entirely in black. Another who was sweating so profusely that he’d looked uncomfortable even before the rain started.
And a dark-skinned man who seemed to be doing most of the heavy lifting.
Five. She was doomed. There was no way she was slipping away from five men. Especially five men who were armed.
Within minutes, they were soaked through. Rain streamed down Lark’s face and into her eyes. Her hair plastered itself against her cheeks. Her clothes clung to her skin. She couldn’t tell if she was shivering from the cold or fear.
Probably both.
“Get something to tie her with.” The sweating one looked around and spotted a plastic case among the supplies. He kicked it open. “Zip ties.” He grabbed several and threw them toward the man in black. “You do it.”
Black caught them. “Hands behind her?”
“Obviously,” the one standing over her answered. He apparently was the boss among the five of them.
Lark’s stomach dropped.
“Wait—” The man grabbed her wrists. “Don’t.” She fought him. It did absolutely no good. He twisted her arms behind her back and cinched the plastic around her wrists. Hard. Pain shot through her hands. “Ow!”
“Hold still.”
“You’re a charming bunch.”
He yanked the ties tighter. Lark bit back another cry. Of course he’d tied her hands behind her. She’d seen videos about breaking zip ties. She’d even watched a couple of tutorials once, mostly because she had a terrible habit of falling down internet rabbit holes.
But knowing something theoretically and doing it while terrified, soaked, surrounded by five men, and sitting in the mud were two very different things.
Besides... what would she do if she got free? She’d still have five men to contend with.
Wonderful.
Black shoved her down. Lark landed hard in the mud. Cold water immediately seeped through her clothes. “Hey!” He ignored her. She glared at his retreating back. “Asshole.”
Gun Guy stood over her. “Shut up.”
“Charming and eloquent.” He raised the gun slightly. Lark wisely stopped talking. For the moment.
The men returned to their work. Whatever they were moving was heavy. They struggled with it as the rain intensified.
“Come on!”
“Lift.”
“Get it in there.”
They were rushing now. Lark understood why. The river was changing. She could see it from where she sat. Typically, Bell Creek flowed in a wide and unhurried manner, behaving more like a river than a creek, and rapids were an infrequent feature, found only in a small number of places.
Not now. The surface churned beneath the relentless rain. Water rushed past faster and faster, carrying branches and other debris with it. The men seemed oblivious. Or perhaps they were simply too focused on getting off the island. Lark wasn’t sure a boat could safely navigate that water anymore.
She hoped they tried. Not because she wanted them to drown. Well... maybe a little.
But because if they couldn’t leave, she might have more time.
She shivered. Thunder cracked overhead. Then something caught her attention.
Movement. Across the water. Lark narrowed her eyes and tried to act as if she was actually looking at anything specific, just in case.
She wasn’t expecting a rescue, but people knew where she’d gone.
Marilyn knew. She’d be worried by now. There was a possibility she’d called Cormac to check on her. She could only hope.
Through the sheets of rain, she thought she saw something. A shape, dark against the gray water. She leaned forward, pretending to look defeated. What was that? Her heart began pounding. Then she heard something. A low mechanical sound. Almost drowned beneath the thunder. Was that a motor?
Her head snapped toward the river. There. For a second. Then nothing. Had she imagined it? She listened harder. Her brother’s stupid nickname suddenly seemed very useful. Super hearing.
There. Again. A motor. Closer this time. Lark’s heart slammed against her ribs. Someone was coming. This weather was far too harsh for someone to simply be cruising the creek for pleasure.
The men didn’t seem to notice. She turned her head toward the sound.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Gun Guy looked at her. “What?”
“Nothing.” She didn’t dare say more.
The rain had become so heavy that Lark could barely see beyond the clearing.
She sat in the mud with her hands bound behind her, watching the men scramble to finish whatever they were loading. Gun Guy paced back and forth, barking orders over the roar of the storm.
“Move it. Get that side up. We don’t have all day.”
Lark’s attention drifted toward the river. Something had changed. At first, she thought it was another trick of the rain. Then she saw him. Cormac. He was in the water. Not in a boat. Swimming. Her heart lurched. He’d come alone. Of course he had.
He moved along the edge of the island, keeping low, using the trees and brush for cover. The rain worked in his favor, masking his movements and making it nearly impossible to distinguish him from the shadows.
Lark’s heart hammered. He’s here. Relief surged through her so strongly it almost made her cry.
But she couldn’t call out. Not yet. Cormac was almost to her. Gun Guy was facing away, still yelling at the others.
“Stop standing around and help him!”
Lark looked at Cormac. He was maybe twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten. He moved like a shadow. Lark’s eyes met his. His finger rose to his lips. Stay quiet. She nodded.
He was almost there. Five feet. Three.
Then one of the men dropped something. The crash made everyone turn. Cormac froze. Black’s eyes narrowed. “What the—”
He turned. Their gazes collided. For one heartbeat, nobody moved. Then Black shouted. “Hey!”
Gun Guy spun.
“Cormac!”
The gun came up. Cormac lunged. The first shot cracked through the storm. He ducked and drove into the gunman’s chest before he could fire again. They went down hard in the mud.
“Get him!” The other men surged forward. Lark’s heart leaped into her throat. Cormac rolled, taking a punch to the jaw. He answered with one of his own. Hard. The man stumbled backward.
Another came from the side. Cormac caught his arm and twisted, sending him crashing into the mud.
But there were too many. Lark couldn’t just sit there. Her wrists burned as she twisted and pulled, desperately trying to loosen the ties binding her hands.
Think. Think, Lark. She couldn’t fight five men. But maybe she didn’t have to. Her eyes landed on the tools they’d left scattered near the crates. A metal pry bar. Too far. A length of rope. Too far. Then she spotted a heavy flashlight lying in the mud a few feet away.
Lark rolled. Her hands were useless behind her, but her feet weren’t. She kicked toward the flashlight. Once. Missed. Again. Her heel connected. The flashlight rolled closer. She kicked again. It slid beneath the legs of the man wrestling with Cormac. He stumbled, and Cormac took advantage.
He drove his shoulder into the man’s chest and sent him sprawling.
“Lark!” Cormac’s gaze found her. “Stay down!”
“I’m trying!” She kicked the flashlight again, sending it toward him. It struck his boot. He glanced down. Then at her. A tiny nod. Cormac grabbed it. The man in black charged. Cormac swung. The flashlight connected with his forearm. He screamed and dropped his weapon.
Lark’s heart soared. They had a chance. Then Gun Guy raised his weapon. Lark saw it before Cormac did. “Cormac!” He turned. The shot cracked. Cormac jerked.
For one horrible second, he remained standing. Then he stumbled backward. His heel hit the muddy bank. He lost his balance. And disappeared over the edge, tumbling into the water.
Lark screamed. “Cormac!” He hit the water with a splash. The current caught him instantly. It dragged him away from the island with terrifying speed. “No!”
The men were shouting. Someone grabbed for Lark. She kicked him. Then she did the stupidest thing she’d ever done in her life.
She jumped.
Her hands were still tied. The river swallowed her.
Cold water slammed into her body. She kicked desperately, fighting against the current.
Her tied hands were useless. She couldn’t reach Cormac.
Couldn’t steer. Couldn’t even properly swim.
It felt like she was kicking like mad and not going anywhere.
But she could see him. A dark shape being carried farther downstream. “Cormac!”
She kicked harder. Her lungs burned. Her hands twisted against the zip ties. She pulled. Nothing. One would think with all the blood from her wrists and the water, she’d be able to slip free. But no.
She tugged with all her might, a primal roar tearing through her. Pain shot through her wrists. She pulled harder. Something gave. The zip tie snapped.
Lark nearly sobbed with relief. Her hands flew apart. She stroked through the water with everything she had. Cormac disappeared behind a branch. Then emerged again.
He was floating face up. Not moving. Lark’s heart nearly stopped. “No, no, no...”
She swam harder. The current fought her every inch of the way. Branches slammed into her shoulders. Something struck her thigh, she ignored it. A piece of debris clipped her arm. She barely noticed. She had one goal. Cormac.
She reached for him and missed. The current dragged him another few feet. Lark lunged again. Her fingers caught his shirt. She grabbed a fistful of wet fabric. “Got you.”
She wrapped an arm around him. He was dead weight. His soaked clothes dragged at her. As did her own. The river pulled them both downstream.
Lark kicked. Her muscles screamed, but she kicked harder. Cormac’s head lolled against her shoulder. “Come on.” She could barely breathe. “Don’t you dare do this to me.”
The shore seemed impossibly far away. She swam anyway. Every stroke took everything she had. Her arms trembled. Her legs felt like lead. Water filled her mouth. She coughed and kept going.
Finally, her fingers scraped against something solid. The riverbank. Lark grabbed a root. For a moment she could do nothing but cling to it. Then she pulled, flexing her bicep to drag them in. With a desperate effort, she hauled herself and Cormac onto the muddy shore.
She collapsed beside him. For several seconds, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Then she remembered. “Cormac?”
She rolled toward him. His eyes were closed. His face was pale beneath his wet beard. “No.”
She crawled closer. Her hands shook as she pressed them against him. “Come on.”
Then she saw it. Blood. Dark red spreading through his soaked shirt on his shoulder. Her stomach dropped. “Oh, God.”
Lark pressed her hands against the wound. “No. No, no, no.” Her voice broke. “You’re not doing this.”
Rain hammered the river behind them. Thunder shook the sky. Lark bent over him, tears mixing with rainwater on her face. “You came for me,” she whispered. “So you don’t get to leave me now.”
Her hands pressed harder against the blood. “Please, Cormac.”
She looked desperately toward the river. There was no one. No help. Just the storm. And the man she had somehow come to love lying motionless beneath her hands.