Chapter 15
Charlie
My damp socks rubbed mercilessly against raw skin, and every step shot pain through my heels as if my boots were lined with broken glass.
Mitch stayed at my side, his hand occasionally steadying my elbow when I stumbled.
"How bad is it?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine." I bit my lip to keep from crying out as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
His jaw tightened, but he didn't push.
The sun climbed higher.
And higher.
We were being roasted alive.
My throat was sandpaper, and my lips were cracked. My mouth tasted like copper and dust. I'd never been this thirsty in my life. Every swallow was painful. My tongue was so thick and swollen that it was a wonder I could breathe.
To our left, the floodwater at the bottom of the ravine rushed past, brown and churning. So tempting. But that water was filled with debris and contaminated with only God knew what.
A sharp cramp twisted my stomach. Groaning, I buckled forward.
"Charlie?" Mitch's hand brushed my back. "What's wrong?"
"I'm okay." I gasped. "Just... thirsty. And hungry."
"I know." His voice was tight with frustration. He spun to Doug behind us. "We need to find water and food."
"We'll get water from the site office." Doug’s voice was flat.
"That'll take too long," Mitch growled.
"Then walk faster, dickhead."
I straightened, forcing myself to keep moving. But the pain in my heels dominated everything. The stings were sharp and constant, a throbbing agony that pulsed with every step. Hot moisture flooded the inside of my boots—blood or fluid from burst blisters, I didn't know. Didn't want to know.
I just kept walking.
"We won't make it to the site office without water," Mitch hissed.
"You'd better hope we do."
I stumbled, and Mitch caught me, looping his arm around my waist. "Easy," he murmured. "I've got you."
"I can't." A sob caught in my throat as I collapsed to the ground.
"Get up," Doug bellowed.
"Leave her alone." Mitch clenched his fists and glared at Doug until he took a step back. "Give us a minute," Mitch hissed.
Doug circled around us, his rifle pointed at me. "One minute. Then she walks, or I put her out of her misery."
Gasping, I glared up at him. "You're an asshole. You know that?"
"Yeah, and I've been called worse, so shut up. I'm getting sick of your bloody whining."
"Hey!" Mitch lunged at Doug.
But Doug whipped the rifle up so fast I cried out. "Back off, asshole." Doug's sneer was unhinged. Terrifying.
Mitch stared for a long moment, and my heart thundered in my neck. Finally, he squatted beside me and rested his hand on my thigh. "You okay?"
I shook my head. "I can't do this." Tears burned my eyes. "My feet. I can't—"
"Look at me." With his thumb under my chin, he tilted my head to face him.
His fierce green eyes were loaded with a cocktail of determination and worry. "We'll find water and food soon … and rest. I promise."
"You can't promise that." My voice cracked.
"Watch me." His voice was steel. His jaw set. "Can you stand?"
I wanted to say no. Wanted to stay right there in the dirt and give up. But the pleading in his eyes made me nod.
"Good," he said quietly. "Come on."
He stood, glared at Doug, then offered his hand to me. I let him pull me up, and my legs shook, threatening to buckle.
Mitch turned to Doug. "We go slower." His voice was low and dangerous. "Or you can shoot us both right now, because she's not going to make it otherwise."
Doug's eyes narrowed. "You don't give me orders."
"I'm not giving you orders. I'm telling you reality." Mitch's arm stayed firm around my waist. "Slower. Or you walk to that dig site alone."
For a long moment, they stared at each other. Then Doug spat into the dirt. "Fine. But if she slows us down too much, we'll leave her behind."
"Asshole," I muttered, taking a step.
Every step sent blinding pain that stole the breath from my lungs. But I kept moving.
One agonizing step in front of the other.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. I couldn't tell anymore.
Everything blurred together. The heat, the pain, the endless trudging through red dirt that seemed to stretch forever.
The blisters had gone from bad to unbearable. Each step was torture. I limped badly, favoring my right foot, then my left, then both. There was no position that didn't hurt.
My vision swam at the edges, dark spots dancing in and out of focus. My legs gave out.
Mitch caught me before I hit the ground. "I've got you," he murmured, scooping me into his arms.
"What are you doing?" Doug barked.
"Carrying her." Mitch's tone left no room for argument.
Doug glared but said nothing.
Being carried should've been a relief. But my throat was closing up, and every breath was dry and painful.
Dehydration. I was a scientist. I’d studied animals that had died without water. Bones clustered around watering holes for a reason.
I knew the signs. Knew how debilitating it was. And how deadly.
"Almost there," Mitch kept saying. "Just a little further."
But I didn't believe him anymore.
Doug was muttering again. Fragments about his daughter, about the jewels, about people who were going to kill him if he didn't pay. He kept fiddling with that velvet pouch, the gems jingling in his fingers as if he needed the sound to keep going.
"I know why you're doing this, Doug," I tried to reason with him. "To save your daughter."
"Exactly," he said. "They'll hurt her."
"But how do you know? Maybe they're just threats."
He released a sick chuckle. "Oh, they're not just threats. I've seen what they do to men like me. Men who can't stop betting. I should’ve stopped after they..." He didn't finish, and I almost felt sorry for him. "But they gave me more money, dragging me deeper."
My sympathy evaporated. I'd already suffered because of what Marcus had done to me. Now, I was suffering because of Doug. Two selfish men and their selfish choices, and now I was paying the price again. His daughter was, too. Another innocent person who'd suffer because of his selfishness.
"They sent me pictures of Roxanne, you know. Told me what they'd do to her. The torture they planned. It tore my heart out."
"Yeah? What about me?" My voice was hoarse. "I'm being tortured right now because of your choices."
"Put her down," Doug suddenly ordered, his voice sharp. "She can walk."
Mitch's arms tightened around me. "She can barely stand."
"I don't care. Put her down. Now."
A fierce growl rumbled in Mitch's throat as he lowered me to the ground. My feet touched the dirt, and agony exploded through my heels. I gasped, stumbled, and crashed onto my hands and knees.
Mitch reached for me, squatting down.
Doug jabbed the rifle into Mitch's back. "Get her up."
"Back off." Mitch rested his hand on my shoulder and met my gaze. He was so calm, I knew he was trying to tell me something. Something I wasn't going to like.
"Get her up," Doug bellowed. "Now."
"No." Mitch stood, facing him. "We need to rest. Charlie needs water. We all do."
"We rest when I say we rest." Spittle flew from his lips.
"We're all dehydrated, and Charlie can't walk anymore."
"I don't care!" Doug's eyes were wild. "I don't need her anyway."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
My blood turned to ice.
Mitch's entire body went rigid. "What did you say?"
"You heard me." Doug's hands clenched the rifle. "I only need one of you. And it's not her."
"Doug—" I started.
"Shut up!" He swung the rifle toward me. "Just shut up!"
I shuffled backward on the dirt, my ruined heels screaming in protest, the cuts on my hands dragging over rough rocks. "Are you going to shoot me, Doug? Kill me in cold blood?"
"If I have to."
"You bastard," Mitch said quietly.
"Fuck you." Doug leered, his finger hovering near the trigger.
Mitch stepped between us, blocking Doug's line of fire. "You want to shoot someone? Shoot me."
"Mitch, don't—" My voice broke.
"Shoot me," Mitch repeated.
Doug laughed a broken, hysterical sound. "You wanna die a hero, is that it?"
"Maybe not." Mitch's voice was so calm it terrified me. "But at least I'll die knowing I tried to protect her. And you'll be the gutless asshole who killed two innocent people for some stolen jewels. Is that the legacy you want to leave your daughter?"
"Don't you talk about her." Doug's upper lip twitched.
"Why not? She's the reason you're doing this, right? To keep her safe?" Mitch took a step forward. "But what happens when she finds out what you did? When she learns her father murdered us to save her? She won't respect you. She'll hate you. She probably already does."
"Shut up!" Doug’s nostrils flared.
"Is that what you'll be, Doug?" Mitch's voice rose. "A gutless murderer? A man who points guns at unarmed people and pulls the trigger? You're no better than the people you owe."
"I said shut up!"
"Answer the question." Mitch was relentless. "Are you going to kill us? Because if not, then put the gun down so we can think through this situation properly."
Doug's face crumpled. His eyes welled with tears.
And for a heartbeat, I thought Doug might actually do it. "I'm not a coward." His voice was fractured. His mind was, too.
"Then prove it," Mitch said, taking another step toward him. "Put the gun down."
Doug's hands trembled, jingling the gems. Then he shifted. His jaw set. His grip tightened.
"Take it easy," Mitch said, his wary tone confirming he'd seen the change too.
Doug pointed the rifle at Mitch's chest. "No. I can't. I need those jewels. I need—"
Shit! He's going to shoot us.
"Doug, please!" I screamed. "Don’t!"
Doug's finger curled around the trigger.