She looked at him. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Yes, yes, he did.
He stepped away. “Let’s get moving.”
She began loosening the harness.
Liam unclipped fast, hands working to coil rope and ditch gear. Every ounce of extra weight would slow them down. He stuffed harnesses and slings behind a boulder, covered them with rocks and dirt.
Nimue’s movements jerked as she unclipped her own gear. She was clearly rattled. The fear in her eyes made his gut clench.
He couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t make the Bratva disappear with good intentions and ranger training.
But he could run.
“Ready?”
She nodded, reaching for her pack.
He shouldered his own pack and led them into the canyon’s narrow throat. Walls closed around them, but they’d hide them too.
Distance. That was all that mattered now.
Put miles between Nimue and her hunters.
The first hour burned away at a brutal pace. He pushed them hard, his boots kicking up dust clouds that coated his throat and left grit between his teeth. Sweat stung his eyes despite the canyon’s cool shadows, his shirt plastering to his back. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of iron-rich stone and the earthy scent of hidden seeps. Each footfall echoed off the narrow walls, while loose pebbles skittered over the edge to their right. His pack straps bit into his shoulders, the weight of their survival gear a constant reminder of how far they had to go.
Nimue kept up, but he could hear her breathing getting ragged, each exhale sharp in the confined space.
The sound pushed a knife into his chest. Maybe he should slow down?—
A high-pitched yelp shattered his thoughts. He whirled around.
Nimue went down hard behind him, foot catching a hidden root. Her knees scraped against jagged rock, blood blooming through torn fabric.
She rolled, cradling her bandaged hand.
He dropped to his knees in the dirt beside her.
“You okay?” Hands already checking her knee—shallow cut, nothing major. Her hand though…Fresh blood spotted the gauze. “Sorry. I was pushing too hard.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice shook, contradicting her words. Tears filled her eyes, and she wouldn’t look at him.
“Nimue?”
“Are you mad at me?”
The question hit him in the sternum, full punch.
“Mad?” He shook his head, incredulous. “Why would I be mad?”
Her gaze dropped, fingers twisting her shirt hem. “For dragging you into this. Whatever this is.” Her voice cracked. “You don’t even know what you’re running from.”
Mad.
At her?
His hands curled into fists. Yeah, he was mad—furious at whatever scum wanted to hurt her. Terrified he might not move fast enough. But mad at Nimue?
