Page 48 of Defending Van

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.