Page 63 of Lucky 14

I scream, thrashing in his hold, my arm is twisted painfully behind my back.

“Please, I’m so sorry. Just stop for a second.”

I scratch at the tree with my free hand, then yank it down, trying to search for the knife at his belt. All I feel is clothing, and I realize the knife is on the other side. The side currently pinning my arm. Looking down, I try to find something to hit him with. I want to bash his skull in. Beat him to death just like the man who killed Seven.

Seven’s bloody forehead fills my brain, and then immediately following, Connor’s blank stare. My brain feels like static. Then it’s like the blood rushes through my ears in a numbing roar.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here to help. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Distantly, I hear the man’s voice. It almost fades back into the jello of my mind, but hot, powerful nausea grips my stomach, and I’m ripped back to the present. If I don’t fight him, I’ll die.

I thrash, but the man has me in a strong grip, pinning me solidly. There’s a sharp pain I feel now in my shoulder.

“Please stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

I shake like a dog, tree bark ripping into my chest and nose, that pain in my shoulder increasing as he leans on me. Then nausea and helplessness surge through me. I barely lean to the side before I’m puking into the rocks at the base of the tree. Only, there isn’t much to puke up. Just bile.

“Ah shit.” The man’s hold loosens just enough to take the incessant ache out of my shoulder, but he’s still pressing what feels like his whole body weight into me as I heave.

“Are you okay?”

Sucking in a breath is hard, but I manage it.

“Listen, Holland, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m trying to help. I need you to listen to me.”

There’s a certain strain of…something in his voice. I shift my shoulders, feeling for any weakness in his hold. And then I realize what he just called me. Not Fourteen. Holland.

“I’m trying to get you off the island. Both of us. But you have to stop fighting me.”

I hear my pulse in my ears. Why did he call me Holland? How does he know my name? Of course he knows my name. He has my number. He’s the one who’s trying to kill me.

I renew my efforts, wiggling against his hold, scratching against the tree. I need my arms free. I need them free so I can defend myself.

“I’m not letting you go.” That strain is back. “Please, this is for your own good.”

He’s so goddamn strong, or I’m so goddamn weak, I can barely move. I fight for as long as I can until I’m just panting against the tree, thinking about moving, but unable to move anymore.

“I know someone here. I’m going to try to get us out.”

I can’t see him; all I can do is listen to his tone of voice, waiting for the inevitable moment he slices my throat.

It doesn’t come.

“I’m Oakley. I’m so sorry for all of this. I didn’t know.” His voice cracks, then he clears his throat. “I had no idea. But I’m going to get you out.”

What the hell is he talking about? Suddenly, I feel cold, suspended in this place where I’m forced to be at this stranger’s mercy, and I hate it. I want to run. I want to fight. I want to cry.

“If I let you go, you can’t run.”

Let me go. He’s going to let me go.

“Holland, I won’t let you run. Tell me you understand.”

His hands are hot on my arm, and I’m freezing, but I just need him to let me go. I’d rather see him kill me. So I nod.

“Okay.” Slowly, his hands let me go.

Turning, I raise my hands up to protect my face, already tucking my thumb on the outside of my fist.