Page 169 of Carnal Wagers

“Merde. Come on,” I muttered. Sweat beaded my brow as I dug out another hairpin and stuck it in my mouth to try again.

With a tiny downward shove of the pin against the lock, the zip tie tail loosened. I tugged my wrists free, then my feet.

The next step was to escape. I fumbled around the trunk. An emergency trunk-release latch built into the side panel behind me glowed dimly in the dark. I reached for it but hesitated. Pulling it was easy. Harder was knowing when the car’s velocity was just right to pop the trunk open and jump out. Too fast, I’d end up as a splat of roadkill. Too slow, they’d catch up too quickly after my jump. So I waited, heart in my throat.

As the car swerved around a bend in the road, it slowed.

I took the chance. With one harsh tug on the latch, the trunk popped open to a sweltering moonlit night.

Night? I didn’t question it for more than a second.

I scrambled out, tripping over the ledge, and thudded onto hardened dirt tracks. The bullet graze across my shoulders flared on impact, sparks of pain shooting up my spine. Behind me, the crackling of dirt beneath tires continued for a few seconds before the squeak of brakes hit. Just long enough for me to get to my feet and run.

I sprinted through damp brush and stumbled over stones, all while shoving past thick, long leaves. I veered left, then right, fast and nonstop, in whatever direction got me away from them.

The oppressive, thick air congested my lungs. Every heavy breath became more difficult to pull in. My long sleeves and thermal pants stuck to my skin like glue, and a creamy fruity aroma clung to my tongue. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Within minutes, my muscles burned. My dry mouth and throat protested, but their yells spurred me on. Leaves slapped behind me. Running steps thudded at my back over the crackle of dried leaves. Beams from flashlights gleamed up and down dirt paths between rows of thin trunks. I hid behind what I thought was a tree, tall and erect, but the waxy trunk yielded beneath the push of my fingers with a rustled crinkling, dry bits peeling away.

Lightning burst through the sky overhead and lit up a bank of clouds headed for the full moon.

“There,” a man yelled.

A flashlight pointed my way and lit up the woods. No, not woods. A banana plantation…in the United States?

I rushed down a path between banana stalks, peeking over my shoulder as those steps clobbered closer and closer. One flashlight bounced six banana stalks down. The other was to the far left, much further back.

Thunder cracked and grumbled around me. The storm was closing in, and from the sound, it was sizable. I needed shelter and fast, but not with my tail.

I stopped behind the nearest banana stalk, that fruity smell almost overwhelming, and retrieved a paralytic vial from my left heel. I smacked my lips together, mouth dry and sticky. I needed water and soon.

Something crept over my shoulder. Tiny legs tapped over my sleeve, and I clamped a whimper down behind clenched teeth as the beam of a flashlight drew nearer.

“Come on out, and we won’t hurt you.”

Imbécile, like I’d believe that.

Another flash of lightning lit him up. His balaclava was gone, and he was dressed for the summer with a build of about one and a half mine, but our heights were evenly matched. He twisted his body away from me and searched to his right before slowly swiveling my way.

I pounced and swiped his legs out from under him. The flashlight tumbled between us and ghouled his features. I jumped atop him, landing one punch to the head to disorient him. Another to the throat forced his mouth open, and I shoved the vial in. By the time he reacted and pushed against me, my fist struck up into his jaw. The glass shattered between his teeth, and he screamed. Blood spewed from between his lips.

I hawked dry spit at him. “I hope that hurts.”

The paralytic generally took a minute to spread to the rest of the body but immobilized the point of contact within seconds. No more talking, no more swallowing, and in time, no more breathing or moving. It worked best intravenously, but I’d altered the composition of this particular compound to permeate cell walls through osmosis to get into the bloodstream.

A sensation of creepy crawlies snapped my attention to my arm. A big, brown, hairy spider crept over my elbow, its four front legs raised.

I yelped and whacked it away. It landed atop the man as I scrambled off him. The flashlight projected its large shadow against another banana stalk as it dug its fangs into his abdomen. Immediately, a muffled squeal of pain grunted out of his locked jaw as he thrashed from side to side, bending over, then straightening back out.

I picked up his flashlight as his body tensed and his back arched. Blood and vomit dribbled out of his mouth, and he gurgled nonsense. Worse, an erection tented his pants. None of those were symptoms of my paralytic.

I reached down to pick up his gun before his partner caught up, but that spider, the size of my palm, veered up on its back legs and lunged at me. Luckily, I jerked away in time to avoid its bite. Screw the weapon. I still had more vials: one with another paralytic, one with cyanide, and another filled with a fast-acting, highly concentrated hydrofluoric acid.

Flashlight turned off, I started off at a run but quickly winded down. What if there were more of those spiders deeper into the plantation? I shuddered. I patted my sweaty forehead with my arm. My lips cracked more and more with each pant of the humid air. Something rustled nearby, small and too close.

Yeah, no. I turned around and jogged back out of the banana field, careful to circumvent the second man and the beacon of his flashlight.

I huffed through the dryness in my throat. These men had to have some water in their car.