Page 18 of What Remains

CHAPTER 6

Gwen

After my ankles are freed from the ropes, I’m manhandled outside and over to a dirt path that runs parallel to the runway.

Rain starts to fall, a gray curtain that fits the mood. I want to look back, to pretend Easton’s here, but I don’t. I’d rather hold on to the image of him inside that hangar as I walk straight toward what feels like my death.

Up ahead is a concrete complex half swallowed by the jungle. Mud sucks at my sandals with wet pops, as if the earth herself wants to hold me back.

Yeah, I know, I know. I’m in danger. Not helo-crash-in-a-storm danger, either. This may actually be worse.

Just thinking about that mission when the bird went down . . . Easton remained so steady and in control, and that helped keep me calm.

Now I may never see him again.

Never catch the pop of the gum he’s always chewing while thinking—like his mind is working overtime and his jaw barely keeps up.

Or drink from his favorite U-M mug.

Find excuses to argue with him just because I enjoy the way he looks at me when we do.

Never again witness his poker face. That half-smile as he tries to hide the fact he’s figured out an answer before me but won’t admit it.

I mean, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again after he left last month, but now it’ll be a for-sure thing.

That thought worsens the tight band of pressure in my chest, and it pushes a lump into my throat, making it hard to breathe.

Shit, I’m going to cry. Pride—and straight up fear—kept the tears at bay on the plane. Pretending to be Natasha in the hangar enabled me to stand up to that woman. Now, here I am, unable to control it from happening.

I’m only granted a minute or so to stumble through my emotions before we come to a stop.

There’s an armed man waiting outside a door. He’s not wearing a mask, and he tugs at the brim of his hat, which shields his face from the rain. He looks me up and down before redirecting to the daft idiots on each side of me.

“Who’s the girl?” he asks.

“The girl has a name, a life, and a whole family,” I bite out, sniffling.

The guy at my left snickers. “Boss wants her in room nineteen for questioning.”

The unmasked douchebag (that’s being polite, in my opinion) snatches his radio. “This is Talon Three. I have⁠—”

“Room nineteen,” someone cuts him off. Sounds like the woman I talked to in the hangar. “I’ll be right there.”

“Copy that.” He steps aside and lets us into the building. “Have fun,” he mutters as I’m dragged through a corridor, ominous fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

I lose count of how many armed men we pass, and how many turns we take before I’m forced into a room. The door seals shut behind us with a hydraulic hiss.

I’m greeted by bare cinderblock walls and harsh lighting. A metal table and chair are anchored to the floor, and the stench of bleach clings to the air.

The contrast from the hot, rainy outdoors to the air-conditioned inside has me shivering. I’m completely naked beneath this jumpsuit. I was checked thoroughly for trackers before the flight, and apparently, they didn’t even trust the fabric of my bikini not to transmit a signal.

My teeth start chattering as one of the guards shoves me into the only chair in there, then crouches to cuff my ankles. When his fingers skim above the cold steel, I snap out, “Get your bloody hands⁠—”

“Relax, darling.” He rises slowly, his blue eyes glinting through the eye holes of the mask. I think this is the same son of a bitch who hit Juliette in the lift, and if I ever get free, so help me . . . “Just checking your pulse. Seeing if it skipped a beat for me.”

He winks, the bastard. I know exactly what he wants. He said as much on the plane while forcing me to strip. I was just too doped up to acknowledge his disgusting remarks.

Before I can tell him off, the door scrapes open. The woman from the hangar joins us, tossing a duffel bag on the table as she begins speaking to the men in another language. I don’t recognize the dialect, but based on the Aussie accents, the humidity, and the fact it’s summer in January, I must be somewhere south of the equator. Maybe an island off the coast of Australia or New Zealand?