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And Kane would be the new world leader’s second-in-command. He liked that title very much. Leading had never appealed to him. He didn’t want the attention. No, he liked the ability to slip into the shadows when the need arose.
Two hours later, Kane looked up from the reports he’d been reading to check the monitors, and found no change. Still, it was time to rip away their shelter and lay them bare for the cameras. Since his commlink didn’t work in Bolivia, he reached for the comm button on the console to call his security staff.
Only, he never made it.
The attack happened with blinding speed. The first he knew about it was a series of stabbing bites to his leg. He reacted fast, striking out at his attacker. But it was too late. He knew that when he felt the poison moving up his leg. An excruciating burning pain that made his vision blur. He reached for his gun as sweat broke out on his brow. Another bite. This time to his arm. Something moved behind him, crawling across his chair. No, not crawling. Slithering. Nausea assaulted him, and he vomited over his desk.
His fingers turned numb first, and his gun fell to the floor. The pain was blinding. His arms and legs began to swell, as he felt another stabbing bite to the back of his neck. Too many bites. Too much venom. Blood rushed through his veins, propelling the poison through his system at the speed of light. His head fell to the desk in front of him with a thud, and he couldn’t lift it again.
Antivenin.
He needed antivenin. He let out a sound that was a mixture of laughter and screaming. He’d blown up the antivenin with the clinic.
He’d killed himself.
His heart surged, and it felt like it might burst. Agony wracked his body. His throat closed tight, trapping his screams. He couldn’t breathe. His limbs were swollen to the point where he felt like they would explode. His tongue filled his mouth as he gulped for air and got nothing. He gasped. Desperate. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. With one last shudder, his heart stuttered and stopped.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Striker knew exactly what his diamondback had done. He’d lived through the experience along with the rattler. And he’d taken great satisfaction in seeing justice served. They’d both known, man and snake, that there was no way the reptile could free them from their cell. Striker had sent it out hoping for a miracle—desperate for one. But he would settle for revenge. Knowing that Kane Duggan died in agony was small comfort, but he would take it.
“You should have woken me,” Friday complained as she pushed up from where she’d been plastered to his body. “I don’t want to sleep my time away.”
He suspected she was past having a choice in the matter. When he’d tried to rouse her, she’d grumbled and carried on sleeping. Her system had run out of fight. All it wanted to do was rest. He gently rubbed the blue smudges under her eyes. Her movements had slowed now, as though the slightest thing took the greatest effort.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“You sure you really want to know?” He didn’t. He wanted to live in denial. Happy in a world where Friday had all the time she deserved.
She considered his question before nodding. He glanced at his watch, hating the timepiece for what it had to tell him. “It’s almost three.”
She tried to hide a wince, but he saw it. “I took the poison just after six.”
They sat there, in their little makeshift tent, looking at each other, neither of them wanting to acknowledge out loud that there were only three hours left. There was no lying to themselves now. No avoiding the fact that there wasn’t a place on earth they could get to fast enough to save her. And that was if they even managed to get free of CommTECH.
She cleared her throat. “I need to use the toilet. Can you put your fingers in your ears and promise not to listen?”
He burst out laughing, something he could have sworn would be impossible given the circumstances. He laced his fingers through hers. “The room is full of cameras and sound equipment.” There would be no privacy for her, no matter what he did.
Her cheeks turned the cutest shade of red. “I know. But I can pretend they aren’t there. I know you’re here. Will you do it for me?”
“Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”
She blinked hard, her eyes filling before she looked away. “Okay, then. Operation Toilet commencing.” The humor in her voice was forced.
His brave, beautiful woman.
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it before she scrambled over him and out of their tent. Feeling foolish, he put his fingers in his ears because he’d told her he would. As he sat there, he felt his diamondback return. The snake was satisfied and strangely determined. It slid to the floor beside him.
The threat is gone, it declared.
I know.
There was nothing more to say. The threat of Kane might be gone, but they were still locked in a
cell, watching Friday waste to nothing. The blanket shifted, and she crawled back into their tiny cocoon. With a smile, Striker made a production of taking his fingers out of his ears. Her laugh delighted him. And then her eyes fell on the rattler and lit right up.
“Oh, you’re back!” She scooped up the deadly snake and cuddled it to her, as though it were a kitten.
