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“Beautiful,” he whispered when he opened his eyes and stared straight at her.
Belinda gave a little hiccupping sob as she stroked his hair from his face. “You’re a dangerous man, John Garcia. A woman could fall in love with you.”
His face contorted and he surged forward, straining against the bonds that held him tight to the tree. Belinda wept as she checked the makeshift ropes to satisfy herself that they were not only secure, but that they weren’t harming him in any way.
His head lolled back as the pain passed. “It’s all an act. Two-faced hypocrite, liar, liar, liar…”
Belinda’s heart ached at his rambling words. She hoped he didn’t mean her; that it was just the pain talking.
“Never gonna know,” he muttered. “Never gonna know. Nothing. I’m nothing.”
“Shh.” Belinda caressed his cheek, and his eyes opened. He was looking straight through her.
“They don’t see,” he said in a voice so earnest that it almost broke her.
“Don’t see what?” she whispered.
“Me. They never see me. They only see the liar.”
A low, agonised groan followed as his eyes snapped shut. Every muscle in his body was clenched tight, and his skin was so hot that Belinda could feel heat coming off it even without touching him. When the pain receded, he was panting and Belinda had refilled the water bottle. She pressed it to his lips again, and he drank the lot.
“Don’t let her hurt me,” he whispered when he was done. “See me. Somebody needs to see me.”
“I see you, John,” she whispered.
His face filled with fury. “Don’t call me John!”
His body bowed in agony as another wave of pain hit him.
“Beast—it’s okay, Beast. This will pass. I promise. This will pass. You’re so strong. The strongest man I know. If anyone can handle this pain, it’s you. Please be okay. Please, please be okay.”
He was lost to her, groaning as he slumped against the tree between bouts of agony. All Belinda could do was keep the water bottle full and make sure they were both as safe as was possible. She kept the gun beside her, grateful that the way the tree limbs joined meant the area was wide enough for her to sit tailor-fashion, facing John. It was almost fully dark now, and Belinda could only make out John as a shadow in front of her. She tied another liana around her waist, securing her to the tree, hoping it would keep her from falling, in the unlikely event she actually fell asleep. Sometimes exhaustion could overwhelm a person.
“I’m getting out of here,” John said.
Belinda couldn’t see him now. Absolute blackness had swallowed them whole. “Yes, we are.”
“Gonna live on the street, where nobody can hurt me.”
She sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure he would hear her anyway.
“They don’t believe she hurts me.” He sounded so faint, as though it was a whisper from his mind. “She’s perfect. They only see perfect. But it’s all an act. I know what she’s like when the social worker leaves. Can’t stay here. Can’t take it anymore. Gonna live on the street and learn to fight. Nobody’s gonna hurt me. I’ve done it before. I can find enough to eat.”
He grunted and let out a low whine of pain. “Liar,” he shouted into the night. “Liar, liar.”
Belinda was grateful for the never-ending beat of the rain, because it swallowed John’s words and kept them hidden from the people who hunted them.
“It’s all an act,” he mumbled before letting out an agonised howl.
All Belinda could do was cry for the boy he’d once been, as she prayed that the man he’d become would make it through the night.
Chapter 20
It was late in the evening by the time the helicopter had flown the entire search party back to the resort—empty-handed. Each of the teams went their separate ways, to clean up before meeting in the ballroom, to refuel and debrief. Ryan was well aware of the sombre yet determined mood of his team, and he wasn’t looking forward to adding to their problems with his latest humiliation.
“Aren’t you eating?” Elle said as she smacked a palm to his forehead. “Are you ill? I don’t feel a fever.”
Ryan brushed her hand away. “Not hungry.”
