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River
It’s my plan, but it still feels so damn wrong to slip back into Betty’s tent and sit on the edge of her cot, the metal legs creaking. It grates on every instinct I have to stay put, Betty trembling in my arms, waiting to be discovered.
Hours pass, the sky lightening through the tent canvas, until the sounds of waking mercenaries fill the base camp. Muffled yawns and low mutters break the silence.
“It’s okay,” I tell her under my breath, over and over. “It’s going to be okay.”
But can I really promise that? Can anyone?
Betty goes tenser than a plank whenever boots thud past her tent, her breaths coming in panicked little puffs against my neck. But it still takes them what feels like a lifetime to finally come and investigate what’s keeping their bait so long.
“Wakey, wakey,” one of the men calls, stomping over and shoving the tent flap aside without knocking. She could have been half dressed! Asshole. It’s the youngest one, the redhead—the one with a crush on Betty.
He splutters when he finds us in a clinch. Freezes in the doorway, eyes wide. I could have escaped a dozen different ways before he finally yells out, “Hey!”
Boots slam against the dirt, four pairs running toward Betty’s tent.
Finally. Must I do all the work in my own capture?
Pressing one final kiss to her temple, I set Betty away from me and stand up, moving into the center of the tent.
Five men. Five idiots.
And one girl I can’t bear to see hurt. If she weren’t here, if I only had my own skin to worry about, I’d fight my way out and be damned. But the situation has changed. The stakes are higher than I ever dreamed.
It’s not enough to finish these lowlifes. We need the agency off our backs forever.
“Move,” the one called Echo says, shoving the redhead aside. He peers into the shadowed tent, eyes glittering behind his glasses. “Huh.”
Betty backs up a step. Though this guy is smaller and leaner than the others, he’s the one she’s most afraid of. Filing that tidbit away for later, I let my arms hang loose by my side.
“Got tired of playing hide and seek, Agent Dawes?” Echo’s gaze flicks to Betty, then back to me. The other men crowd around the doorway, blocking out the pale dawn light. Nearby, someone’s toast is burning.
I shrug. “Something like that.”
Echo steps aside and jerks his chin. “Bind his hands.”
Yeah, it’s easy to bark orders like that when you’re not the one risking his hide. I’ve had plenty of commanders like this guy—but not for long. And there are some huffs, some sideways glances, that say there’s plenty of resentment in this ragtag crew. No one here would risk their neck for their noble leader. No one will go out of his way to watch the guy’s back.
That’s good. Any weakness can be exploited.
The redhead wanders away, his movements loud in the echoing camp as he rummages through boxes and rattles tins in another tent. He comes back a minute later, holding a roll of industrial tape.
Good, that’s good. Tape can stretch and twist; it gets slippery with sweat. Zip ties could have been a problem, but tape I can work with. As the mercenary steps inside the tent, I stretch my wrists forward, calm and helpful.
No such luck.
“Bind them behind his back, Tango.” The leader sighs, long-suffering, as the redhead flushes and snatches the tape back, then gestures for me to turn around. “Is this your first fucking day on the job? Always behind the back. Always.”
I join my wrists at the base of my spine, but I let Tango walk around me, refusing to turn. Not about to lose my eyelines, not with Betty at stake.
“Be careful,” she blurts, when the tape wraps so tight it cuts off my circulation. The tips of my fingers tingle, and I roll my shoulders back, forcing myself to stay calm. I won’t be bound for long, but numb hands won’t help.
“Tape her mouth, too,” Echo says.
You know what? Forget calm.
“If you gag her, I’ll tear out your spinal cord and floss with it.”
