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Chapter 7
Molten steel throbs in my leg. Blood leaks from the wound in time with my pulse, but my scream is for Kate. The gunshot echoes in my ears; I barely hear the splash as Anton pushes her into the water.
“You did that to her,” Anton says. “You killed her. Just like you killed my father.”
I half-fall, half-dive in after her. Anton can shoot me as many times as he wants. Kate’s down there.
Seawater stings my wound like a branding iron jammed against the skin. I push the pain away, looking for her. She’s close. Moonlight reflects off her gently swaying hair.
When she sees me, she reaches out for me. It’s hard to tell in the darkness, but is she even bleeding? Did Anton miss?
I reach for her, but as I do, an unseen force grabs her and lifts her out of the water. There’s a flash of light and a whirl as a bullet cuts through the darkness. I swim, pumping my arms and legs, acting on pure instinct. My lungs burn, but I swim under the dock as more bullets pierce the sea. As soon as they stop, I surface, rising slowly from beneath so as not to make a sound.
Somehow I manage not to gasp, but breathe slowly.
“Ingram!” Anton shouts.
I press my one hand against the dock and another over the wound, trying to hold it closed.
“Fuck! God-fucking-dammit! Ingram! Do you see him?” Anton asks.
He’s talking to Kate. There’s no one else here. She’s alive. He didn’t shoot her. It was a ruse. Fucking piece of shit.
“Do you see him?”
“No!” she cries.
“Be quiet.”
I have a decision to make, and I don’t have a lot of time. I have to choose: try and stop Anton wounded and unarmed, or flee and hope to fight another day.
“Do you hear swimming?”
My leg throbs. Fatigue pulls a layer of wool over my vision.
I can’t fight him like this. If I run, I have a chance — assuming I don’t bleed out first.
I’m sorry, Kate. I’ll come for you. Stay strong.
Taking a deep breath, I push off the dock, sinking myself deep into the water. I kick off my shoes, level out and swim. To maintain a steady pulse, I don’t go too fast. I make long, slow strokes with my arms.
Focus on swimming. Focus on living.
If I dwell on my fury, my heart will pound. If I could breathe hatred right now, I’d never need to surface. There will be time for anger later. When I do come back up for air, I’m further from the dock but still in sight of it. I inhale again and keep going. I have some time before search teams will be on the scene; I need some distance, but I also need to stop bleeding.
Once my air runs out again, I make for the shore and hide behind a rocky groin. I rip off my shirt and tie it around the wound. It’s a start, but it needs proper medical care. For now, at the very least it needs stitches. I could also use a place to hide, at least for a few minutes.
Only one place comes to mind.
Boats take to the water, their motors low but audible in the quiet night. I’ll have plenty of warning before any get close enough to see me, so I follow the shore. As long as I hear a patrol, I make sure there’s enough cover to avoid being spotted.
It helps that most of these men have been trained by people who were trained by me. I know their methods. They’re going to form a grid of the island and clear it one sector at a time, closing the net with an ever-tightening perimeter. They’ll send special units to my residence and the armory. By now they ought to have found the dead guards in the harem — it’ll be crawling.
Pain in my leg intensifies so much I nearly miss the squawk of a com — a sentry’s close by. There’s a walking path leading to the beach between me and my destination — he’s probably keeping watch, meaning he won’t move on. If I get too close, he’ll hear me. I could try to avoid him, but that could drive me into the path of someone else.
Normally, I would just kill him. I’d wait for a boat to make enough noise that I can sneak up on him and snap his neck. Unfortunately, every step shoots a blinding surge through me. If I make one mistake, I’m done. It’s too risky.
I head inland, cutting through the brush, watching every step.
