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They laughed at my tears and began chugging Neville’s alcohol, celebrating their find. They pulled items from the fridge, sniffed the contents, then smashed them on the floor. Nothing was spared.
The sickening scent of spilled chemicals mixed with the bitter tang of alcohol made me gag.
“Cody,” I said softly. “Do you hear me?”
Cody was on his side, unmoving. His glasses were lopsided on his face and one of the lenses was cracked. Blood oozed from the cut on the bridge of his nose and had spilled over his closed eyelid. But he was breathing.
As the natives passed around the bottles, their wild laughter was like a knife cutting into my soul.
They’ve destroyed my priceless research.
This is Neville’s fault. Where the hell is he?
A breath gushed from me. Was he dead? Did they kill him in revenge for what happened to Na-lynied?
As much as I loathed Neville and what he’d done, I would never wish that on him.
A native picked up my laptop.
“No!” I yelled. “No. No. No!”
His eyes swept to me with a mix of curiosity and malice. He bent the screen and the keypad open and closed like he was playing an accordion.
“Please. Don’t.” I shook my head. “I’ll do anything.”
A fresh wave of horror crashed through me as I realized that I hadn’t had time to upload my research to the internet for a couple of days, especially today’s successful trials. It was all on that computer.
I sat up. “Hey.” I forced a smile and hating myself for this idea, I said, “You want moreyagatara?”
He bent my laptop screen back until it wouldn’t go any further.
Shit. Shit!
“Yagatara!” I yelled.
Na-lynied shot his gaze to me. His eyes conveyed both loathing and curiosity. It was as if he sensed the determination that burned within me to protect what mattered most to me—my research.
I nodded. “I have moreyagatara.”
Conflict raged in my mind between my loyalty and research for Blakely Pharmaceuticals, and my respect for the native culture. It was a war on my conscience, each side vying for domination.
Na-lynied pressed my computer harder, trying to force it open more.
“Hey,” I yelled.
Neville had boxes of alcohol in his room. I’d seen him carry them in there. But never in my wildest imagination did I think he was sharing the alcohol with the natives. If I did, I would have tipped it all out.
Na-lynied looked at me with an expression that was so blank, I wondered if he was still drunk.
I shook my head. “No!”
He slammed the computer onto the counter, splintering the screen. He bashed the keyboard with his fist and when several letters dislodged, he jerked back, blinking as if he couldn’t work out where the keys came from.
“Fuck!” I screamed, straining against the twine that bound me to the desk until the rough fibers bit into my skin. “Please. Stop.”
A knot burned in my throat.
Na-lynied bashed the keyboard with his fist until all the keys became a jumble of letters and numbers on the floor.
