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His tenderness was a delightful contrast to the rugged soldier figure he cast.
I nodded. “I can do this.”
“Good.” His crooked smile was weak although somehow also perfect.
My heart boomed in my ears, yet a calmness washed over me as he curled an arm around my waist to help me up and I groaned like my eighty-year-old grandfather used to. My head still boomed as if my brain was a jackhammer trying to force its way out of my cranium, and my legs were as weak as Jell-O. But I was alive. Hunter was right; my fall from that chopper was a miracle. Now we needed another miracle to save everyone else.
Hunter peered up to the mangled wreck. “I’m coming back for you guys.” Nodding at me, he reached for my hand. “Let’s go.”
I squeezed my palm to his, and although exhaustion was etched on his face, he dragged me forward with brute determination.
My legs were lead weights, and my lungs burned with each ragged breath.
Mud sucked at my boots, trying its hardest to pull off my shoes.
Hunter charged through every bush like an excavator and when he couldn’t push plants aside, he trampled over the top of them. His boots stomped on twigs and squelched in mud. Each time we reached an obstacle, he cursed and yelled insults at the bushes. But I sensed the vegetation was not the only reason for his fury. It was probably me. With every minute, his anger seemed to increase and the distance between us did too.
A spiderweb wrapped around my neck and chin, and yelping, I jumped back.
“What’s your problem?” He spun to me, and his fierce scowl scared me more than any giant spider could.
“A cobweb just—”
“What? Aren’t you used to them?” He glared at me like I was evil, then turned and charged away.
Clawing at the sticky mess around my neck, I chased after him. “What do you mean?”
He karate-chopped a branch across our path, splitting it into two pieces. “I mean . . . you’re living in this fucking jungle, so you should be used to cobwebs.”
“Actually, no. I’m not used to cobwebs. Nor will I ever be.” I rubbed my hands over my head, making sure no spiders had migrated from that web to my hair. “No matter where I live.”
If he heard me, he didn’t show it. Following his GPS, he carved through anything that got in his way.
A bunch of matted creepers halted his trek. He grabbed a vine and yanked it hard, but when the vine won, he released a fierce growl and had to drop to his hands and knees to crawl beneath them.
“What’s wrong with you?” I huffed.
On the other side of the living macrame, he hit me with a rage-filled glare. “What’s wrong with me?” he yelled.
I darted my gaze to the bushes around us. If those men with guns were nearby, we were about to get shot at.
“You want to know what’s wrong with me?” he said. Then, he shuddered like he’d had an exorcism and marched away.
I crawled beneath the vines, and the coarse ground scraped over the cuts and bruises on my legs. There was no need for him to answer the question. Everything was wrong.
He slapped a giant leaf, and a flock of birds darted out. He jumped then glared at the birds like they were poisonous darts. I half expected him to pull his gun and shoot the flock of Blue Dacnis midflight.
I cupped my hand over my mouth, trying not to grin at his obvious fright.
His gaze was a mixture of anger and confusion. “Why did you call me, Layla?”
I blinked at him. “Um . . .”
Because you’re brave, and I knew you’d know what to do. Because your name was the first one that popped into my mind when I needed help.
I huffed. “Because your number was the only one I’d memorized.”
He did a double-take. He hadn’t expected that.
