CHAPTER 38
MAYA
Half of them have given up, the other half must work out a lot.
Doubled over and heaving for a few bursts of air, I look around, seeing my small canyon-like crater coming to an end, stealing all that coverage with it. I keep tripping over rocks or bushes, and my body feels like it’s been banged to hell from the unforgiving ground, but I’m not ready to give up just yet.
Lungs protesting, I start running again, ignoring the burn in my legs. Why couldn’t they have been in the back? Then I could have ran through the front and stolen a car instead of making a run for it.
ATVs sound in the distance, coming for me. They can’t drive through the canyon, but they can sure as hell drive above it, looking for me. I duck behind more coverage, just as I’ve done on each of their sweeps.
Once they’ve moved on, I start running again. I can see the solid, steep wall just ahead, and I whimper a little. How the hell am I going to get out of this mess?
Loud, rapid gunfire echoes through the canyon, and I curse, diving to the side. It sounds too far away for the shots to be firing at me. Are they just hoping to make me scream so that I’ll give myself away?
Lathan told them not to shoot at me, damn it.
He needs my money before I’m allowed to die.
More and more gunfire has me questioning what’s going on. Especially when the ATVs suddenly take off in that direction.
After several long minutes of a lot of gunfire, I peer around the edge, wondering how many are still chasing me.
No one is there.
The gunfire sounds like it’s coming from the direction of the house, and I look around, finding some roots poking through the canyon wall.
Hoping like hell those extra five slices of pizza I’ve been having all week don’t break the damn roots out from under me, I start climbing them. Technically, I was starved for two days, since they sort of almost killed me, or whatever.
Admittedly, the more height I gain, the more I start cursing the pizza. I also curse Lathan for how weak I feel. That running wouldn’t usually bother me. This climbing wouldn’t normally be an issue.
But I’m hungry and thirsty, and my legs feel like gelatin right now. Half my stamina isn’t as good as all of my stamina when I’m at one-hundred percent.
All at once, the gunfire ceases, and I peer over the top of the canyon, seeing it clear before hauling myself out. I’m tempted to go back and see if everyone is dead, but decide to keep running like hell.
I’d rather get picked apart by buzzards than risk returning to capture.
Lying on my back, I pant for air, ignoring the shooting pain through my side from the constant sprint for my life. Sheer determination has me pushing myself back up to my feet and stumbling my way into the desert.
But then pain explodes against the side of my face with no warning, and the taste of blood fills my mouth as I cry out, falling hard to the ground.
Weak from hours of running, and drained from exhaustion, dehydration, and hunger, I don’t have the strength to push myself up to my feet. I hover on my knees, digging deep for strength, when I feel a boot collide with my stomach.
Pain lances through my core, and I get nauseous as I roll across the ground, my eyes closing and opening as I watch the black boots draw closer.
“Maya is so strong,” comes a soft, taunting voice. “Dad always said that,” Troy tells me on a sigh. “She’s going to be an excellent Blackbird.”
I spit out the blood, even though more merely pools in my mouth. I bit the hell out of my tongue when the dickhead punched me.
“How strong are you now?”
“Strong enough that I won’t beg for my life,” I say as I peer up. “Strong enough that I won’t ever tell you how to steal my Family’s money, no matter what Lathan does to me.”
I spit out blood and wipe my mouth, my head swaying a little as I try to keep my attention trained on him and not allow myself to pass out.
“Strong enough to run for hours after being drugged for two days,” I go on.
Though, I think I can thank adrenaline for that. I’ve apparently exhausted my supply, because I’m reeeaaalllyy feeling that shit hardcore now, and there’s that whole dizzy and queasy thing just to put the miserable cherry on top.
Not that I’ll tell him that.
“And strong enough to look your father in the eye and tell him I had to kill his son for being a traitor.”
He laughs humorlessly as I continue to hug the ground, waiting for another burst of adrenaline to save me at any damn time it feels froggy.
Unfortunately, no such luck, and I see two laughing Troys, then one, then two again. My head feels like a big ball on a tiny stick, completely unbalanced and ready to tip over.
I drop it back to the ground, unable to find another ounce of strength.
“There’s that spunk Dad always boasts about. You know, you’re nothing more than a little girl with a big mouth. You amuse the men who actually matter. That’s all you are—a court jester.”
A small smile toys with the edges of my lips. “You know as well as I do this court jester will be avenged. Just picture what Ezekiel or Ingrid will do to you when they find out you betrayed me.”
I get to see his bravado doubly falter when he splits into two Troys again.
“Not just that, Troy. I have other friends. Friends who might very well make the pain last for days. Friends who only know how to deliver pain. Friends who will make you wish you’d been born loyal instead of an entitled little prick.”
He kicks me hard in the side, and I flop over onto my back from the force, grinning up at him as I start laughing.
“What the hell is so fucking funny?” he roars.
“I was so weak, that I couldn’t get the gun out of the front of my pants.” His eyes widen as I hold the gun up, concentrating on both of him. “Until you knocked me over. Thanks.”
Since I can’t decide which fuzzy blur is actually him, I shoot both of him, hearing a cry of pain that tells me I hit the real one with one of those shots.
But my head is spinning too hard, and I shoot again, trying to listen to where the sounds are coming from.
Another cry of pain is forced out of me when he’s suddenly wrenching the gun away and kicking me hard again in the ribs. Definitely cracked some of those damn things.
“Fucking bitch. You shot me!”
“You betrayed me,” I bite out, hissing out a breath of pain.
He grabs me by my hair, and I try to claw at his hand as he starts dragging me, cursing his bleeding wound—that apparently isn’t freaking fatal or too damaging—as he uses my hair like a handle.
“Betrayal is cut and dried to you. Never mind what you do to all the people you step on to sit on your throne,” he growls.
The pain in my scalp is borderline excruciating, and I struggle harder to free his hand from its death grip.
“I didn’t step on anyone! Everyone knows what they sign on for!”
He snorts. “Unless their father is my father. Then you get a doormat for the queen and act like you’re happy to do all the hard work, while she takes all the glory.” He pauses and stops walking. “What the hell is that sound? Is that a golf cart?”
“No glory for the anonymous, you stupid son-of-a—”
A loud shot silences my words, and the hand on my hair slowly releases its grip. Troy drops to the ground beside me, or at least I think so. Everything is still so blurry.
I heave, retching as the nausea and dizziness finally win, and someone gingerly pulls my hair away from my face, running a soothing hand up and down my back.
“Easy,” Sarah says, causing my entire body to relax when I hear her voice. “Couldn’t have been easy to make it this far. Just take a few deep breaths. I’ve got us a battery-powered, quiet golf cart less than fifty feet away.”
I snort, sob, and laugh all at once, creating a terrible sound, but relief continues to pour through me.
“I’ve already picked off all the ones who were still following you. Come on,” she says when I stop shaking and the retching ends.
“If I could walk, I wouldn’t have been flopping around on the ground as he dragged me around by my hair,” I mumble as she helps me to my feet, grunting under my weight as I struggle to keep my legs from becoming jelly.
“On second thought,” she grumbles, putting me back down gently. “I’ll drive the cart to you.”
Again, I make that weird combination of sounds, every emotion determined to come out at once as she kneels in front of me, pushing my hair out of my face again.
“Stay here,” she jokes, then winks as she darts off into the night.
I glance over at the still body of a boy I used to play video games with. The boy was my brother. The man was far less impressive.
Smitty will be devastated.
“At least tell me I shot him somewhere good,” I say as Sarah pulls up beside me, the golf cart parked directly in front of me.
I see the blur of her rustling around, pushing his body from side to side, and I ignore the sick feeling in my gut as I look away from a man I once called a friend.
“Looks like you got him in the ass.”
I groan, cursing the fact the first time I finally shot someone, it was in the ass. Bad girl problems.
“You okay?” she asks as she helps me into the seat.
“As long as I pretend this is all one really twisted punchline for an ongoing joke, I won’t fall apart. It’s a coping mechanism. So start making really morbid jokes while my tears dry, because no one can see me broken.”
My voice cracks on that last line, and she blows out a heavy breath. She knows the score better than anyone. Weak girls in our business get dead real quick. The weaker you look, the more people think they can kill you.