Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2) (29 page)

“That other dude. Uh, Cane!” he tries again, grinning.

“Bingo!” I sing. “Your turn.”

“I spy
something brown.”

I look around as he slows the car down slightly.

“You’re full of shit. There is nothing brown!” I complain craning my neck to look behind us.

“What the hell?” he complains as we slow even more. I plop back facing the right way to see what his issue is. The car in front of us keeps hitting his brakes. I can’t make out the truck anymore either.

“Pass him,” I say, feeling nervous. It’s probably nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing. I suck in three deep breaths to calm myself and focus on something else.

“Yeah, yeah, girl, I’m working on...” A sharp pain erupts in my side followed by a feeling of weightlessness. My head thrashes back and forth violently. The high-pitched sound of metal rubbing together and crunching fills the car. Glass shatters, exploding inward and cutting my face. The car rolls top over bottom three times that I can count before stopping upside down, suspending both Brock and me by our seatbelts.

“Brock...” I wheeze. I try to turn towards him but my neck refuses to cooperate.

“Brock....” I hear him groan but he doesn’t properly answer. The sound of glass being crushed under heavy boots refocuses my attention.

“Cane? Bentley?” I try and call out. My voice sounds feeble, though. I tilt my head to the left as much as possible to see out the gaping hole in the shattered windshield.
 

Ezra stands outside the car, squatting down to look inside the car. I recognize his stance, the tightness in his shoulders and the clinched jaw. It's time to call it or fold and I don't think folding is an option. I push the button at my hip and fall unceremoniously to the roof of the overturned car. I nudge Brock roughly but he doesn't move. Reaching a shaking finger to his neck I check for a pulse. Still alive. I try to position myself quietly so I can crawl into the remains of the back seat. I move one knee forward but am yanked on my belly sliding backward. Ezra drags me from the car through the remains of the windshield, little pieces of glass tearing at my stomach as I go. I scream in pain but kick and twist furiously as he tugs. He drops my legs when I’m on the pavement. The car is totaled. It’s the kind of wreck that makes you wonder how anyone could possibly survive. I gasp, hoping that Brock is truly okay and not bleeding out internally. My head
hurts, it’s pounding and I can hear my own pulse in my ears. I scramble to my feet but only make it two steps before crumbling to the ground. I’m so dizzy. Ezra approaches and I swing blindly at his figure. My fear ruling my actions. I need to calm down. I need to focus. His arms slide under my armpits and he lifts me to my feet. “This doesn’t even seem like a fair fight,” he sneers. “And I’ve heard you were training for this moment for so long.” I want to do something, anything to hurt him but my body won't oblige.

“Fuck you,” I bark and spit at him. A bloody
loogie lands at the corner of his mouth. He cringes, takes a step back from me and wipes it away. His hand rears back. I watch the motion, as I was trained to, stay present in my body and follow the hit. Before he lands his throw, I block it, step forward and hook my foot behind his. With all the strength I can muster I lunge forward. He doesn’t anticipate this and loses his balance as he sails backwards over my foot. His head makes a sick
thwapping
sound when it connects with the pavement but it doesn’t seem to deter him for long enough. I swing my leg back and kick him swiftly in the kidney, causing him to curl into himself. As I pull back to kick again he uncurls himself and raises a gun to me.

Time stands still. Everything slows down for me. One. Two. Three breaths. I reach down, tucking myself under his outstretched arms, and slip the heel of my hand to where his right thumb rests over the release and slam it hard into my other hand. He lets out a deep grunt when my back collides with his chest. The clip slides out, clattering to the ground beside us. I throw my elbow into the side of his head and roll off him. I push up to my feet and start to run. I’m only a few strides away when he tackles me down. My temple slams into the road, my vision turns hazy and no matter how hard I fight it my eyes flutter closed.

Chapter 22

It’s black. Fabric over my eyes makes it impossible to see anything. Aches and pains radiate throughout my body and I’m hot, so freaking hot.

“A present for you.” His voice is calm and smooth. It’s not really characteristic of him at all. He forces my hands in front of me and puts something hard and round in one hand. My fingers are wrapped around warm metal. Every joint in my body is tense and sore. I hear the sound of steel scraping against steel. “Squeeze tight,” he says with a chuckle. I do as I'm told and try my best not to tremble. Sweat drips down the sides of my face. It’s so hot in here.

“Did you really think there was a distance you could cover or a hole deep enough you could hide in, Cypress? There's nowhere in the US that my reach doesn't go when it comes to what you took. Granted, it’s unfortunate that you chose to take the pack but...it is what it is.” I hear his heavy boots clunking on the rickety wooden floor boards as he walks away. Is he leaving me? When the door slaps shut I yank the blindfold down with one hand, open my eyes and look down.

I am going to die. Clasped tightly in my hand is a grenade. A grenade with the pin missing. I push up from the wooden chair I’m seated in and sprint to the door and throw my shoulder into it. “Ezra!” I scream. “Ezra!” It’s no use though, I can hear the sound of his tires in the dirt spinning their way down the long drive. Swallowing hard, I turn and look around. Nothing. It’s just a wooden hunting cabin. The windows are boarded up. There is no furniture, no other rooms. Just one big wooden space with no way out. A small beam of light shoots through the missing knot in one of the boards. The dust in the air dances around haphazardly. I square my shoulders, determined to find something. Anything.

There are small holes in the floorboards here and there but as far as I can tell, it leads to packed dirt just inches below. With only one free hand, my physical strength is
severely limited. I try tugging on the board at the window but all I wind up with is splinters in my fingers. If I press my eye just right to the few small holes in the wooden planks I can see the sun starting to set. It’s so hot in here. I’m slick with sweat and I don’t have water. The adrenaline is seeping out of my body, taking with it most of my will as well.

I screamed myself hoarse over the last few hours. Slumping down into the corner I run over my options again and again. I can let go. I can just let go and be done or I can fight my exhaustion and stay awake gripping the handle. I rub my splinter-ridden hand on my shirt to dry off the moisture. My right hand is cramping from clinging to the trigger and I wonder if I can switch hands. I don’t want to risk it. I wrap my left hand around my right and squeeze to try and release the pressure on my right hand for a bit.

One stupid hunk of metal might very well be my demise. I’m not sure how one trains for this- but I sure wish I had. I let my head list back to the wall and let my eyes rest for a moment. How long can someone go without sleep, I wonder. The absurdity of this situation isn’t lost on me. “Touché, Ezra!” I laugh out, crazed. “Touché.”

To keep myself awake I decide to sing every song I can remember all the words to, but I realize there is really only one song that I can remember without the music playing. I’m on my tenth round of
Hey Pretty Girl
when I swear I hear something. It’s pitch black in the cabin now and I can’t even see my hands holding the grenade. My hands are numb, making it hard to tell if I’m still holding it firmly or just barely hanging on. I press my ear to the wall and slow my breathing down. Everything is quiet. There is the faint sound of traffic, a highway maybe somewhere off in the distance but I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s just the wind. A beam of light flits across the planks through the cracks. I push up to a standing position and listen again. Gravel crunching. Lights pass again.

“I’m in here!” I scream as best I can. “Help!” My throat hurts so much from yelling earlier. It’s pissing me off.

“Magnolia!” Bentley’s gruff voice shouts.

“In here! I'm in here!” I cry out.

“Are you hurt? Can you back away from the door?” His voice sounds strained.

“I’m not hurt really. I’m moving,” I blubber with relief. A shot rings out, echoing through the air. Instinctively I duck and cower in the corner. The door blows open, wood splintering inward towards me. I wrap both hands around the grip of the grenade to keep it steady. Bentley rushes me, arms out, panic evident on his face. Before he reaches me I thrust my hands out in front of me. He stops mid-stride.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit!”

“My hands are numb, Bentley. I’m so tired.” My arms tremble just trying to hold the weight of the grenade.

“Princess, you’re going to be OK. Let me help you stand up,” he says in a soothing calm voice. His arms reach out to my shoulders and hoist me up. We walk slowly to the door and down three steps. We are in the middle of a large vacant field. A dirt and gravel road leads through the trees about a football field away from the wooden structure I’d been trapped in.

“Do you trust me?” he asks gently. My body trembles in reaction. No, yes, no, no I do not trust him. How could I at this point?

“Yes,” I mutter. Sweat drips down my neck and between my breasts. It’s hot and sticky. My hands are slick and I’m afraid the cramping in my hands is going to lead to my losing my grip.

“I’m going to take this from you. Do you understand?” he asks slowly.

“It won't work.” My voice breaks on the last word out of my mouth.

“It will. You have to trust me,” he pushes. His hands close around mine so that we’re both gripping the handle. I look up into his eyes and find nothing but calm and focus. “I’m going to count to three. On three you will slide your hands out, leaving me to hold the lever.” I shake my head no at him. It won't work and I’m not going to be responsible for his death. “Dammit,
Mags, you have to trust me on this,” he says firmly.

“Fine. I trust you, but, Bentley...”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I did really have feelings for you, but Cane, he’s...”

“He’s alive. I get it.” He cuts me off before he leans down and lightly brushes his lips against mine. It feels familiar and safe and right. It’s comforting. “One. Two. Three.” I yank my hands from inside his and stumble backwards. “RUN!” he booms at me. I turn and sprint as fast as my bruised body will allow. The sky explodes. The sound is deafening and the ground shakes with such force that I’m knocked face down. Dirt and tree debris rain down all around me. I can’t hear anything. I can’t see Bentley through the dust cloud. I start crawling back towards where I saw him last. No. No. He has to be alright.

“Magnolia!” he shouts but he sounds far away.

“I’m here!” I shout, but I don’t know if I’m shouting at all. The ringing in my ears is so loud it drowns my own voice out. An arm clamps around my waist and hoists me up. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest as he holds me close to him. “Magnolia.”

I tilt my head back to look at up him. His blue gray stormy eyes bore into mine just before our mouths crash together. The kiss lingers momentarily before I snap out of it and pull back. “You’re okay...” I breathe.

“Come on, let’s get in the car so I can check you over, make sure you’re alright.”

H
e scoops me up under my knees and walks us away from the burning debris pile.

“I’m fine, just bumps and bruises and a couple splinters,” I say, swatting his roaming hands away. “I’m sure I look worse than I am.”

“You look like you’ve been beaten and tortured.” His expression is grim and tense.

“Where’s Cane? Brock? Oh God, did someone go back for Brock?!” I shriek. I need to get myself under control but I can't stop shivering. Bentley hands me a bottle of water with a look that says if I don’t drink it he’ll force it down my throat, so I gulp the water down in four long chugs.

“I sent Cane to extract Brock. I couldn’t risk Ezra being here with you and having the opportunity to take you both out at once,” he explains.

“What?” I crow.

“Ezra will go after Cane. I was only able to track him here through his cell phone. It stopped moving here, he must have dumped it when he left. You, Magnolia, have something very important to him.”

“It’s just a ratty backpack full of money, I barely tapped into it at all!” I wail.

“We’re missing something then,” he states firmly.

“It’s personal. I’m a loose end. If I pressed charges...it would put him in the public eye. That’s got to be it,” I deduce.

“No. The rape alone isn’t what’s driving him. We’re missing something.” Rape. What a dirty word. The shame that rolls through me when the word leaves his mouth is all-consuming. He puts an arm around me and pulls me to his firm chest. “It wasn’t your fault. He’s a sick, twisted monster. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Let it go,” he coos. I rear back, tearing myself from his embrace.

“Let it go?” I spit. “Let. It. Go? Do you understand that Cane was all I knew? There was no one else, Bentley. Never anyone else. I trusted him with every last piece of my fucking soul, and Ezra waltzed in and took the one thing that I had to give away. You...you were the only other one. The second I got close to you, everything crumbled. I don’t know how to let it go. He violated me. He
raped
me of a normal life with the man I loved, he stole his nephew's life as well and he’s still walking around out there like nothing can touch him!” I shriek. “I don’t know how to let it go. I don’t want to know how to let it go. I want to kill him. I want justice for all the lives he’s ruined,” I growl.
“Magnolia, justice isn’t served if you kill him. Justice is served by following the law and putting him away. Why do you think Cane was working with me? Huh? To gather enough evidence to put him away for life so that he would be out for good, done with that life, for
you
. Cane and I only know each other because of you. You are the common denominator here - and it seems that you are the driving reason for Ezra too. Whatever you have, he wants.” I don’t want to listen to another word Bentley has to speak. I don’t want to imagine that one simple change in my day could have resulted in my innocence being saved, Cane getting out free and clean and Ezra being put away for life. If I had just gone out to dinner, or shopping or stayed at Aster’s longer that night everything would be different. It’s done though. It’s done and now I am the only one who will be able to make it right.