by Rachel Woods
John faced the steering wheel. “I’d never let Ben keep us apart. He will never come between us again. I’m going to make sure that bastard pays for what he did to you. You have a phone?”
“I have my cell,” Spencer said, reaching for her purse as John started the car and steered back on the road.
“We need to call my cousin Roy,” John said, shifting gears. “He’s a cop. We need to call him, let him know—”
The cab hit a bump and the iPhone slipped from her hand. Spencer cursed.
“Sorry,” John said.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Spencer bent over and reached toward the floorboard, running hesitant fingers over the dusty plastic mat. “The phone fell on the floor.”
“Do you see it?” John asked.
“Yeah, I see it, but…” The car rocked slightly. Spencer felt something thin and hard tumble across the back of her hand. The iPhone. Spencer grabbed the phone and then lost it as the car hit another pothole. Cursing again, she scooted across the backseat until she was behind John. She leaned down across the seat, looking toward the floorboard.
The car bounced, and the cell phone slid across the mat, but she was able to grab it.
A deafening pop, like something bursting open, sent her heart into her throat, choking her scream. An explosion of glass shattered around her, razor-sharp chunks and shards tumbling down and hitting the plastic mat.
John cried out, a grunt of shock and pain, and the cab jerked violently.
Somewhere in the chaos and confusion of her mind, Spencer realized what she’d heard. Gunshots. With the realization came fear and paralyzing panic. Spencer rolled off the seat. Gasping and confused, trying to breathe and think, she scrambled to get back up onto the back seat.
What the hell was happening?
“John!”
The cab hit several bumps, jostling her, and then swerved again.
Another explosive pop burst through the air. Spencer screamed. The car skidded, tires shrieking in protest as the car smashed broadside against a cluster of bushes and squat Sego palms, the impact rocking the chassis.
“John!” Gasping and coughing, Spencer made her way onto the back seat. “What happened? What—”
Slumped over the wheel, John was unconscious, a thin trail of blood streaming down the side of his face.
“John! Oh my God,” Spencer cried, struggling to maneuver into the front seat. “John!”
The rear passenger side door opened. A hand reached in and clamped around her ankle. “No!” she cried, struggling to get away as she was dragged along the cracked leather. Kicking and screaming, she fought, confused and desperate, trying to understand what was happening. An arm snaked around her waist, and seconds later, she was yanked out of the cab.
Heat surrounded her as a floral breeze blew tendrils of hair across her face. Struggling to get her footing, she stumbled. A hand clamped around the back of her arm, pulling her away from the car. “No!” she screamed, desperate to get away. “No! Get away from me! Leave me—”
“So, we meet again, sweet girl.”
The menacing island lilt froze her, sending a jolt through her entire body, making her knees buckle. Dizzy and stunned, Spencer looked up into the face of Ben Chang.
55
A’arotanga, South Pacific
“Where is my envelope?” Ben said, pointing a large, black gun toward her face.
Trembling, Spencer whispered, “It’s in my purse.
“Get it,” Ben ordered, releasing her arm. “And don’t try anything stupid, or I will put a bullet in Sione’s head.”
Nodding, too terrified to think of anything stupid to try, Spencer climbed back into the car. She grabbed the blue Birkin and then glanced at John, still unconscious, and willed herself not to cry or scream or do anything stupid, as Ben had warned her. There was no need to test Ben. All he wanted was the envelope. All she had to do was give it to him, and then he would go and leave them alone. Once Ben was gone, she would call an ambulance for John and then call the police. No, John’s cousin. She was supposed to call John’s cousin. What was his name?
Spencer reached into the purse, pulled out the envelope, and thrust it toward Ben. “Here’s your damn precious envelope.”
After checking the contents, Ben smiled. “Okay, come on.”
“What?” Spencer shrank back from him.
“You’re coming with me.”
“What are you talking about?” Spencer stared at him. “I gave you the envelope. The deal you made with John was if he gave you the envelope, then you would let me go.”
“Change of plans,” he said, dropping the Birkin to grab her wrist. “You can thank your future father-in-law for that. He should not have gotten involved. Sione and I did have a deal. We were going to make an even exchange. You for my envelope. I planned to hold up my end of our bargain, and I thought Sione would, too. But he lied to me. Betrayed me.”
Spencer said, “John didn’t betray you.”
“The hell he didn’t,” Ben said. “Sione called his daddy. Now I got that psychotic bastard on my ass and I’m in Richard’s territory. He runs this fucking island like it’s his personal fiefdom. He plans to make sure I don’t make it out of paradise alive. That’s why I need you.”
“You need me for what?”
“You, sweet girl,” Ben said, “are my ticket off this island.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Spencer said, taking another step back, panicked, her head whipping left and then right. She prayed she’d see another car or maybe someone walking down the street, hoping to see someone who could help her, but there was no one. The street was deserted, a strip of asphalt marred by cracks in the foundation and potholes. On either side of the road, dense tropical jungle bordered the graveled shoulder.
Ben slipped the envelope into the back pocket of his pants and then grabbed her again.
“Let me go!” Spencer said, struggling to get away from him as he forced her across the road, toward the opposite shoulder. “Leave me alone!”
“Shut up!” Ben growled when her frantic yells became screeching screams for help. “Scream again and I go back and shoot Sione. I will kill him. Is that what you want to happen? You want your baby to grow up without his father?”
56
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Pain throbbed near his right ear.
Lifting his head from the steering wheel, Sione touched the spot just beneath his hairline and winced. Breathing shallow, he glanced at his fingers. Slick blood, bright and red. His heart slamming, he glanced in the rear-view mirror, turning his head to examine the wound. The bullet had grazed him, searing his skin. It felt worse than it looked, but it was more terrifying than painful. An inch or a nod or a tilt back just so and he might be dead. Or brain damaged. A lifeless shell. Alive, but unable to really live. Unable to be a father to the baby. Or a husband to Spencer.
Sione stared at the blood on his fingers, trying to ignore the macabre thoughts. He wasn’t dead. The bullet hadn’t hit its target. Rage dominated his thoughts and his emotions even though he tried to be grateful for each breath he took. The bullet that missed should never have been fired. The bullet wouldn’t have left the chamber, Sione knew, if he hadn’t stolen the envelope. Ben could have killed him, and it would have been his own damn fault. He’d accused Ben of unleashing hell, but he was giving the bastard too much credit. Spencer and the baby had been put through hell because of his dangerous mistakes.
Grimacing, Sione tried to get his bearings, struggling to orient himself. The car had skidded off the road, onto the shoulder, and into a shallow ditch. The driver’s door was pinned against the branches and leaves of several sea grape trees.
Sione massaged the back of his neck, trying to determine if he’d suffered whiplash or—
Spencer. His heart slammed. Where was Spencer? What had happened?
“Spencer…” His voice a whispered croak, he cleared his throat.
Had Spencer been shot? He looked
over his shoulder. The back seat was empty. There was no blood, thank God. But where was Spencer? Had she gotten out of the car? The rear passenger side door was open. Sione looked left, through the front passenger window.
His heart dropped.
Across the road, he saw Spencer.
Ben was forcing her into the trees…
57
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Spencer went ice cold.
“You didn’t think I knew about the baby, did you?” Ben led them down into a shallow ditch and then pushed aside several large, waxy leaves, heading into the forest. “I would congratulate you, but it’s not exactly a blessing. At least not for the child. I feel sorry for the kid. Having a treacherous bitch for a mother.”
“How did you find out?” Spencer asked, struggling to keep up with him as they walked down a narrow path, bordered by a thick wall of trees and bushes.
“The woman who took you was given strict orders not to mistreat you,” Ben said. “But she had proved herself to be difficult to control and was prone to disobedience, so I was watching to make sure she complied with my wishes.”
“You were watching me?” Spencer asked, feeling violated, even though Moana had told her about the cameras.
“I saw you holding your stomach and talking to yourself,” Ben said. “Soon, I realized you were talking to your ‘little one,’ telling him that everything would be okay.”
“Now that you know I’m pregnant, will you please let me go?” Spencer begged. “I don’t want anything to happen to my baby. I need to see a doctor to make sure the baby is okay.”
“I’m sure the baby’s fine,” Ben said, continuing along the path. “But, just in case, once we get off the island and make it to our next destination, I’ll drop you off at a hospital.”
“Where are you taking me?”
Ben said nothing.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, wiping sweat from her forehead, praying for a breeze to somehow make it through the humidity. “You have the envelope. You have what you wanted.”
“Not quite, sweet girl,” Ben said, his smile wry. “Don’t quite have everything I wanted.”
“What do you want that you don’t have?” she asked.
“I don’t have…” Ben stopped, his body rigid.
Wary, she glanced up at him. “What is it?”
Frowning, he shushed her. Tightening his hold on her arm, Ben pulled her off the path and behind a large elephant tree.
“Ben?” Her heart slammed.
“Be quiet,” he whispered, lowering one of the leaves with a finger, peering through the space.
Spencer moved her head, squinting to see through the leaves. Seconds passed, and then she saw two men emerge from the bushes on the other side of the path they’d been walking on.
Voice lowered, Spencer asked, “Who are those men?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” Ben whispered. “Don’t say another—”
Several muffled thuds whizzed through the air, and the wide, waxy leaf near Ben’s head exploded. Cursing, he crouched, forcing Spencer to the ground with him. Peeking between the tangled branches of a hibiscus bush, he said, “Stay down.”
Ben rose to a defensive crouch, using the barrel of his gun to move the leaves of the trees they hid behind. Freed from his oppressive grasp, Spencer took a step back. Ben was distracted. She had to take advantage of his preoccupation with the men who’d shot at them. Richard’s mercenary minions, she thought, but she wasn’t sure. The men were dressed in dark suits. Taking another step back, she alternately watched Ben and scanned the ground, looking for a weapon. Spying a fallen branch about the size of a baseball bat, lying beneath a bush, put a dangerous idea in her head. One she wasn’t sure would work.
Bullets pierced two more elephant leaves, and Ben jerked and ducked. Spencer had to do something. She couldn’t wait to accidentally be shot to death. With a careful sidestep to her left, she picked up the branch, and then screamed. “Help me! Please! Ben—”
“You devious bitch!” Ben roared, turning as he started to rise.
Spencer swung the branch toward him, smashing it against the side of his face. Dropping the branch, she turned and ran into the trees.
58
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Crying, Spencer lurched to the left, following a different path. Struggling to breathe, she forced herself to keep going. Though terrified of seeing Ben right on her heels, Spencer looked back.
Ben wasn’t chasing her.
Confused, Spencer continued to run. Blades slashed and nicked her skin, and every now and then, she got winded and had to slow her pace. Once or twice, she nearly fell, but she was determined to stay on her feet. Her body screamed at her to stop. But if she stopped, Ben would catch up to her. If Ben caught her, he would kill her. No, no that wasn’t right, was it? He couldn’t kill her because he needed her.
Hurrying through ankle-high grass, Spencer skirted around a group of bushes. She ran through clusters of trees spaced apart at intervals. A banana grove, she realized when she stopped to catch her breath, noting the clusters of small, green bananas hanging from the top of the trees. You, sweet girl, are my ticket off this island. Ben needed a hostage, or he wasn’t getting off the island alive.
Sadness threatened to overwhelm her, and the urge to sink to her knees and sob was tempting. She couldn’t give up. John needed her. Somehow, she had to find her way back to him. She had to call an ambulance so he could get the medical attention he needed. She remembered the blood streaming down his face, and prayed he would be okay. She couldn’t give up. The baby was depending on her. She couldn’t let her little one down. Not now. Not ever. She owed her little boy the chance to come into the world, to grow and thrive, and be loved. She had to be for her little one the mother she’d never had. She had to be fierce and determined. She had to fight to make sure she, John and the baby would have the chance to be together.
Unable to run anymore, Spencer pushed herself to walk as fast as she could. Through the jungle vines, she saw something large and white up ahead, the end of it peeking between wide, fat leaves. Eyes trained on the object, she ran toward it and found herself in front of an old, overturned speedboat, abandoned between two large elephant trees.
Spencer ran around to the opposite side and crouched down, leaning against the rusted, paint-flecked stern to get her bearings. Trembling, she tried to catch her breath and figure out what to do next. She wished it wasn’t so damn hot and muggy. Her hair hung around her shoulders, the strands limp and damp. Sweat rolled from her neck, down her back, and between her breasts.
Something crawled up her leg, and she slapped it.
Hysteria threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t know how to fight the panic and terror. She was lost in the tropical forest. Lost in unfamiliar surroundings with no one to hear her screams. She’d tried to find her way back to the road, but she’d gotten confused and disoriented in the twists and turns between trees and bushes, trying to follow dirt paths that snaked and curved, with sharp turns.
A sob escaped, but she bit her lip and rubbed her eyes, refusing to cry.
Was anyone looking for her? Ben? Richard’s minions? Or were they too busy shooting at each other? What if no one found her? What if she died out here in the middle of the rainforest? She would never see John again. Never hold her precious little boy in her arms for the first time.
59
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Sione stared at the two dead bodies sprawled across the dirt path stretching before him.
It was balmy, the humidity smothering and suffocating, the breeze lost in the trees.
Heart pounding, he focused on the black, custom-tailored suits, the Italian leather shoes, and the bullet holes between each man’s eyes. Compliments of Ben Chang, Sione was sure of it. Two of Richard’s guys. Ice filled his veins, chilling him to the core despite the oppressive heat. Richard was in the middle of the situation with Ben, where he didn’t belong, where Sione
didn’t need or want him.
Sione dragged a hand down his face. He didn’t know what to think or how to feel. All he knew was he would have to see his father. Sione would have to deal with him, but he didn’t know how the hell he would survive the encounter.
Looking down the path, a thin ribbon of dirt through thick trees, Sione realized he and Ben were both in the same regrettable predicament. Both would have to face their fears of Richard, and neither of them would escape unscathed.
Taking off, Sione ran along the path, slapping away broad leaves and outstretched branches. Skirting a group of trees, he saw a flash of movement ahead of him to the right. Was it Spencer? Or Ben? More of Richard’s men?
Sione took off in that direction, pushing through the dense foliage.
60
A’arotanga, South Pacific
Spencer couldn’t stop the tears. A bug landed on her shoulder, and as she slapped it away, she felt like that scared, lonely, seven-year-old girl again. Curled in a ball beneath her bed, she hid from her mother. Crying because of the pain from punches and kicks, she was careful not to sob too loud, or her mother would get mad and beat her again.
As sad and tragic as her childhood was, being a teenager was even worse. By that time, her mother no longer beat her, no longer screamed and yelled. Instead, she tolerated abuse as the much scarier sycophantic Stepford version of herself that Spencer secretly thought of as “that wife.”
Once, when she was fourteen, she found her mother in the bathroom, furiously trying to cover up a black eye with makeup. She’d asked her mother if she was okay, and her mother had told her “Beautiful girls have to suffer. We’re both desired and despised. Beauty is useful but causes a lot of problems.”