by Shay Savage
I can see the debate in his eyes, and my mind considers all the things I might be able to say to convince him to live up to his end of the deal. I can remind him about my promise to kill Franks, but he already knows that. How will he react if he knows we are half-brothers? I lick my lips, and just as I’m about to give him that little piece of information, he grins at me.
“Shall we get you out?”
Fucker.
I let out the breath I’m holding and nod. Bastian grabs a flat rock and starts digging out my arm first and then my leg. With both arms free, I can help with the last part. Once I can stand again, Bastian pushes against my shoulder, and it pops back into the socket as I wince.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I look him over as my whole arm throbs. I know the pain he’s feeling is much worse. “Your leg is a mess.”
He glances down, and I wonder if there is any chance he’ll be able to keep the leg. It looks completely crushed.
“How are you going to climb?” I ask.
“I’ll manage. How are you going to get out of here?”
“I’ll manage.” I give him a smile and a raised eyebrow. He laughs and looks down the mountainside.
“Keep out of sight,” he says, surprising me with his concern.
“I’m pretty good at that.” I lick my lips and stare at him. “You’re going to tell them I’m dead, right?”
“That’s the plan,” he says. “I don’t think they’re going to spend much time looking for you.”
“They won’t,” I agree. I think about my Barrett sniper rifle, abandoned at the bottom of the cliff. “Rinaldo knows me too well.”
Bastian looks as if he’s about to ask what I mean, but his attention is directed at his leg again. He tries to set it on the ground and lean into it, but he nearly falls. Balancing himself, he reaches for his waist, and I tense as he brings out a long bolt. He must have retrieved it from the dude with the crossbow.
I relax as he holds it up against his leg, checking the length. It will make a pretty decent splint.
“I can do that,” I say as he starts looking for something to hold the bolt to his leg. He looks at me suspiciously, and I shrug. “I do have some training as a medic.”
I set his leg with the bolt and the wire he’d tried to garrote me with a few hours ago. It works better than I expect, and I think it will at least give him a fighting chance. That’s all he seems to require.
“It’s going to have to be reset,” I tell him. “A few more hours, and it’ll have to be broken again to get it to heal right.”
“I’ll deal with that when I get to the bottom of the mountain.”
“Yeah, I was wondering how you were going to do that,” I say as I look down the steep slope. “I’m going up and over, away from where they might try to land a helicopter.”
“You know there’s no other way off this island,” he says. “It’s not like you can swim it.”
“I have an idea,” I respond. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m not,” he says. “I don’t give a shit about you, but I do have a vested interest in your survival now.”
Again, I am tempted to tell him about our relationship. I’m curious as to how he will react. His eyes narrow at me, as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking. He’s paranoid, but with good reason, I suppose. My brother and I have that in common, too.
I will get off this island, and I will kill Franks for him. I think I’d do it even if we hadn’t made a deal.
“I’m going now,” I tell him.
“You’re not going to make it,” he states as he looks up the side of the mountain.
“Yeah, I will,” I say, making a promise to myself as well as him. “You’ll know it, too—as soon as you hear the news about Franks.”
He nods, but there’s still mistrust in his eyes.
I want to tell him. I want him to know. Just as I have myself convinced, I realize there is no way he’ll believe me.
Instead, I reach out and shake my brother’s hand before I turn and walk away.
I don’t look back until I reach the top of the mountain.
CHAPTER THREE
Frigid Escape
I reach the top of the slope and glance down at the dark shape of Sebastian Stark as he makes his way down the side of the mountain. I have no doubt that he’ll make it despite his injuries. He’s one tough bastard, and I admire him.
I sigh as I look down the side of the snowy ridge and swing my legs over to start my own descent. I need to find a good hiding spot until anyone who might be looking for me is gone. As I make my way slowly down the rocks, I wonder how long it will take for them to decide I’m buried in the snow.
There aren’t a lot of options for hiding, but as I hear the whir of helicopter blades, I duck behind a ridge and press my back against the rock. The movement jars my dislocated shoulder, and I have to grit my teeth against the pain. All things considered, I’m lucky to be alive. I know it, but I don’t feel it. Just an hour ago, I was ready to die. It would have been a relief. Giving up, even briefly, had felt good.
I probably just need a decent night’s sleep.
A vision moves beside me, and as much as I want to ignore the specter, he stays in my sights, looking over at me with dark hair hanging in his innocent eyes.
He’s not there. I know he’s not really there.
Even with the intense cold, his presence makes my palms sweat. I let myself look in his direction even though I don’t want to. The kid looks the same as he always does—disheveled, dressed in a simple cloth shirt and trousers, no shoes. There is fear in his eyes as if he knows exactly what is about to happen to him.
“Don’t you have some other poor asshole to harass?” I ask aloud.
The kid tilts his head but doesn’t speak. He rarely does.
I use the back of my glove to rub at my eyes. The snow melts on my skin, causing a chill as the wind hits my face. I need to stay dry, so I use the strip of cloth covering my mouth to wipe the melted snow away and then yank up my gloves.
The helicopter passes over my head and out of sight. I glance over my shoulder at the icy mountain behind me. Mt. Windsor is the only actual land formation that makes up tiny Buckingham Island in Canada’s unorganized Nunavut territory. On a good day, the temperature might reach zero, but it’s not a good day.
Soon, it’s going to be a really shitty night. I don’t think I’ll live through it.
Shuffling away from the rock, I rub at my sore shoulder and start down the side of the mountain again. It’s slow going. Balancing with one arm basically out of commission isn’t easy, and the terrain is rough. The wind is at my back, trying to push me over, but I manage to stay on my feet.
The vision of the kid, occasionally kicking at rocks that don’t move, follows me all the way down.
My head pounds along with my heart. I close my eyes and shake my head, but he’s still there. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do anymore. I can’t get rid of him. When I first started seeing him, before I realized what he was, he would disappear soon after I first saw him. Now he lingers, taunting me with the memories of the boy I killed overseas.
He doesn’t bother to hide when the helicopter passes over again, but I have to duck underneath a rocky outcropping. When I drag myself back out, he still stands there, staring at me. Maybe he’s feeling bolder since I told Stark about him.
“Fuck you,” I mutter.
Before I trudge on, I pull a small black box from my pocket. I have to take off my glove to tap at the keys, and my hand is nearly frozen by the time I’m done.
“Always have a contingency plan.” I nod to the kid. The words make me tense as I listen to myself say them. Maybe if the kid had bothered with Plan B, he’d still be alive. I close my eyes and rub my temples as I keep walking down the slope.
Exhaustion is setting in. With all the hours trapped and immobilized, I should feel rested, but I don’t. The cold is seeping into me. I barely notice wh
en I reach the bottom of the mountain, and the terrain levels out. My eyes burn from the sting of the frigid wind. I can no longer tell if I’m shivering or not; my body is too numb. That’s probably for the best, all things considered. My shoulder has definitely popped back out of its socket again though I can’t remember what I did to make that happen. If circumstances were less lethal, I might have thrown myself against a rock to get it back in place, but if I pass out from the pain, I’m screwed. I’ve tried to wrap my arm up as best I can to keep it close to my body and unmoving, but the flashes of sharp pain I had been feeling before have been replaced by the slightest of aches.
I have to keep moving. I know if I stop, the cold will kill me.
It’s been hours since I used a small satellite transmitter to send a single, coded message. I have no idea if it reached its intended recipient or not, and all I can do is wait.
The kid keeps pace as I walk toward the ice, look out as far as I can see, and then walk back toward the foot of the mountain. Because there is nothing else for me to do but wait, I pace back and forth across the rocks and think about how I got here.
Tournament games—organized crime’s favorite pastime. Each of the organizations’ best fighters battle against those from the other groups. In the end, there should be only one man standing, but this time there were two: me and Bastian Stark, my half-brother.
I smile to myself and shake my head at the ludicrous circumstances that have finally brought us together.
Weeks ago, I’d been so tempted to end Stark on the beach in Miami from a quarter mile away. From the rooftop of a construction site, I’d had my finger on the trigger of my sniper rifle, and he’d been in the crosshairs. I hadn’t done it though. The night before, I had learned about our shared lineage, and I wondered if that was going to change how I felt about killing him. It hadn’t. At least, I didn’t think it had. Regardless, I didn’t shoot him. I’d gone down to the beach to taunt him instead. I’d sat in the sand with the sound of the waves surrounding me, trying not to think of the hole in the desert where I’d spent eighteen months of my life as a POW.
It hadn’t worked. I’d had nightmares every night after that, and by the time the tournament was imminent, I’d barely slept more than two hours at a time. I knew I had to do something to help myself sleep, so in Canada, I’d brought a hooker back to my room.
I never fucked her. I felt guilty enough just having her sleep beside me. Visions of Lia consumed me as the nameless brunette slept coiled around my torso, but I’d slept without dreams. I did the same thing the night before the tournament with one of the groupie whores I’d met at the gathering of tournament players and investors. Winning meant being able to focus, and I couldn’t stay on my toes without sleep. I knew my competition would be rough.
It was, too. Well, at least Stark was. I’d mostly sat back and let my competition take each other out.
Stark fought harder, hid better, and his constant movement made it difficult to get a lock on him from a distance. My aim wasn’t as accurate in the frozen environment, and I needed to be closer to get a clear shot. Unfortunately, he’d found me first. I think about the desperation I felt when presented with my own death, and they only thing I could do was to trigger an avalanche, nearly killing us both in the aftermath.
I think about the deal we cut while lying trapped in the middle of rocks and snow. By now, he has been deemed the winner, and I am presumed dead. My ties to Rinaldo are severed, and I can finally be with Lia without the distraction of my obligations to Rinaldo Moretti.
I can only hope Stark was convincing enough.
It feels like leaving an arm behind, but I don’t go back for my Barrett sniper rifle, broken at the bottom of the mountain and left as proof of my demise. Rinaldo would know I’d never part with it willingly. I am still tempted to go seek it out, but he probably took it with him.
Stark would emerge victorious, and in turn, I would kill Joseph Franks—the leader of the Seattle mob. Stark would be free to go off and live his own life with the woman he loved, and so would I.
Lia.
The idea of missing someone when they were away is foreign to me. The other times I have been away from her over the past year were short, and I never felt the sense of loss I do now. I was always glad to be back and in bed with her, but I didn’t think about her while I was away. Now I want to see her face, look into her eyes, and run my hand over her cheek. I want to feel her body give way as I slowly enter her from behind, the bedroom of our small cabin filling with the sound of her moans.
I close my eyes as I trudge across the frozen rocks, memories of our last time together flowing through my brain.
She’d made barley stew that night. It was warm and delicious as we sat on the floor in front of the fire and ate. She was all smiles and laughs, looking forward to seeing her mother the next day. I’d surprised her with a two-week trip back to Arizona to cover my own absence. I even had Freyja, our dog, booked to go with her.
I’d watched her be all domestic as she cleaned up the dishes and put away the leftover stew. When she was nearly done, I’d wrapped my arms around her from behind and inhaled the scent at her neck. She’d giggled as I nipped at her skin with my lips, then picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
I’d undressed her slowly, taking my time to kiss every part of her as her clothing fell to the floor.
I run my tongue over my chilled lips, wishing I could still taste her there, and the cold wind stings the flesh near the cut on the side of my mouth. My arm throbs, and I hold it a little tighter against my body.
She’d looked so beautiful lying on her back beneath me. Before Lia, I’d almost always taken women from behind. Seeing their faces just didn’t matter to me, but Lia was different. Everything about her was different.
I loved watching her move under me and feeling her push up to meet every movement I made. I’d moved slowly in and out of her, watching her face as her head tilted back against the pillow and her mouth opened to take my tongue. I’d taken my time, fucked her slowly and gently, brought her to the brink and back over and over again until she finally came apart in my arms.
I’d gasped as I thrust into her one more time, holding myself against her as the orgasm rippled through me, leaving my body trembling as I’d collapsed on top of her, panting. She’d wrapped her arms around my neck and shoulders, humming in contentment as she pressed her lips to the skin at my temple.
I’d slept so soundly afterward.
I shake my head to clear it and look back over the icy Arctic Ocean. I replay the last few hours in my head as I continue to pace over the rocks. I’d spent the first couple of hours just staying out of sight of the helicopters as they picked up Stark first and then the bodies of the other tournament players. There isn’t a lot of cover—Buckingham Island is far above the tree line—and I have to settle for ducking behind the vertical ridges running up and down the mountain. The only way I know for sure that I haven’t been spotted is because no one comes down to retrieve me.
The plan must have worked. Rinaldo would now believe I’m dead and would be returning to Chicago as the loser of the tournament overall but still the Chicago winner. I served him well, even as the loser.
I will still have to complete my end of the bargain I’d made with Bastian. I will kill Franks if and when I return to the civilized world, but I will worry about that when the time comes. It isn’t going to be a rush job, and I will have plenty of time to make up my absence to Lia first.
I walk a little faster as if my quickened steps will bring me to her sooner. They won’t, but maybe they will keep me alive long enough for my ride to show up. In the meantime, there’s nothing but me and my thoughts—never a good combination.
My young hallucination continues to follow me through the snow. My shoulders are tight as I keep waiting for him to speak, but he says nothing. It’s the anticipation of what he might say that has me on edge.
I’m running out of energy. The meager sustenance I had is lon
g gone, and I’m feeling the lack of calories in my body. I don’t feel hungry, and I assume that’s because I’m far too cold to notice. I’m likely dehydrated, and I wonder if I should find a way to melt some of the snow.
Where is he?
As if in answer, a sound reaches over the wind to my ears, and I look out toward the water as a black shape emerges from the depths. I expect it to be louder, but after the initial crack from the ice, there’s little more noise than the icy waves already make.
A tall cylinder emerges, followed by a long, flat shape at the top of the water. I’d been on a submarine once before while on duty near the Persian Gulf, but this one is tiny in comparison.
I let out a breath and nearly fall to my knees. I am going to survive this.
Don’t stop moving.
I want to walk farther out, but I don’t know how thick the ice over the ocean might be, and I can’t risk going out too far. I know I’m already suffering from hypothermia, and getting even a little wet will likely kill me.
I can make out movement at the top of the submarine, but it appears blurry. I hear voices but can’t make anything out. I keep walking back and forth as I hear a motor start, and a small vessel makes its way toward me. There is a hand on my arm before I realize they’ve reached the shore.
“Holy shit, LT!” I barely comprehend Eddie-boy’s words though I recognize his face and voice immediately. He is the only person I trust from my life in the Marines. As the communications expert, he had been off gathering data and absent from the compound when the rest of my men were killed, and I was captured.
I can see his hand gripping my good arm and holding me steady, but I can’t feel the pressure from his fingers. He speaks softly as he leads me to the small craft, lowers me down into it, and starts the motor.
My vision blurs again as we approach the sub. Eddie-boy helps me out of the boat and into the hatch. I hear voices speaking Russian but don’t recognize any of the faces of the crew.