by Jasmin Quinn
And then the bottom fell out, dropped without warning and he and Esma fell with it, crashing hard into the earth and then skidding downhill, Rusya trying to find the traction to stop the steep descent, trying to grab hold of Esma. He hit a tree suddenly, bounced off it and was stunned. But he’d stopped. He heard Esma yell, she’d gone past. He tried to get up, realized something was wrong in his leg. Dragged himself to his knees, saw her tumble off an edge and disappear. His heart stopped, the world stopped. She was gone. He struggled to his feet, fell, struggled up again, sliding, skidding to the edge, looking over, seeing her, ten feet down, her prone body, laying facedown in the snow.
“Esma!” he shouted. It was the only thing he thought to say. He had to get to her. The slope was steep, but he struggled down, took him too long, she might be suffocating in the snow. She couldn’t be dead. That would be so unfair, after everything she’d been through, to die out here, die now.
They were so close. And the dogs were coming to get them.
He limped to her, dropped to his knees, and flipped her over. She moaned, her face scratched, her jacket torn and blood seeping through her jeans. She opened her eyes, saw Rusya’s face and closed them again. “Fuck.”
Rusya was never so happy to hear that word in his life. “How bad?”
She lay on the snow for a minute, eyes staring up at the sky, catching her wind. “I’m okay.” She struggled to sit up as Rusya helped her.
“You’re bleeding.”
She saw the patch of blood, took her gloves off, undid her coat and crawled up to her knees. “Feels okay,” she said as she undid her jeans, dropped them down to her knees so they could see the gash. It was deep, but the blood was already slowing, the wound congealing. She probed it with her fingers. “I’ll live, as long as it doesn’t get infected.” She looked around. Everything was gone. The pack, the water, the rations. “Are you okay?”
Rusya sat back on his heels as she buttoned herself back into her jeans, redressed. “I might have snapped a tendon in one of my legs. I’m getting old, I guess. I don’t bend well anymore.” He tried to make it sound light, but it came out as a truth. He was in the best shape of his life, but he drank too much, indulged in fine food. And he was less than two years away from 40. He could walk, limp along anyway, though not without pain.
“Let’s go.” He held his hand to Esma and she took it, struggled to her feet, took a step and fell.
“Fuck,” she said again, then crawled back to her feet. Teetered for a minute as she steadied herself on Rusya’s shoulder. “Twisted my ankle, gave myself another good knock to the head.” Then she said it, the words, not looking at him. “You should go ahead, leave me here.”
Rusya felt himself go cold. Leave her here? “No.” It was one word, dark and angry. He would never do it, not to anyone, man or woman. Walk away because they were injured. If they were his enemy, he’d have shot them by now. And Esma? His enemy? No but his enemy’s emissary. Still, he wouldn’t leave her behind, he couldn’t. After everything, he still wanted her. He didn’t know how that would look in the future but that didn’t matter now. They would go together. They were close now.
He grasped her around the waist and limped forward. “If we’re fucked, we’re fucked. At least we’ll be fucked together.”
He heard her chuckle as she struggled to keep up with him. It warmed his heart.
Chapter 41
The dogs were on them, yelping, barking, knocking Rusya flat and Esma panicked briefly, thinking they would kill him. But they were excited to find him and they were showing their joy. Both on him, not caring that he was in pain, could barely stand. They were big dogs, as big as she was and she didn’t really understand dogs, so she didn’t know how to help Rusya. But he didn’t need it in the end. He whistled them down and they immediately backed off, sitting upright on the snow-covered ground, tails wagging.
Rusya pointed. “Sint and Oscar.” As he struggled to his feet, the dogs stood too. He helped Esma up. “They’ll be ahead of the party, so we should keep going. Meet them. The dogs will know to go back.”
He pulled her to him and they resumed walking. “I don’t really get dogs,” Esma admitted.
He chuckled. “I love them.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that about you, Rusya.” She wasn’t lying. He seemed so solitary, so contained. Stiff, controlled. She couldn’t picture him out playing frisbee in the park.
“They’re intelligent creatures. Most of them. These breeds in particular. Easy to train, loyal and sensitive. They protect their master and can sense emotion, hostility, danger.”
Esma didn’t know what else to say, didn’t say anything, just let Rusya lead her, limped along beside him. Both followed the dogs who ran ahead, then turned, ran back, then ran ahead again. A game to them. They came to a small clearing and another logging shelter. This one less maintained than the other. They limped up to it, leaned against the wall. A small moment of rest. The dogs came back, milled around them, nuzzling Rusya, leaving Esma alone. She had Rusya’s scent on her, she was sure they could smell it. But they also smelled fear and she was afraid, not of the dogs, but the afterwards. Once they were rescued.
She folded up against the structure, sliding down it onto her ass, sliding her knees to her chest and laying her head on them. She caught Rusya looking as he buried his hands in one of the dog’s fur. “I’m so tired,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Me too. Let’s sit for a few minutes, a half-hour.” He held Sint’s collar but sent Oscar away with some words and hand signals.
Esma closed her eyes, wanted to cry she hurt so much. Inside, outside, no strength left and her will failing. But the dogs meant rescue and she clung to that, imagining a hot shower, real food, a jug of water, coffee, a soft bed, Rusya next the her… Rusya shifted. She opened her eyes to see him pulling his gun from his holster and she jolted her head up. “What are you doing?” Her fear caused her voice to shake.
He saw her terror and looked away. “Being careful. If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done so back at the plane.”
His words seemed gruff, maybe she’d offended him. And he was right. But still, up until now, he needed her. But he hadn’t left her behind when she told him to, even when he knew the dogs were close. She had to trust that he was not going to hurt her. She had to believe he would take her with him and keep her safe.
They stayed that way, huddled together outside the shelter, against the wall, well past the half-hour, too exhausted, too hurt to stand up. Then Oscar was back and a man, holding his leash. Rusya looked up as Anto rounded the corner and Esma dropped her head to her knees and cried.
Chapter 42
Anto was beyond relieved. He’d found Rusya. Well the dogs had found Rusya. “You look like shit,” he said to the Vancouver mob boss as he crouched down and peered at him. He’d never seen Rusya in this state. Dirty, unshaven, holes in his pants.
“You look like an angel,” Rusya said, glancing past Anto to Eduard. He nodded at the houseman.
Anto didn’t boom his laughter like he ordinarily would. He wanted to maintain the silence, wanted to make sure that they could retreat safely. He turned to Eduard, told him to get the men to spread out, under cover of trees. Eduard nodded and left. The handlers took the dogs in hand and retreated in the direction they’d come.
Anto looked over to Esma who was crying, eyes red, face scratched, blood in her hair, on her coat, on her jeans. “She okay?” he said to Rusya.
Esma tried for a grin as she looked at Anto. “Happy to see you.”
Anto helped them to their feet. “Can you walk? We have a trailer but it’s kilometres from here. I have stretchers and the men can carry you, but then we don’t have guns on the ground.”
Rusya nodded. “I can walk. Esma maybe not.”
Esma disagreed. “I didn’t come this far to be carried out now. I’m okay to walk.”
Both sets of eyes settled on her. Rusya said, “It’ll be slow going. Can we make it before the sun set
s?”
Anto looked up in the sky. “Once we’ve put some distance between us and this place, we’ll pull out the stretchers. If Jackman’s after you, they’ll have heard the dogs, followed the barking.”
And as if his words were a portent, Dean Copeland stepped into the clearing, flanked by men on both sides, weapons drawn, trained on Anto’s group. Anto raised his rifle as he stepped in front of Rusya who had pulled his gun from his holster and shoved Esma behind his back.
Anto had hoped it wouldn’t come down to this. A confrontation that could end in him killing the man he owed his life to. He would have almost certainly died in a Russian prison had Dean not been there to have his back, to convince Jackman to take Anto too. He owed this man his life and his loyalty. But this wasn’t about Dean, it was about Rusya and Jackman. And he owed Jackman nothing, not anymore. His loyalty lay with Rusya. “We’re not alone,” Anto called to Dean. “I have men in the trees. They’ll shoot on my command.”
Dean peered at Anto as if trying to assess him. “What makes you think I don’t have men in the trees too?” A stretch of silence, then Dean grinned. “Let’s go, Anto, you’re all coming in.”
Anto felt Rusya stiffen behind him, was keenly aware the man at his shoulder was holding a gun. “No. Copeland. It’s over. You go home, I’ll go home.”
The smile dropped from Dean’s face. “Hand Savisin over, Anto. This isn’t a fucking game!”
Anto felt the loss of everything in that moment. The loss of his friend, Dean, the loss of his Russian brother, Rusya. The loss of Marisol. But he raised his rifle to his shoulder and aimed directly at Dean’s heart. “No, Dean. My friend. I will not give him up. You’ll have to go through me to get to him.”
“Gladly,” A tall man to Dean’s right growled as he cocked his rifle, but Dean shook his head.
“Stand down, Finn!”
Anto watched as Finn’s posture stay rigid, the scope on Anto. Dean said something quiet, words not meant for his enemy’s ears. The rifleman nodded, dropped the gun to his hip, but the expression on his face held warning.
Dean stared hard at Anto. “It’s like that is it, Anto? I knew it. I knew it last summer. I should have fucking kicked your ass.”
Anto knew Dean well. The man was a lunatic, no real fear of anything, would have tried to kick Anto’s ass. But he was also a strategist and wouldn’t risk the lives of the men with him if he didn’t think he had the upper hand.
And he didn’t. Anto knew all the men Dean had were standing with him. Knew it by the way Dean was talking. He didn’t acknowledge Dean’s bravado. “Men in the trees, Dean. On my order they take you out. All of you.”
Dean dropped his rifle. “Take the fucker then, but Esma comes in.”
Anto wavered but Rusya didn’t. He pushed his way next to Anto as he said, “They’re not taking her.”
Esma tried to step around Rusya, but he blocked her, grabbed her arm. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“Back, Rusya. That was your original plan, wasn’t it?” Esma struggled from Rusya’s grip.
Fuck, Anto thought as he watched Rusya’s eyes narrow at Esma. Guns everywhere and he was in the middle of a fucking lover’s quarrel.
Anto kept his eyes trained on Dean but said to Rusya. “Let her go. We’ll get her back.”
And Esma said, “Jackman won’t kill me. This is his way of bringing me in.”
Rusya shook his head. Gave his order. “Kill them, Anto.”
And Anto, hating himself in the moment, did what he didn’t want to do, but had no choice. He slammed his fist into the side of Rusya’s head. The man crumpled to the ground out cold. Anto’s eyes flicked to Esma. “We’ll come back for you.”
Chapter 43
Esma considered Anto. “Don’t risk your life for me.” She raised her hands in the air, limped toward Jackman’s party, every bone in her body aching, her eyes burning with tears. Twenty feet and she could see the hard expression on Dean’s face. Hurt too, and anger, betrayal. Anto had turned. Made a choice, forsaken their friendship for Rusya. She stopped beside him but didn’t turn towards him. Said whisper soft, “He’s not lying about the men in the trees. You’re vulnerable unless you have more men.”
Then she stepped past him, limped past all the men holding guns, limped past a dark-haired man with blue eyes who had his hands in his pockets. He turned with her, walked beside her. “I’m Mack, Esma. And you look in bad shape. Can I lend you a hand.” He slipped his arm around her waist, propped her up against him and helped her walk away.
Once they were a kilometre from the site, they sat against a couple of trees, Mack letting her rest while they waited for their party to catch up. No sounds of gunfire. No shouting or screaming. Rusya was safe and she, well, she was back in hell.
Chapter 44
Jackman was pissed that Rusya escaped, that Anto, his supposed loyal agent, had turned. He didn’t rant or rave, but Esma knew him enough to know when he was in a temper. Dean was talking. “They had guns in the trees and we came on them too fast. It was unexpected, so nothing to do but have a showdown. Anto wouldn’t give up Rusya, wouldn’t come back. Wouldn’t let me approach.”
Finn nodded his agreement. “We would have been slaughtered if we tried.”
“We got Esma though.” Dean’s eyes settling on her.
Esma glared at the prick. “I came willingly, you asshole. You didn’t get me.”
Jackman turned on her. “Shut the fuck up. You had him in your sights at the crash site. Why didn’t you keep him there?”
Always that way with her, only with her, not anyone else. “He had a fucking gun. I didn’t.”
“Feeble, Esma.” Jackman paced over to where she was standing, well… weaving, and towered over her. “You could have taken him first chance you got and I’m guessing over two days, there would have been a few. So why the fuck didn’t you?”
Esma narrowed her eyes as she pinned him with a dead gaze. “Stockholm syndrome, I guess.”
Jackman punched her without warning, in her head, and the pained paralyzed her it was so bad. She fell to her knees as shards of glass bounced around in her brain, radiating outward, forcing vomit to her throat.
Then Mack, who had been leaning casually against the bar, arms crossed, watching the interactions, untangled himself, strolled over to Esma, reached down, gripped her by the arm and brought her to her feet. She was weaving, fighting to stay upright. “Let’s go.” He pulled her away from the circle of hostile men.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jackman shouted.
Esma held her breath and watched Mack as he turned slowly back to Jackman, his face quietly impassive, his words as calm as his demeanor. “I could leave her here with you and watch you beat her to death, or I could take her out of here, get her fixed up so that we might get some useful information from her.” Nothing challenging in his voice, no notes of hostility or superiority, simply a measured drawl.
Jackman narrowed his eyes at Mack, his anger barely leashed. “Get her the fuck out of here then. To the cells. I want her locked up.”
Mack dropped his eyes to the floor, then onto Esma. “She needs medical attention.”
Jackman glared at Mack, who stood unmoving, waiting. “The doctor can look at her once she’s locked up. Otherwise she’ll fucking waltz out of here.”
Esma didn’t think she was up to dancing and started to say so, but Mack’s eyes narrowed at her and his hand on her arm banded. To Jackman he said, “Understood.”
“And when you’re done playing boy scout, get the fuck back here.”
Mack nodded and turned, pulling Esma by the arm. “Keep your mouth shut,” he whispered to her as he helped her through the door.
Esma’s anger surged, unreasonably at Mack, but she channeled it towards the right target, Jackman. “He’s such a fucking prick.”
Mack slackened his grip on her arm. “And here I was wondering what there was not to like about you.”
Her limp became more pron
ounced as they walked several halls and Mack slipped his arm around her waist again, pulling her to him. She stiffened at his familiarity and he said, “Relax. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?”
She looked up at him, caught his smile and cracked a small grin. “Asshole,” she whispered feeling a wave of emotion.
At the door to the lower level, Mack stopped, nodded to the guard, who opened the door, ushered them through. Stairs leading down, another hall, another door and they were at the cells. “Which one would you like?”
Esma shrugged, despair gripping her as the memories of her last stay in these cells flooded her. “Doesn’t matter.”
Mack opened the closest one, walked in with her. “Can you manage on your own, take a shower?”
Esma nodded as she looked around at the grey. Jackman would keep her here until she died.
“I’ll get you some clothes and bring them back. The doc, and some food and water. You’ll be okay.” He stepped to the door, his eyes stroking over her as her shoulders slumped. The last bit of wind had gone out of her sails. “Esma, you need to look after yourself, regain your strength.”
The finality of the clang of the door, the departure of Mack, and Esma crumpled to her knees. This was her life. She was alone again. Rusya hadn’t wanted to let her go, and she betrayed him again, walking away, choosing Jackman. She feared for Rusya’s life in that moment. The standoff between Anto and Dean. It was too easy for one man on either side to get trigger happy. And then everyone would open fire. And it would have been a slaughter. It was better this way that they all live to fight another day.
But now, she had no protector. Not Jackman, surely not Rusya. She knew already she wasn’t a bargaining chip in this feud between Rusya and Jackman. Anto might be though and she feared for his life.