“Not all prisons have walls…”
No, they didn’t. He knew that better than most. It was highly possible she hadn’t known what she was getting into and that her deal had become its own form of torture. But still…what kind of hatred must a person harbor to make a deal with the Prince of Darkness? What kind of anger had to drive them?
The same kind of hatred you had for your mother. The same anger you feel right now for your father for cursing your life.
An odd tingle took up space in his chest. He zeroed in on his senses, hoping something new would make him able to read Cynna’s mind so he could figure out what she wasn’t telling him, but that clearly wasn’t a gift he’d acquired. Because, no, he wasn’t that fucking lucky, now was he?
The trees ended abruptly, and Nick stepped out into a wide, green field with one tiny shack a hundred yards away.
“Wh-what is this?” Cynna asked.
He thought she’d fallen asleep. She’d been silent during the entire trek, her muscles lax in his arms. “I’m not sure. I think it’s the airstrip.”
The grass in the middle of the field was shorter than along the edges but still knee-high. There was no sign of life anywhere close. If this was the airstrip Ari had told him about, it was a primitive one and seldom used. Which meant the chief inhabitants of the area were probably drug runners and cartels.
Fucking fantastic. The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was humans.
He set Cynna down twenty yards from the shack. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t argue. Just lay down in the grass, shivered, and closed her eyes. And as he pushed to his feet and looked down at her, a whisper of worry rippled through him—worry he knew he shouldn’t be feeling but couldn’t shake.
She’s not a person. She’s insurance.
He turned away, repeating the words in his head. But the way she looked—vulnerable, broken, weak—flashed over and over in his mind, keeping him from thinking about anything but her.
The shack was easy to break into. Inside he found a mower, machetes for cutting jungle foliage, shovels, work gloves, and a few odds-and-ends-type survival materials.
He didn’t know how long they’d be out here waiting, so he grabbed what he thought they’d need, then headed back to Cynna. The area was still dark, and he checked the phone in his pocket to see if he’d gotten any messages, but the screen was blank.
Damn, Ari.
Irritation mounting, he covered Cynna with a blanket he’d grabbed from the shack. “Here, lift up.”
She blinked several times and slowly lifted her head from the ground. But her face blanched from the simple movement. Telling himself it wasn’t his problem, he shoved another blanket under the side of her face, then went to work finding wood to build a fire.
She lay back down and closed her eyes once more. “Thanks.”
The word was softly spoken. Almost a whisper. And so damn strange coming from her, he didn’t know what to think. This whole situation was insane. As was the odd desire to sit with her again like he’d done in the jungle, to run his hand down her blonde hair and comfort the person who’d tortured him for the last six months.
Shit. You’re clearly losing it, man.
He exhaled a long breath and gathered an armful of wood. Prisoner. She was his prisoner now. And the sooner he remembered that fact, the better off he’d be.
He came back, stacked the wood, then used the lighter he’d found in the shack to ignite the wood. The flames started slowly, then quickly licked their way up the twigs and branches.
Nick sat back and rested his forearms on his knees as he stared into the fire. It wasn’t cold enough out here to need heat. He’d built it to keep animals away and to illuminate the area so Ari could find the airstrip. He hadn’t built it because Cynna was cold, dammit.
Denial, dude. First sign you’re fucked.
“Who is this friend we’re waiting for?”
Cynna’s mumbled words dragged Nick from his messed-up thoughts, and he glanced to his left where she was lying at his side. With her eyes closed and the moonlight making her hair appear even more blonde, she looked almost like an angel. His chest constricted with unfamiliar emotions. “Just a guy I’ve known for several years.”
“A human?”
“No.”
“What is he?”
Nick looked back at the fire, thinking of a way to describe Ari. “He used to be Argolean.”
Her eyes slowly slid open. “Used to be? How do you ‘used to be’ something?”