She was momentarily stunned by what she recognized in his eyes. These weren’t the bottomless black eyes that showed no emotion. These eyes were filled with rage so fierce, she felt them pierce her own.
“Did he lay a hand on you? Did he touch you in any way?” Anthony yelled.
She shook her head.
Anthony turned back to the man. “The only reason you’ll get a quick death is because you didn’t touch her,” he said, his voice so low and menacing Christy barely heard him. Before the man could object, Anthony used his machete to stab him in the heart.
He then walked over to Andrew and pulled the ax from his back. He stared down at the man who was in obvious pain and said, “I purposely threw it to stop you. Not to kill you.”
Andrew didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. He looked up, his once malevolent eyes now filled with pure terror.
“I heard what you said to my woman,” he growled. “I have something special planned for you,” Anthony spat before bringing the machete handle down on his head.
Anthony then noticed the man with the knife in his shoulder staggering away toward the motorcycles. He followed him and spun him around. He pulled out the knife and used it to slice open the front of his jeans. The man was hurting from his shoulder wound and too stunned to put up any resistance. His eyes widened when a white-hot pain like he’d never felt before caused him to fall to his knees. He grabbed his groin at the same moment he vomited on himself.
Anthony roughly grabbed him by his chin and forced him to look up. Squeezing his jaw so that he had to open his mouth, Anthony shoved his genitals inside. “You shouldn’t have had your hands on her when I showed up,” Anthony hissed as he stood over the terrified man, purposely clamping his jaw shut. He watched the man’s eyes bulging out as he gasped for air. Too impatient to wait for him to suffocate, Anthony stabbed him in the ear.
When he was dead, Anthony cleaned the knife on the man’s shirt and stuck it in his boot. He picked up his ax and his machete as he made his way toward Christy. She had retrieved some of her clothes and was shakily trying to put them on.
She couldn’t bring herself to watch what Anthony was doing to the man who’d held her down, so she refused to look his way as she gathered her things. She’d managed to get her panties and shirt on when she sensed him. He was walking toward her, an ax in one hand and a machete in the other. His clothes were spattered with blood, and a gust of wind caused his long black hair to swirl around him.
“Christy…” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“You! You stay away from me, Anthony Bear. Don’t you come near me!” she screamed as she tried to pull her shorts on.
He froze in place, not sure of what he was hearing.
“Was this your plan all along?” she cried, as she fumbled to zip her shorts. “Let me guess. You had one of your people create a fake marriage certificate. Then you planned with your girlfriend to lure me here to kill me!”
He couldn’t believe what she was saying. She thought he’d planned this? And what did she mean by his girlfriend? She was hysterical, and she had every right to be, but what was she talking about? He moved toward her, and she backed away, the expression in her eyes a combination of fright, disgust, and determination.
Anthony threw down his ax and machete and lunged for her, pulling her close and holding her hard against his chest. She tried to fight him, but he was holding her too tightly.
“Tell me! Was this your plan from the beginning?” she sobbed into his chest. “Like you told Van’s goons that day? You were going to marry me. So, what does that mean? That there’s some paper somewhere saying we’re married and after you get rid of me you inherit my money?”
“Shh...shh...shh,” he whispered into her hair. “I don’t want or need your money, Christy.” As he suspected, she’d heard him tell the two lawyers that he was going to marry her. He’d expected her to turn on the surveillance camera when she was holed up in the hidden room. What he wasn’t sure of was whether she’d figured out how to turn on the hidden microphones since he’d never shown them to her. And now he knew she had. He stroked her hair softly and started saying soothing words in his native language.
There was something familiar about the words, and she realized she’d heard them before. She knew then her accusations were unfounded. She knew he could never, would never do those things to her. If he wanted her dead, she had no doubt she’d already be dead. She cried into his chest, and when she finally pulled back and looked up at him, he wiped her cheek where blood from his shirt had left a smear.
“You know none of that’s true, Christy,” he told her, his voice so tender it penetrated her heart. He would wait until he got her home to explain that their night in the Everglades was more than an overnight camping trip. In keeping with a Native American custom, he'd married her that night. The white blanket they shared represented the beginning of their new life together. He deliberately wed her in the Cherokee tradition so he could tell her after she accepted his formal proposal that he'd already married her to prove his true love. That taking her as his wife had nothing to do with trust funds or bank accounts. However, she'd thrown him a curve ball when she refused his proposal. He wanted to make it official on paper because he loved and wanted to protect her. Not because he was trying to get his hands on her money.
"I'm sorry, Owani. I've done nothing but give you my word that you were safe with me and it obviously wasn't true. What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.
Instead of answering his question, she posed one of her own. "Why would Dr. Dubois do this?" She looked up at him, her eyes sad and confused. "Why would she lure me to the camp?”
Veronique. He gritted his teeth and told Christy, “I don’t know, but you can be sure I’ll find out.”
They were interrupted when a sleepy voice said, “What in the world happened here?”
They both looked over at a man who was walking toward them. “I just got up to take a dump and looked out the window.” His voice sounded groggy.
Without taking his eyes off John, Anthony asked Christy, “Was he one of them?”
“One of what?” John looked anxious. He was instantly wide awake.
“No,” Christy answered. “It was only the four of them.”
“Did you page me, John?” Anthony asked.
“No,” John answered, shaking his head. “I’ve been asleep. It wasn’t me.”
“Get the big one tied up and take him to the chow hall,” Anthony ordered. “He’s still alive, and I don’t want him going anywhere.”
He then turned to Christy and scooped her up into his arms. “Let’s get you inside, Owani,” he told her. “I still need to find out who sent me the page that saved your life.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Naples, Florida 1978