Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3) (7 page)

He grabs my face hard to close my mouth, and my jaws clamp, bearing down on his hand for all I’m worth.

The taste of his salty flesh combines with the rust of his blood.

He’s silent as he lifts my arms up towards my shoulders until they feel like they’ll break! I have no option but to let his hand loose.

Bracing myself for the fierce blow he’ll inflict, I’m surprised when he simply ties the soaking wet cloth back around my face, then throws me over his shoulder again and runs away from the second dead body left in his wake.

Ryder

I’m seriously considering killing Rachel Farrington myself! She’s nearly gotten the two of us caught or killed multiple times now.

I’d really love to sit for beers and chat with her about exactly what is going on so she doesn’t fuck up
again
, but the area is crawling with Miguel’s men and whoever else is in on the action. And unless she’s deaf, she hears the dogs coming too. Dogs that are going to seek us out and rip our flesh off if I don’t throw them off our scent—which is nearly impossible.

Christ. Can’t she just shut up, stop drowning and stop being a target and a fucking pain in my ass for one goddamn minute?

I’ve never had a rescue mission turn so exceptionally bizarre! Fucking bites my goddamn hand, runs away and shoves me off a boat—as if I’m one of them.

Oh Jesus! She thinks I’m one of them!

A branch snaps at our eleven o’clock.

Pulling Farrington to the ground, I crouch to blend into our surroundings better. We’re both full of mud and dirt and well camouflaged.

I get a glimpse of Miguel’s henchmen as they close in around us—about three of them, but they haven’t spotted us. The henchman leading the charge sends the other two in a semi-circle to fan out. Their automatic weapons are poised and ready for murder.

“Don’t. Move,” I barely breathe across her ear.

Henchman—now at our five o’clock—squeezes in and is about to trip over Farrington when I move in front of her to block his path, stand up swiftly and shoot him through the heart twice.

Holding him carefully, I take all the dead man’s weight before quietly lowering him to the ground.

One down, two to go.

Movement about one hundred yards away catches my eye, along with a swatch of red—more men. But these aren’t Miguel’s goons. These are entirely different goons flying gang colors.

I need to get Farrington out of the brush.

The road ceased being an option when the conflict broke out—it had been my original unguarded exit route—until every direction was cut off by Miguel’s opposition.

Perfect timing, Ryder,
I berate myself.
A half hour earlier I could have found the girl and made exodus like I was planning to, with the cartel lord.

But truth of it is, these guys are betting men, like me. They’d learned of his alias and knew the window to kill or capture him was closing fast.

Wondering which they chose to do to him, kill or capture, I lift Farrington again and move as fast as possible to the edge of the swamp. We’re going to have to take to the water.

Keeping to the muck at the edge of the waterline keeps our escape quiet, unlike our enemies who have now found each other and are hacking away to make sure there are no survivors.

It’s the only way now . . . but I have to get this iron bar off her or we’ll sink like a couple of rocks.

I put another thirty feet between us and the men, put Farrington on her belly and retrieve my tools. Padlocks like these are pretty simple to open when you have a spare ten seconds.

I don’t have a spare ten seconds.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening, though, and begins to thrash as best as she can. I’m thankful for the bandana across her mouth, muffling her screams.

The goddamn dogs are closing. We probably only got a jump on the distance because of their out-of-shape handlers.

It’s still too dangerous to speak, so I put a knee into her backbone—to hold her still, for Christ’s sake—and get the lock opened.

Carefully but hastily, I free her arms. She moans softly with the pain of having them mobile after such a lengthy incarceration behind her back.

When I take hold of her this time, I put her back to my front and use my left hand to keep her chin above the waterline, while my right hand keeps my Glock trained into the night, ready to disable man or beast.

Fucking gators and water moccasins—I fucking hate those things! Who the fuck would want to live in fucking swampland Texas?

Gently, I slip us into the water.

Of course Farrington has other ideas. As if her life depends on it, she starts thrashing.

“Stop! You’ll attract every bad guy and man-eating creature in a ten mile radius,” I rage whisper.

She’s not stopping. I wrap the arm I was going to use to hold her mouth around her already weak arms, pinning them to her chest. Her legs are another matter altogether—they’re stronger now, and she kicks and bucks against me fiercely.

Get comfortable being uncomfortable.
The SEAL motto is more than applicable in this situation.

Taking a full deep breath, I fill my lungs with air to keep us afloat and secure both her legs with one of mine. I launch us into the swamp’s slow current.

The dogs will still be able to follow us—all they need to do is chase down the dead skin cells—however, I’m banking on the commotion the war is wreaking to cause them a little confusion. And if we can survive reptilian jaws of death, I have a few more diversionary tactics to keep them from regaining our scent too easily.

We meander under the cover of dark, past the estate’s perimeter. The sounds of the dogs and battle seemingly float into the distance.

“Your name is Rachel Farrington. You’re the only witness to the murder of Drew Anderson at Tulane University. Eduardo Miguel kidnapped you to keep you quiet,” I tell her.
Although I don’t understand why he didn’t just kill you.
I leave that part out for now.

“My name is Ryder Axton. I’m a Navy SEAL trained bounty hunter. I found you and am taking you home,” I say. “Do you understand me?”

She doesn’t make a move.

“I’m the good guy here—you know, the dashing hero—so you’d do us both a big favor if you stopped fighting me tooth and nail every step of the way!” That last bit came out more impassioned than I planned for it to, as my hand is now throbbing. I continue, “If you promise not to scream, I’ll remove the gag.”

She still doesn’t make a move.

“Nod if you understand me.”

She does.

“Nod if you’ll comply.”

She does again.

“If you scream, you’ll give our location away.”

She nods a third time.

I decide I’m not going to untie it. I just pull it out of her mouth and let it drop around her neck. That way it’ll be there if I need to use it quickly.

When she doesn’t yell, I say, “If you’ll be calm, you can help us tread water.”

“There are alligators in here.” Her voice is shaking.

“Yes, there are, so let’s not be in here longer than we have to be.” That’s just to help her morale. Truth is, we’ll have to be in here longer than anyone would want to be. It’s deep and murky. The Neches River will be even worse—the fucking thing is a deep water pathway for ships—seventy-six feet deep, to be exact. But the water is our fastest mode of travel until we can get somewhere safer.

I continue scanning the shoreline for boats—especially canoes or two man kayaks.

When the fighting is over and Farrington’s nowhere to be found,
if
Miguel’s still alive, they’ll comb for miles and use the dogs to keep tracking her scent. They can’t allow her to make it out alive.

By my calculations, we’ve traveled about two miles downstream when she asks, “Where are you taking me?” Her tone is full of mistrust.

“I told you, home.”

“I don’t believe you,” she challenges quietly.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you believe me?” I croak. “The fuck, lady! I just saved your life—so many times now, I quit counting!”

“Because this isn’t the first time I’ve heard your voice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You work for Miguel,” she accuses me. “You were there, outside my door, but you spoke in a southern accent. So which is the real you?”

“That’s one hell of an ability for voice recognition.” I’m impressed.

“So you’re not denying it?”

“Why would I? I was getting the layout of the house.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was posing as an EPA official, claiming that Miguel had toxic gasses being emitted through his basement.”

“Posing?”

“Yeah. You know, undercover.”

“Undercover
bounty hunter
?” she quips, disbelieving.

“You don’t know much about my business.”

“Then explain why you pulled me away from the police rescue?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. The only one around here doing any rescuing is me.”

Just then, we drift into a sandbar. The moment Farrington gets a foothold she throws her bent elbow back, driving it forcefully into my nose.

“Fuck!”
I hiss under my breath, pulling the night vision goggles off my eyes and onto my head.

She finds her legs and tries running into the trees that are scattered like patches in the swamp refuge. But my fingers snag the hem of her dress and pull her back to me. She falls against me.

“Don’t do that again,” I warn, getting a secure grip on her arm. As she struggles, the muddy water splashes up between us. “Farrington, STOP!” Both of her wrists are now locked in my fists. “Try to think clearly. I haven’t hurt you. I got you out of there.”

Her dark eyes catch a hint of moonlight and flash angrily at me. I make my mannerism gentler. “I get it, you’re confused and terrified. What you’ve been through is indescribable.”

Her brow presses down over her forehead in a scowl as her head tilts suspiciously—and I have terribly fucked timing, but I can’t help but notice just how beautiful she is.

My thumb grazes against her cheek to wipe the soil that’s streaked across her fair skin, ready to sting her eye.

“I promise I’m going to get you somewhere safe. And failure is not an option for me.”

After a deep breath, her body seems to relax a bit.

“Look.” I crook my head to the left and point with my eyes. “There’s a rowboat at our nine o’clock. We can get to the river much faster, and not being gator bait would be an added bonus.”

“I can’t see a boat. How can you?” She leans back away from me.

“Night vision.” I give a sign of trust by letting her wrist go and tapping the goggles now resting on top of my head. “You can hear Miguel’s dogs in the distance. We don’t have much time.”

“Let me see the boat.” She indicates the goggles.

I hesitate. If she throws them away, we’re both fucked. “If I hold them.”

She nods, and I position them over her eyes and rotate her head in the correct direction.

“See it now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then, we’re going to move nice and slow together.” I realign the glasses over my face. “I’ll hold you.” I can’t trust her not to run.

I keep her secured to me in the bend of my arm. After a scan of our surroundings, I push us into the deeper water.

That’s when the head of a huge alligator bursts up from under the dense muck. His wide open jaws and crooked row of jagged, spear-pointed teeth barely miss her foot, and I realize he must have been stalking us and decided to strike while we were in the shallows.

I shove Farrington out of its path and put myself between her and the creature.

“GET TO THE BOAT AND GET OUT OF HERE!” As I say it, the alligator lunges at me.

I counterattack; sliding around behind the behemoth, I grab hold of its body. It’s fucking hard, heavy and massive with a wide girth. I have a second to deduce that it’s got to be a male that weighs somewhere in the vicinity of five hundred pounds. Squeezing my legs around him, my first priority is to grab hold of his mouth to keep it shut. With a few proper moves I can prove to him I’m a foe he doesn’t want to mess with, and I might be able to fend him off and survive this.