His hot, decaying breath was close enough to land on my face. I tried to jerk away, clawing at the bark, trying desperately to find some purchase to fling myself at him, or away from him,or at least to buy myself a little time to figure out how to stay alive for even a little more time.
High above, a huge goshawk screeched in fury at having a rival snap some hapless prey from its maw. Automatically, we both peered up, transfixed by the plummeting black speck. My chance. I brought my knee up with all the strength I could collect, crying out as the knife nicked the side of my neck. He was ready for me, though, and instead of the higher target, I connected with his shin.
Obadiah stumbled, the knife flying in a cinematically perfect arc over the steps of the cenotaph and toward the edge of the escarpment. I lunged for it, my fingers closing weakly around the hilt. The keyword being weakly. He reached me in seconds, twisting my wrist back like a screw. It was gone. That had been my one try. Pathetic.
He shoved me back against the tree trunk, angry now, one hand pinching my throat shut, and his other hand moved on to my shirt and the top of my leggings, pawing and tearing at the fabric. I gasped for air, clawing desperately at his arms, but my strength was gone. It all faded, and soon I couldn’t see his rotting, stubbly, wrinkled face anymore, which maybe was a blessing of some kind, especially when I managed to replace it with something much nicer.
I couldn’t change what I would feel, though.
But one second passed, then another, and to my surprise, I felt nothing. And gradually, from behind my captor, I recognized the sound of a round being chambered. A hammer being cocked. And finally, silence, as Obadiah stopped slowly killing me.
“Hey, asshole, you can talk shit about my company all you want, but you weren’t exactly in the running for any service and devotion plaques, either.”
Obadiah snapped his head around. “Langley? Aren’t you s’posed to be on a plane?”
“It’s Langer, you dumbfuck. Remember me? The guy who bought you, freed you, and hired you at the top of the pay scale plus benefits, just to watch you spend half the day sitting around drunk off your ass? And I’m in a really shitty mood, given that I gave up my chance to sip top-shelf reposado on a tropical beach to stare at your ugly fucking face. So if you don’t want to test me, drop the girl.”
His fat fingers left my throat long enough for me to get a glimpse of my rescuer.
Max Langer Action Edition held a sleek, compact pistol that stylishly matched his leather moto jacket, T-shirt, and jeans, his normally sculpted hair hanging loose around a face with the kind of hunted look it certainly had not had when I’d last seen him, making suavebon motsaround my home swimming pool.
Come to think of it, that’s where he’d first met Obadiah, too. And here they faced each other down once again. One holding a gun, the other holding me.
“What are ya gonna do, kill me?” Obadiah demanded.
“Yeah,” Max replied. “But first, I’m gonna fire you.”
I tried to reach up and pry the grubby digits off my throat, desperate—grateful as I was for the help—to do something except stand there waiting to be rescued like a goddamn damsel in distress, not to mention gambling on Max’s aim.
Max kept the pistol aimed steadily. “Last chance.”
Obadiah bared his grotesque teeth. “I hear they’re already on you for kidnapping and murder. If I was you, I wouldn’t wanna be burying a body when the cops show up.”
“What cops? Last I saw, every squad nearby was headed back south.”
Wheatley. I suspected he’d done what he could to help me by leading Labrecque and the others down the wrong trail. But he’d seen the blue Datsun, and he must have also known there was a chance he’d left me to die.
In other words, Max was saving my life, and it wasn’t everyone who could say that about a billionaire tech mogul.
Obadiah’s grip tightened around my throat, his breath hot and rancid against my cheek. “You could just walk away and pretend ya never saw nothing,” he said to Max. “What do you care? You didn’t have no problem fucking over her daddy, and she’s just a younger version with tits.”
Max huffed a sigh and closed his eyes. “Because we aren’t all doomed to become our parents.” He glanced pointedly at me. “And I like to think I haven’t completely failed at proving it, yet.”
“Wanna bet?” Obadiah squeezed me like a squeaky dog toy. I gasped and clawed at his hands, sinking into the earth.
And still Max, my one hope, kept the gun aimed steadily. “Listen, man. I get it. You’ve had a rough time. You want better. We all do. Better than a shallow grave in the desert, anyway. And that’s all you’ll get if you don’t drop her.”
“You don’t got a clue what I’ve been through, ya spoiled rich fuck.”
“Granted, no, I don’t. I don’t spend a lot of time researching the life histories of my low-level security staff, although maybe I should take this as my cue to start.” He met Obadiah’s increasingly wild eyes steadily. “But nevertheless, let’s end this little woodland frolic and I’ll get you what you’re owed.”
Obadiah hesitated as if he were—of all things—thinking, and I writhed, unable to even gasp, my vision starting to go spotty. How was my entire life suddenly depending on an expert at hiding his better nature figuring out how to appeal to someone who didn’t have one?
“You’re bluffing,” my captor rasped.
Max took another step forward, gun aimed unwaveringly at Obadiah’s chest. “Maybe. I’ve been known to. But I’ve also been known to kill people, so it’s up to you to decide what side of me you think you’re getting.”
For a long moment, nobody moved. The desert held its breath, the setting sun casting long, gloomy shadows as I hung there, dying. But a second later, I hit the ground with several thuds, coughing and heaving and fruitlessly gulping air.
