Final Debt
Page 66

Armageddon broke out.
Gunfire.
It ricocheted into the room with a sudden spray of bullets. Flashbacks of Jeep metal crumpling and crash landings swarmed my mind. I pressed my face into the ground, curling up the best I could while tied to the chair.
What the hell—
Whizzing bullets and the dull thud of their pockmarked landing ratcheted my heart rate until I inhaled dirt from the floor. Terror lacerated my blood, setting up residence in my pounding head.
My system had a healthy dose of fear when it came to lead projectiles. When Cut shot me, I’d reacted instinctually. I wasn’t thinking about pain or death but saving my sister’s life. I didn’t know how it would feel. But now I knew what happened to a body in the path of a mortally wounding weapon.
It fucking hurts.
I didn’t want a repeat.
Fighting the ropes to protect myself, I couldn’t stop my mind doing a mental cleanse, saying goodbye to everyone and everything I ever loved.
Nila.
Jasmine.
Kestrel.
Even Wings.
My life story flickered pitifully lacking and empty of experience.
And then…it was over.
As suddenly as the gunfire began, it ceased.
The silence was almost as deafening as the shots.
A howl replaced the bullets, growing in decibels as the seconds ticked on.
I looked up.
Marquise.
He lay on his back, his hands glued to his chest where multiple red spots bloomed on his t-shirt. I couldn’t unravel what’d happened. It was just us in the room. No one entered. No more firing.
I looked at the open door. The wooden frame had dings and splinters from a spray of firepower, but the exit remained empty. Within the depth of the mine, feet pounded, guns erupted, and the sounds of a battle exploded out of nowhere.
What the fuck is going on?
Marquise’s howls slowly turned into moans. The soil beneath him accepted his blood like a tree accepts fresh rain, sucking it deep into the ground.
I put up a blockade between him and me. I didn’t like the guy, but couldn’t help sharing his pain as he died in front of me. Death was private, and I had no intention of participating in his final moments.
Somewhere in the mine, a war had broken out. I didn’t know who was on what side. I didn’t know if it would work in my favour. But I did know I’d been granted a second chance; I wouldn’t waste it.
Kicking, I somehow managed to rock sideways, propping myself awkwardly on a fulcrum of brittle chair leg. My shoulders sagged in relief, but the way I repositioned put immense pressure on my chest and ribs from the ropes.
I couldn’t suck in a deep breath as I jerked and twisted. The chair cracked and groaned, fighting against my encouragement to break.
Footsteps suddenly sounded closer, scuffing pebbles and belying numbers.
I froze.
Sweat dripped off the end of my nose as I squirmed harder. If they were new enemies, I couldn’t be there still fucking tied up when they—
They entered the cave.
Five men poured inside, blocking the exit. Their dark skin sucked the meagre light from the lamps, the whites of their eyes hell-bent and focused. The rifles in their hands were old but still capable of murder.
I glowered, drinking in their warrior thoughts and violence. One of the men moved forward, scuffing the blood-soaked dirt where Marquise lay.
Marquise erupted to life, pulling a pistol from his pocket and firing. His aim struck one of the men in the heart.
No!
Everything happened at warp speed. More workers poured through the door, launching themselves at the mountain of muscle, swatting his pistol, slamming his hands onto the floor.
He hollered like a beast attacked by insects, but in sheer numbers, he was overwhelmed.
Another man entered, this one wearing the patch of manager on his dirty t-shirt. He was older, more Cut’s age, and full of authority as he stood over Marquise. Without flinching, he hacked at his neck with a machete.
One moment, Marquise was alive, keeping me from Nila. The next, he was gone to the underworld. Gruesome to witness but humane to put him out of his misery. He was a dead man already…this way…the pain had gone—even if he didn’t deserve such compassion.
Bonnie will need to buy someone else’s loyalty.
If she survived what I would do to her when I returned home, of course.
If I return home.
A man moved toward me. My muscles stiffened as he cocked his head. Up close, he appeared younger. His skin unblemished and pupils as dark as his skin. Without a word, he went behind me.
I swallowed hard, waiting for a knife to slice my throat or a bullet to lodge in my brain.
The swish of a blade being drawn from a scabbard set my heart racing but then the pressure around my chest suddenly vanished.
I toppled sideways, freed from the chair, ropes trailing after me. The sawn ends landed on the floor like decapitated snakes. The moment the chair no longer held me captive, the young man grabbed my wrists and sawed through the remaining twine.
I couldn’t understand…why?
Why had they done this?
The man helped push me into a sitting position. My head thundered with pain, but I blinked and stretched my spine. It felt amazing to sit up and roll my back without stiff wood holding me in place. My ribs complained and the wooziness of my vision didn’t help, but I could move, I could breathe, I could survive.
Pearly white teeth, almost as bright as diamonds, appeared in the gloom. He smiled, speaking rapidly in Afrikaans.
My memory of their language was rusty, but I let my condition and the few remaining words I recalled give me a hint of what he said: We save for you save.