13. Maddox

THIRTEEN

MADDOX

It's a stretch to call our hiding spot a clearing. It's more like a tangle of roots and low branches that is semi comfortable to lie on. It's off the ground, at least, and after we add some foliage—carefully checked for bugs—we settle in.

Of course, it's too narrow for both of us to stretch out comfortably, and we're limited in what positions we can take thanks to the manacles. We're filthy, it's humid, my clothes are still damp, and now I've got his body pressed against mine.

By comparison, sharing a bed was a breeze.

"I'm going to be sore in the morning and I won't even have an orgasm to show for it," Knives mutters.

I can't help but snort. "You're welcome to give yourself a handjob," I say dryly. Neither of us is in the mood for anything remotely resembling sex right now, but it's the only amusing thing that's happened in the past day.

"I don't even know that I'd be able to undo my jeans at this point." Knives uncaps the water bottle and takes a small sip before handing it to me.

Even though I could easily drink all of it in one go, I only take a few sips. I don't know how long it'll have to last us, but it doesn't look good.

Of course, dehydration might kill us faster than the bugs and the gators—of both kinds—if we don't figure out where we are and how to get back to civilization.

"At least it's cooling off a little," I say, fumbling for something to say that isn't just more negativity.

"I hope this isn't one of those places that gets so cold at night we have to worry about hypothermia." Knives starts to scratch his beard, then grimaces. "Fuck. I'm going to need twenty showers to get clean."

Motion catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I jolt upright fast enough to make my shoulder scream with pain.

"What is it?" Knives asks, tensing up.

"I have no idea," I say, "but I don't think it's an alligator." No, it's something the size of a giant rat, but it skitters off when it seems to realize we're there.

Fuck.

Great. So now we don't just have to worry about alligators, mosquitos, gnats, the heat, drowning, and dehydration. We have to worry about other animals too.

"You think it's edible?" Knives snorts in amusement. "Like I could manage to kill, skin, and cook anything. The killing, maybe. But I don't want to guess how messy skinning would be, and I sure as fuck can't start a fire in a swamp."

"And I'm not eating anything from here raw," I say, revolted at the thought alone. "It's probably all diseased anyway."

"Or it's got parasites. We'll end up with giant worms in our guts," Knives suggests. "Happened to a buddy in jail. He said he'd gone to Mexico on a drug run and had street tacos. That's how they caught him—he had to go to the hospital for the pain, and the cops got alerted…"

"That's not helping," I tell him.

Neither is the mention of pain, which brings my awareness to the fact that my shoulder really is fucking hurting. If it's not infected by now, it's going to be soon.

I don't want to think about what will happen if we don't get somewhere safe soon. Knives might really end up dragging along a dead body behind him, or at least a delirious and very sick body.

"We should try to sleep," Knives says. "We're both exhausted."

I shake my head. "One of us needs to keep watch."

"There's no way we'll manage to do that." Knives sighs. "Let's be realistic here. We're tired, hungry, thirsty, stuck in the middle of literally nowhere. Even if one of us tries to stay awake, we'll end up nodding off. We can't even move around to get the blood pumping thanks to the chain."

He's not wrong.

"Okay," I say grudgingly. "I guess no one's going to find us at night, anyway. They'd be stupid to come out here in the dark. Right?"

"They'd be pretty stupid," Knives agrees.

I figure that's the end of the conversation. I close my eyes to let exhaustion take me.

Unfortunately, the pain is only getting worse. The tree branches and roots underneath us are a far cry from even the lumpiest of mattresses, and it's so fucking loud. The insects didn't get quieter just because it's dark.

"You think Silvano did this on purpose?" Knives suddenly asks.

I open my eyes again. "On purpose?"

Knives shrugs, a movement I feel against my shoulder. "Maybe he doesn't care about the shipment. Maybe he just wants us dead."

A chill runs through me. "Yeah," I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. "Guess it would be an easy way to get rid of us without any of the evidence. Just send us down to the swamp, outnumbered and out of our element, then leave us to die." I laugh. "He wouldn't even have to arrange for cleanup. Some wild animal will take care of that for him."

But I don't want to believe that.

I sigh, continuing, "I don't think so, though. I mean, I fucked up once. And you do a good job. It would make sense for him to try to get rid of me, I guess, but not you."

Knives makes a noncommittal sound. "But we can't go back empty-handed either. He's not soft and caring—not for us, anyway. Our deaths won't affect him."

I close my eyes. "They'd affect him. He'd have to find replacements, and I don't think he's going to want to waste his time. Even if we get back without recovering the shipment, I don't think he'd get rid of us. Demote, yeah. But killing us seems a little extreme…"

Then again, losing the shipment had been a very, very pricey mistake.

"It might not be about the shipment." Knives shifts, and somehow ends up even closer to me. "He could just not like us, personally."

My mouth is impossibly dry. Silvano could very well be pissed that the two of us don't get along. He could be tired of it. This whole thing could've been a test, or a trap, and we're failing it miserably. "Cristiano wouldn't let him just throw us to the wolves." I grimace. "Gators. Whatever."

"Dude, Cristiano cares about one single fucking person, and it's not us." Knives lets out a strange laugh. "I still don't know what to make of Fox."

"That little shit would shoot us all if he had the choice," I say. My shoulder is throbbing, and I reach up to touch the makeshift bandage—dragging Knives's hand along with me. His arm ends up over my torso.

As expected, the cloth is still soaked, and I don't want to peel it away to see the damage.

"We need to get you to a doctor," Knives says quietly. "Somehow. We need… I don't know, fuck. If we're lucky, some boat tour will come around tomorrow."

"Yeah," I say. I lick my lips, wanting more of the water but not willing to drain what little we have. I choke on a laugh. "Imagine them finding us like this, in the middle of the swamp. They'd call the cops for sure."

"And you could just throw me under the bus to escape, again," Knives mutters.

"I didn't—" I start to snarl something back at him, but us fighting is what got us into this to begin with. And maybe… Maybe it's time we actually had a proper talk about it. "Knives," I start, taking a deep breath full of fetid swamp air. Ugh. If I'm going to die here, though, I don't want to do it with this hanging over us.

Not anymore.

He doesn't look at me. He just sits there, waiting.

"I… I know ‘I'm sorry' doesn't fix anything. It doesn't change anything. But I meant what I said earlier." I laugh, though the sound is far from humorous. "Well. What I yelled, I guess. I know saying I was just a dumb kid doesn't fix anything, but I… I was so scared, Nayeem. I panicked, and I freaked out, and I wanted to go to you to tell you how sorry I was. I really, really did. But I knew you'd hate me, so one day turned into another, and another, then it was a year, then two, and I…" I exhale slowly. "I never meant for it to be that way."

Knives's hand clenches against my chest.

"I—" His voice gets rough. "I was waiting. For you to show up. Only it wasn't you who came. It was the cops."

I can barely swallow around the lump in my throat that just seems to keep getting bigger. "I acted like a scared little boy," I whisper. "And I'm sorry. I would change things in a heartbeat if I could."

Knives's breathing gets louder. "They tried me as an adult. Because of the gang stuff, and the source of the drugs and the gun, and… something. They wanted me to roll over and snitch on the rest of the crew. But the pigs beat me when they found me, and they beat me at the precinct too. I wasn't going to betray anyone for those fuckers. I tried to fight back at first, but it didn't make a difference. " He lets out a bitter laugh. "My parents cut ties with me, and the state-appointed defense attorney did her best, but she couldn't get the ADA to lower the charges. I was a ‘violent offender.'"

Tears burn in the corners of my eyes as I think about a scared, lonely teenaged Nayeem getting beaten up by the cops. It wouldn't have changed anything if I had shown up. We just both would've been tried and sentenced.

But we might've been together.

It might've made things more bearable for both of us.

"Eight fucking years," Knives says, his voice rough. "It's… it's not sunshine and roses. I saw three men murdered while I was there. Another guy was taken out by the guards while in solitary. I got lucky that I had somebody take me under his wing, but after he got out, I had to navigate all that shit alone. I couldn't trust anyone. Not the guards, not the other prisoners. Got beat up by both. I beat other guys up too, because it was the only way to win respect."

His fists clench, and he takes a steadying breath.

"I should've done something differently," I say quietly. All of my years of self-flagellation, and I still hadn't understood how bad it would be for him. All of my years of self-flagellation, and I still hadn't understood how bad it would be for him. "Anything." I take in another breath of dank air, welcoming the distraction of the stench of decay and stagnant water. "I know you don't believe me, but I would do anything to change the past. If we get caught, I'll take the fall. No matter what happens, the heat's on me. All right? It's my turn to protect you ."

Knives tightens his embrace. I wince at how the skin around my wound pinches, but despite that, his weight feels… right .

"If I'd been alone earlier, I would have fought," Knives admits softly. "But I didn't want to see you die. Despite everything I've said and done, I just…" He lets out a frustrated sound. "You hurt me so bad, and I wanted to hurt you too, but I can't stop thinking about you, Maddox."

I want to cry.

"I get it," I reply, even though I'm not sure I do. "I've… I've never stopped thinking about you. There's never been anyone but you. I won't lie. I tried. But…" I close my eyes. "I've hated myself every moment since I didn't show up to the time you got out of jail." I pause, then let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "I mean, I haven't really stopped. I don't think I'm ever going to forgive myself, and I don't expect you to forgive me either."

Despite how filthy we are, Knives presses his head against mine. "In prison, it was almost easier. I thought I could forget you. But when I saw you again… all the feelings kept rushing back. All my hookups after that were sad and lonely, and half the time I couldn't even go through with them."

"Really?" I ask, and it's annoying that my voice is so small and almost fucking hopeful. I shake my head. "Sorry. I… I had hookups," I admit. "But no one stayed the night, and I didn't stay either. They were always fleeting. I always keep people at a distance, no matter how close they try to get, because I'm always so aware of what could happen if I freeze again. I can't fail someone else like I failed you."

Knives laughs, and I feel his body shake against mine. "We're a fucking pair, huh. Maybe we shoulda had this conversation when we weren't halfway to dead."

"Maybe that's the only reason we're having it now," I say, deadpan. "That whole clarity before death thing."

I think about my shoulder, and the probable infection, and I think about the fact that we might very well die out here of dehydration or worse.

It's a sobering thought.

"I really don't want to die, Nayeem," I whisper.

"I'm usually prepared for it," Knives admits. "Because of the job. If it's me or Silvano, well, I guess I'm taking that bullet." He tenses. "Not sure that's true anymore. We're going to have a fucking talk with him when we get back."

"Yeah," I say, feeling deflated—defeated, even. "It would've been nice to have some kind of backup, but he was pretty fucking clear that we weren't getting any."

Knives doesn't speak for a while, and I wonder if he's dozing. I cast my gaze upward, past the tree canopy to where the night sky peeks through. There are a surprising number of stars visible, but I guess that's the one advantage of being out in the middle of nowhere with no light pollution.

"We'll get you patched up," Knives says softly. "And after that, I'll tie you up so you can't move your arm at all. I'll fuck you slow and gentle and edge you over and over, and you won't be able to do a fucking thing while I torture you with pleasure."

I shiver. "Yeah? I think I'd like that."

If we can go that long without arguing, at least.

We fall silent again, but this time, it's a companionable silence instead of something tense and angry. I manage to drift into an uneasy half-sleep, though every time I hear something, I jolt awake.

By the time the sun rises on the horizon, I'm exhausted, thirsty, and hot.

And I don't feel great at all, but I don't tell Knives that.

"Let's get moving, I guess," I tell him, half-expecting him to lay into me and destroy the peace we'd built between us the night before.

Knives nods and opens the water bottle for me. I hesitate before taking a large gulp. The bottle is more than half empty at this point, and I feel guilty about that as I hand the bottle back.

Knives takes a swig of the water, then grimaces. "I guess if it comes down to it, we drink from the swamp. We can survive bacteria, but we can't survive dehydration."

The idea of drinking from the swamp makes me a little ill, but I nod. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," I tell him. We get up, somehow managing not to jar my shoulder too much, and I point inland, away from the water. "That way, I guess?"

"Sure," Knives answers.

We walk a few faltering steps, and the terrain seems even more inhospitable today than yesterday.

"I think it's a salt-water swamp," Knives says with a derisive laugh. "Not drinkable even if we wanted to."

"Well, that's just great," I say, my voice laden with sarcasm. "You're not picking the destination for our next vacation, just FYI."

"In my defense, I didn't pick it this time," Knives argues. "I took us to a totally normal, non-kinky club."

"Yeah," I say with a snort. "Completely normal. No bondage or anything." I pause, then add more quietly, "Thanks… for the aftercare and all. You didn't have to do that."

Knives doesn't say anything at first, but he does squeeze my hand. "I did. I… Fuck, I don't want to talk about this shit in the daylight."

I'm about to answer, but even in my slightly feverish state, I hear something over the sound of all the animals buzzing.

It's a shotgun cocking.

We both freeze.

In the next second, one of Boar's men steps out from behind some brush. "Your daddies never teach you not to make so much fucking noise in the wilderness?"

Knives lets go of my hand and steps forward, putting himself between me and the shotgun.

"What can I say? We're both city boys," he answers.

"Don't be an idiot," I tell him. "I'm not dragging around your dead body." I look past him at the man with the gun. "All you have to do is walk away, and we're probably dead," I say flatly. "No sense in hurrying it along and wasting bullets."

"Boar wants to have another chat with you," he says. "You killed Slim, after all."

I let out a disgusted sound, and Knives snorts a laugh. "Sure, we killed Slim." He reaches back and squeezes my hand.

Follow his lead, again.

I bristle, considering where that got us, but if Boar wants us alive, that's a better prospect for us than the swamp is.

I eye the man. He's got tall boots, but they aren't wet very high up. He isn't dirty or sweaty. There's no way he got here entirely on foot, especially not considering how far we got with the airboat.

That means he must have some form of transportation.

I squeeze Knives's hand back.

"Hands on your heads, and you both walk toward the water," the guy says, motioning with his shotgun.

"If we actually knew where water was…" Knives mutters, but he does as ordered—which means my own arm goes up too.

I glare at the shotgun guy. "How's this supposed to work? We can't both touch our heads like this."

The guy bursts out laughing. "Fuck. You guys are idiots, y'know that? Just keep walking."

There's no point in fighting right now. We walk awkwardly. I wince in pain from the strain of lifting my shoulder, but I'm not going to complain about it.

Realistically, I've endured worse. I've hurt more than this after a night at Club Alpha.

BDSM has never left me feverish or with a potentially infected wound, of course.

I let out a sigh of relief when I see the motorboat the guy came in on, one that's bigger and more modern than the airboat we'd stolen.

"You sit down there and don't make any sudden movements," the guy says.

Knives and I glance at each other. Our eyes meet, and we don't even nod, but I know we're on the same page.

We get on the boat. The guy has to lower his shotgun so he can push the boat back into the water, off the slippery mud.

When he steps back, we strike.

Knives knees him hard in the gut, and the guy cries out, fumbling the shotgun. I take it and toss it to the other side of the boat.

"Fuck… Fuck you!" the guy shouts as he grapples Knives, and we may be exhausted, but Knives is still a huge man with considerable muscle. The boat sways as they fight, and I kick at the guy's knees.

He goes down, and Knives follows, forcing me down with him. We both grab the guy's head and plunge it underwater.

He struggles, and bubbles rise to the surface, but we hold fast.

This isn't my preferred way to kill somebody, but I'll take whatever's available.

We probably hold him underwater way longer than necessary, but we aren't taking any chances. When his body is completely limp, Knives experimentally lets go.

No movement.

We sink back onto the boat and take in deep breaths.

My shoulder is screaming in pain, but I ignore it. Maybe there's a first aid kit, though that's not going to do a lot.

The boat drifts across the water.

"We need to… check his pockets." Knives says. "And the boat. And…" He looks around the boat and frowns. "Wait. Come this way."

We shuffle towards the front of the boat, and I finally notice what Knives found. It's another pair of manacles. The keys are sitting inside one of the locks.

Knives takes the key out and shoves it into the cuff around his wrist.

It's a fucking miracle, but the thing twists and opens.

"Fucking finally," Knives says. "Something actually goes our way."

He extends his hand, and I hold out my wrist so he can undo my manacle too.

"It's about fucking time," I agree. I step away from him, letting out a breath. I go to the console of the boat, which is considerably more high-tech than the airboat had been. There's even a fancy GPS, and I could just cry at how relieved I am to see it. "What do we enter in here?" I ask. "I don't really want to head back in the direction of that shack, but I don't know how this works over the water. Do you?"

"Uh, see if it shows a way to get to the NewVa pier?" Knives trudges back to the body and searches the pockets. He holds up a phone and a wallet that he finds, then he moves toward the back, which holds another cooler. Knives opens it and lets out a relieved laugh. "Looks like he was gearing up for a full day search. Water and food."

I find the closest pier on the GPS then go back to Knives, grabbing one of the blissfully cold bottles of water. I chug the whole thing, and I'm tempted to grab another to dump over my head, but we still don't know what's going to happen or how far we'll have to go to outrun Boar's men.

At least we have a boat.

Thank fuck.

Maybe we'll survive this after all.