43. Rafe

43

RAFE

I stretched my hand through the cell, trying to reach the small scrap of metal on the ground just a few feet away. My face was smashed against the bars as I practically twisted my arm out of the socket.

"It's never going to work," a deep voice said from the corner. "You can keep trying, though."

I ignored him and tried again to no avail. Sighing, I flopped down on my ass and rested back against the bars. Sweat poured down my face from the heat of the day. I ran one hand over the other calloused one, trying to figure out another way out of this hellhole. I never gave up hope and I wasn't about to start now, but unless someone came back down here soon, I was unlikely to escape with Isabelle.

And then there might not be another chance to get off this island.

My head snapped up at the sound of a helicopter in the distance. If that was Cash, then Isabelle would be out of here soon. I waited for minutes until I finally heard the helicopter descend and touch down. I rubbed my hands back and forth, counting each minute that passed.

No gunfire sounded. No one came running down the stairs to kill me. Everything was running as planned. Well, almost. I wasn't getting on that helicopter with her. The sounds changed as the helicopter took flight and moved farther away.

A huff of laughter slipped from my throat as my lips twisted in a grin. I'd done it. She was off the island. Everything I had worked so hard for over the last seven years was finally coming to a head. She would be safe—back with her mother and our father. She would have a life outside of this island, away from the fear of her power-crazed husband and the captivity she'd known for so long.

The job was finally over.

I looked down at my left hand and swallowed hard as my fingers spun the band on my ring finger. I regretted leaving her behind most of all. I rested my head back and thought of every single moment I had with her—along with all the moments I took for granted. I had been so focused on achieving the end goal that I sometimes forgot to make the memories count when I could. All those missed holidays we could have spent together. All those times Libby went on a mission instead of staying with me. She was independent and made her own decisions, but I should have insisted she stay.

I knew what was coming. She never did.

"It's no use," the voice muttered. "You're not getting out of here. I've been here for a year."

I tried to push his words from my head. I didn't want to hear that he'd been stuck here, even though it gave me hope that there was still a chance I'd get out of here. Whatever happened from here on out, I'd resigned myself to this fate the moment I decided to go after Zavala to get my sister back.

The door swung open and boots pounded down the stairs. I stood quickly as men approached my cell.

"He's still here."

Still here? Fuck, that meant something must have spooked Zavala. That wasn't good.

"Did they get Isabelle off the island?" I asked the guard.

"What's it to you?"

"I called for the helicopter," I snapped. "I just want to make sure she got to a doctor."

He studied me for a moment before responding. "She's off the island."

My shoulders relaxed at the confirmation. Then the man in the cell beside me started chuckling. The guard turned and snapped at him. "Shut up!"

"Another prisoner for the next ten years. It'll be nice. I've been lonely down here."

"And you'll be down here for your entire life if you don't shut the fuck up!"

"I already am down here for life," the man laughed. "Cross Zavala and you'll wither away until he decides to kill you."

"Which shouldn't be too much longer," the guard said.

"How will you die?" the man asked. "Have they decided yet?"

The guard sighed, turning for the stairs. "Good luck with that one."

It didn't matter. Whatever happened from here on out was part of the plan. It was never likely I would survive this mission. But what I wasn't expecting was the multiple footsteps pounding on the stairs just moments later. The cell door was flung open and the butt of a gun was slammed into my face. I dropped to my knees as blood dripped from my temple. Arms grabbed at me, dragging me to my feet and up the stairs.

Nausea swirled in my stomach from the hit to my head, but I did my best to keep my wits about me. The bright light of the sun pierced my eyes, greatly intensifying my headache. Deep down, I knew this was the end. No one said a word, but they didn't have to. The fury with which the men moved said it all.

I had a single chance of escape. If I could break free, I could run for the edge of the water. The chances of survival were slim, but it was still a chance. I twisted hard, breaking free from the men holding me. Slamming my foot into the man's knee to my right, I narrowly avoided being struck again in the head by another guard. With a single blow, I knocked another guard down, then grabbed his gun and fired at another guard approaching.

I could feel the chains of imprisonment shattering with every guard I fired upon. But they kept coming. Soon, I would be out of ammunition. The next guard that fell at my feet had a knife tucked into his boot. I made a grab for it, but miscalculated just how many guards were coming at me.

I felt the sharp stab of a blade in my side and nearly doubled over. My fingers tightened around the knife in the boot, and with a surge of energy, I spun and slashed at the man who had just thrust a blade deep inside me. I stumbled back a step as blood gushed from the wound in my side.

I pressed my hand to the gash and took a deep breath as I watched in slow motion as a whole army descended on me. My eyes did a slow blink as I heard a second chopper and shouting in the distance. My gaze turned for a split second to my brother. I didn't know where he was, but I could feel him. They were going to be overpowered if they stayed here, and I couldn't allow that to happen.

I had to fight on.

I drew on the anger that had consumed me for years and dug deep in my gut, finding the strength to keep fighting. One by one, I took down the guards running at me. Not a single one fired a gun at me, and it only took me a second to understand why. They had been ordered to end me a certain way, and they would not break those orders for anything.

With only a gun and a knife to defend myself, I fought with everything in me, drawing on every memory of Libby and fighting for the life we could have. The next strike to my head had me falling to my knees. The second one had me hitting the ground. I felt my arms wrenched behind my back as another guard slammed his fist into my face. The repeated blows rendered me nearly unconscious, but I somehow held on.

I was hauled to my feet by multiple guards, only to double over when a guard slammed his fist into my stomach, hitting the knife wound in my side. Blood pooled in my mouth as dizziness washed over me. I struggled, but got nowhere. The fight was over.

Knowing I would die was an easy reality for me to accept, but I had never considered how it would happen. But the moment I saw the stake out on the lawn, I knew I would not go quickly. My heart rate kicked into overdrive as they yanked me over to the pyre around the stake. The smell of gasoline already filled the air as the guards dragged me up the back steps to the stake and shoved me around to the front side.

I struggled with everything in me to escape. I kicked and threw my head back into the guard's head, fighting to break free from the hands holding me to my death. But once they had me around the stake, there was no way to break free. Thick rope squeezed my wrists to the point of pain. In seconds, tingles spread through my fingers.

A thick, black hose was pulled from a metal reel and a man walked over to me with a sadistic grin on his face. I saw the moment his fingers moved to the valve. I didn't know for certain what was inside, but I had a pretty fucking good idea. I sucked in a breath just before the man flipped the switch. Gasoline shot out at me, pouring over my body from head to toe, dousing the wood around me. I turned my head as best as possible, trying to avoid getting it in my nose.

But eventually, the fumes became too much and I started to choke on them.

When the valve was shut off, I blinked away the gasoline from my eyes just in time to see another man light a match. In the few seconds I had left, my life flashed on a reel in my head. Most prominent were memories with Cash—my twin—the very man I had tried to protect for years. He would live. He had to. And if my death was the only way to ensure his survival, I would go through hell to make sure he lived his life like the hero he was. Because there was no other way for this to end—no other way I would have this end.

I heard the strike of the match and closed my eyes. The last image in my head as the man tossed the match onto the gasoline-soaked wood was of Libby.

"I love you," I whispered, praying she could somehow hear me.