Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Kindra

W ell, I'm fucking lost. There's no way around it. I've been walking through this godforsaken jungle for over an hour, and I've seen nothing that looks like an airstrip. I can't even find the fucking path at this point.

Instead of paying attention to my surroundings when we first arrived on the island, I was too busy drooling over that liar's muscles and good looks. Now look where that's gotten me. Lost in a jungle with a broken heart and mosquito bites in places I can't scratch in public.

Fuck this island.

Fuck these miserable bugs.

Fuck the horrific humidity.

And most of all, fuck Ezra Carter.

I sling my travel bag over my shoulder and head in a different direction. My rolling luggage snags on a tree root and topples over, nearly taking me with it.

"Shit, shit, shit," I say beneath my breath.

After righting the suitcase and wiping a waterfall of sweat from my brow, I look around and forget where I came from and where I planned to go. What an accurate depiction of my actual fucking life.

When I set out on this journey, I should have stuck to the plan. My brother's killer should have remained my sole focus. Instead, I wound up in bed with the man I have hated for ten years. If he's smart, he'll stay far away from me. If I ever see his perfect face, I'll make it imperfect.

With a loud groan, I drop my bags and lower myself onto a fallen log. I need a break from walking and getting lost. Just once, can't something go right?

Somewhere nearby—I can't tell which direction because sounds travel weird in this wet atmosphere—a twig snaps under heavy weight. Someone is moving near me.

I hold my breath and keep still. Something is headed right for me, and until I know if it's a search party or a wild animal, I don't want them to know I'm here. If it turns out to be Ezra, I'd rather die in the jungle.

A flash of yellow breaks through the trees, and a wild-eyed man tumbles into my tiny clearing. Twigs and leaves cling to his balding head, and red scratches mark his face.

The hunt.

I completely forgot that was happening today, and only now do I realize the danger I'm in. There is no airstrip this way. Bennett fucking tricked me.

The man's eyes land on me, and I'm not surprised. When I set out this morning, I didn't don camo and reconnaissance gear. I'm in a neon-blue tank top that practically screams for attention. Blending in isn't an option.

Fighting is, though.

I reach for my overnight bag and scramble for my knife. Then I remember I used it to pin the note to the boardwalk. Fucking Ezra. He's still screwing me over.

"Hey, you don't have to kill me," the man says with his palms held toward me. "Just let me keep going. I'll hunker down somewhere until this is over."

He's not wrong. He's in a yellow jumpsuit, which means I don't have to kill him. I can let him keep going toward his own fate while I try to figure out mine.

But then my eyes fall to the gash in his side. Blood surrounds the tear in the fabric, but when he moves, his skin looks undamaged beneath the stain.

"You're injured," I say as I pull my overnight bag onto my lap. "I have a first-aid kit in here. At least let me help you."

He takes a step back. "Why would you want to help me? Aren't you here to hunt me?"

"I only hunt pink and red," I say. "You're yellow, so you're safe. Some of us have a code we follow."

"Right, yeah. I'm yellow."

He steps closer now. He's near enough that I can see the way the blood vessels have burst in his thick nose. I glance down at his shoes, which, aside from some dirt and a few small leaves, look brand new. He keeps his injured side turned away from me, though.

I keep digging through my bag.

"So how did a pretty girl like you end up in a shit hole like this?" He sits beside me on the log, and the hairs rise on my arm. He's too close.

"Oh, you know. Life." I offer a laugh that I hope sounds more convincing to him than it does to me. "Let me see your injury."

He doesn't move, and that only solidifies my decision.

With a deep breath, I wrap my fingers around the handle of a dagger, then pull it from the bag and jam it into his neck. Before he has a chance to register what's happening, I twist the blade so that it's horizontal, then yank to the right, opening his entire throat.

A red waterfall pours down his chest. His hands reach upward, trying to stop the death tide, but he only succeeds in pushing his head backward. He's barely attached at this point.

As his body slumps to the jungle carpet, I step over him. Red foam gurgles around his open trachea as his body continues to function. This won't last for much longer, though. Not with the way he's bleeding out.

"I had my suspicions when I didn't see a wound on your side, but what really sealed the deal was your shoes."

His mouth opens and closes, trying to form words, but I've severed the connection. I don't want to hear anything he has to say.

"With an injury to the side, you should have been bleeding like a stuck pig," I continue as I wipe my blade with a velvety leaf. "Your shoes were spotless. That's when I knew you'd killed one of your fellow scumbags and stolen their jumpsuit. Thanks for playing, though."

I drop the leaf onto his face and return to my log. While he's busy boarding a slow train to hell, I sift through my bags. Participating in the hunt wasn't on my bingo card, but here the fuck we are.

My overnight bag houses several weapons, as well as my weapon belt. I fasten it around my waist, then begin sliding daggers, throwing stars, and throwing knives into their pouches and slots. Once that's situated, I reach for the big guns in my luggage.

They aren't actual guns, but they are what I consider my larger artillery. I strap my spare bowie knife around my thigh, pop a large switchblade into my pocket, and consider strapping on my sais. I decide against them in the end. I've done very little training with them, and I'm in a life-or-death scenario now. There is no room for error.

"Let's fucking do this."

I look down at my luggage. It'll be incredibly difficult to fight my way out of this jungle while lugging an overnight bag and my suitcase, so I leave it by the log and study my surroundings. If I can remember where I left it, I can always come back for it.

Or I can just leave it behind, along with my memories of this nightmare vacation.

I toss some leaves and jungle debris onto the bags, shielding them from view. Once I make it out of here, I'll decide if any of it is worth returning for. The vibrator is tainted now, so it won't be a major loss. Using it will only make me think of him, as will wearing most of the clothes.

"At least you were faithful," I whisper toward the hidden bag.

An unfamiliar tree with thick green vines spiraling around its warped trunk stands to my right, so I head in that direction. Damp air collects on my arms, legs, and face, where it mixes with my sweat. Mascara runs into my eyes, and I curse myself for wanting to look cute on the plane ride.

In my defense, I blame my warped imagination and the visions of Ezra racing after my plane as it taxied down the runway. I wanted to look from my window and give him a good view of what his actions have cost him. He's probably still sound asleep.

He probably doesn't even care.

Tears mix with the mess on my face. I grit my teeth to bite them back. He doesn't deserve any more of my pain.

After stumbling around for a few minutes, I come across the body of the Cattle my victim killed. Flies buzz around the drying blood and land near the wound in his side. He's been stripped of his yellow jumpsuit, but I search around and find his shoes nearby. Just as I suspected, the right one is drenched.

"Turn around slowly, and give me your weapons," a feminine voice says behind me.

I follow the first command, but she's lost her mind if she thinks I'll give up my gear. She stands about ten feet away from me, with most of her body tucked behind a tree, which is smart. The head is a much harder target than a torso.

"This doesn't have to end in more bloodshed," I say. "You're wearing a yellow suit. I don't have any problems with you."

She points a shaking finger toward the man on the ground. "But you had a problem with my dad ? Why did you kill him? We were going to get out of this together."

I take a step toward her, and she screams.

"Don't come any closer!" she screeches, but she needs to shut the fuck up. She isn't just dealing with serial killers in this jungle. There are worse fates than death.

I stop walking and hold my finger against my mouth to quiet her. "Listen to me and be quiet. I didn't kill your father. Someone else killed him for his jumpsuit."

"His jumpsuit? I don't understand."

"Some of us killers are picky. We only kill people who we feel deserve to die. Yellow jumpsuits are less of a target than pink and red."

"You're sick ! All of you are sick, sick, sick!"

I roll my eyes. "Look, you have two options. Shut up and move along or keep screaming and I'll shut you up."

"Sick! You're sick! Someone, anyone, help! Get me out of here!"

She appears from behind the tree. In her hand, she holds a stick—a very long stick with an incredibly pointy end. She's crafted a spear, which proves she's resourceful. Unfortunately, she's also out of her goddamn gourd.

I grip the handle of my dagger as she begins her charge. She's wild, unruly, and uncalculated, which works in my favor. As she pushes the stick forward, I simply step to the side and stick out my blade. It catches her in the abdomen.

Now the incessant screaming starts. Having realized her mistake, she looks down at her stomach. Fat pink intestines poke from a gash, which runs about nine inches across her gut. My placement wasn't the best, though. If I'd gone a little higher and a little deeper, I would have snagged an artery.

She drops to her knees beside her father. Blood drips from the wound and patters against the leaf litter.

I won't pretend I don't feel bad for the girl. Whatever she's done, it didn't warrant this kind of death.

I step closer and drop the dagger in front of her. "You'll take a long time to die from that. If you want a quicker exit, there's the door. You were never my target. Whatever you did, it isn't my place to hand down your judgment. You forced my hand."

She reaches for the dagger and clutches it against her chest as she silently cries.

I'm not worried about her coming after me. The blood loss coupled with the pain of disembowelment will make her easy enough to overpower. I couldn't just leave her to suffer, though. That would have been cruel, and I try to treat people with at least a modicum of kindness when possible.

I'm not Ezra.

Leaving the girl with her dead father, I slip back into the jungle and eventually find a path. It might be no more than a game trail, but it's something. Animals need fresh water, and if I keep following this path, I'm sure to come across it. If I can find the water, I can find the waterfall, and if I can find the waterfall, I can get the fuck out of this jungle.

Not that I want to see that waterfall again. It's a reminder of happier times.

After walking for what feels like forever, the trees begin to thicken around me, and I lose the trail. Backtracking is pointless. Everything looks the fucking same! Brown tree trunks and greenery stretch for as far as I can see, and if I sit still and listen, I can only hear the wind. No rushing water. No voices. No footsteps.

Feeling more hopeless than ever, I lean against a tree and catch my breath. That's when I spot Ezra.