Bind Me(Capture Me: Book 2)(30)

The man’s gaze slides from my face to my sweat-dampened tank top. “Sí.” His voice is slightly hoarse. “I know what you mean.”

I take a step toward him, keeping the smile on my face. “He’s away,” I say, making sure to roll my hips. “Went on a trip with your boss.”

“With Esguerra, yes.” The man seems hypnotized by my breasts, which sway with my movement. “On a trip.”

“Right.” I take another step forward. “I got bored sitting at home.”

“Bored?” The guard finally manages to tear his gaze away from my chest. His eyes are slightly glazed as he looks at my face, but his weapon is still pointed at me. “You should not be out here.”

“I know.” I purposefully bite my lower lip. “Lucas lets me go out into the backyard. There was a pretty bird, I followed it, and I got lost.”

It’s the stupidest story ever, but the guard doesn’t seem to think so. Then again, the fact that he’s staring at my lips like he wants to eat them may have something to do with that.

“So, yes, maybe you can point me back to his house,” I continue when he remains silent. I risk another tiny step toward him. “It’s very hot today.”

“Yes.” He lowers his weapon and takes hold of my left arm. “Come. I will take you there.”

“Thank you.” I smile as brightly as I can and jab my right hand up, ramming the heel of my palm into the underside of his nose.

There’s a crunching noise, followed by a spray of red. The guard stumbles back, reflexively clutching his broken nose, and I grab the barrel of his M16, kicking at his knee as I yank the assault rifle toward me.

My foot connects with his knee, but the man doesn’t let go. Instead, he releases his nose and grips the weapon with both hands, pulling it—and me—toward him.

He may not be as well trained as Lucas, but he’s still much stronger than me.

Realizing I only have seconds before he wrestles me to the ground, I stop pulling and push the gun toward him instead, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. At the same time, I kick upward between his legs as hard as I can.

My sneaker meets its target: the guard’s balls. A choked gasp escapes the man’s throat, followed by a high-pitched scream as he bends at the waist. His face turns sickly pale, and his grip on the gun loosens for a second—which is all the time I need.

Jerking the heavy weapon out of the guard’s hands, I swing it at his head.

The rifle makes a loud thud as it meets his skull. The impact of the collision sends a shock of pain through my arms, but my opponent drops like a stone.

I have no idea if he’s unconscious or dead, and I don’t waste time checking. If there are other guards in the vicinity, they might’ve heard his scream.

Clutching the M16, I begin running.

Tree. Bush. A gnarled root. An ant hill. The tiny landmarks blur in front of my eyes as I run, my breath rattling loudly in my ears. Every couple of minutes, I glance behind me for signs of pursuit, but none are evident, and after a few minutes, I risk slowing down to a jog.

Where the hell is that river? Two and a half miles is about four kilometers; it shouldn’t take this long to get there.

Before I have a chance to wonder if Rosa might’ve lied, the ground in front of me suddenly slopes downward at a sharp angle. I skid to a stop, barely managing to avoid tumbling down the incline, and through the thick tangle of bushes in front of me, I see a shimmer of blue below.

The river.

I’m at the northern border of Esguerra’s compound.

My breath whooshes out in relief. I start forward to get a closer look—and freeze again.

Less than a hundred meters to my left is a guard tower.

The trees had obscured it from my view.

I back up and crouch behind the nearest tree, desperately hoping the guards didn’t spot me yet. When I don’t hear shouts or gunshots, I risk peeking out to look at the tower again.

The structure is tall and ominous, looming over the forest. At the top is a solid square enclosure with slits instead of windows, and around the enclosure is an open-air walkway. I don’t see any guards on the walkway, but they’re all probably inside, hiding from the stifling heat in the shade. There are no markings on the structure. It could be North Tower Two, or it could be some other one. There’s no way for me to know.

I’ll be passing right by it if I head west, and if the guards inside the enclosure look outside, I’ll be caught in an instant.

For a moment, I consider turning back and trying to locate the road when I’m farther south, out of sight of this guard tower, but I decide against that. There could be more towers there. Plus, Rosa said the security software focuses on things approaching the estate. That means the computer might flag anything moving south from this point.

I have to either cross the river here, or turn west now and attempt to find the road where it intersects with this river.

I look at the river. With the thick bushes blocking my view, I can’t tell how wide or deep it is. It could easily have a strong current or, since it’s the Amazon rainforest, be teeming with crocodiles. If I were a particularly strong swimmer, I’d risk it, but crossing jungle rivers wasn’t a big part of my training.

I glance at the tower again. Still no guards on the walkway. Could they be playing poker inside?

I vacillate between my two options for a minute, debating the pros and cons of each, but ultimately, it’s the position of the sun that helps me make my decision. It’s moving lower in the sky, signifying that the afternoon is wearing on. I don’t have a watch, so I don’t know the time, but it’s probably getting close to three p.m.

If I don’t locate the road soon, I risk missing the delivery truck, and then it won’t matter if the guards in the tower spot me or not. Once Diego and Eduardo realize I’m missing, I’ll be found in a matter of hours if I’m still in this jungle on foot.

Trying to steady my shaking hands, I place the M16 on the ground. I’m much more likely to get shot if I’m visibly armed, and one assault rifle won’t help me against guards who are better armed and have the protection of the enclosure.

With one last look at the river, I leave the shelter of my tree and head west, toward the tower.

Thin tree. Thick tree. Root. Bush. A cluster of wild flowers. I stare at the plant life as I walk, the fear like icy fingers clawing at my chest. The tower looms closer—I can see it in my peripheral vision now—and I focus on not looking at it, on moving slowly and deliberately, just one foot in front of another.

Thick tree. Another thick tree. A small ditch that I have to jump over. My heart feels like it might leap out of my throat, but I keep moving, keep not looking at the tower. It’s parallel to me, then slightly behind me, and I still keep my gaze trained ahead and walk at the same measured pace.

My skin crawls and the back of my neck tingles as I cross a small clearing, but there are still no shouts or gunfire.

They don’t see me.

This must be North Tower Two.

I risk picking up my pace slightly, and when I glance back a couple of minutes later, the tower is no longer visible.

I stop and lean against a tree trunk, my knees going weak with relief.

I made it past the tower without getting shot.

When my frantic heartbeat slows a little, I force myself to straighten and keep going.

I don’t know how long it takes before I reach the road, but the sun is hovering lower in the sky when I find it. The road is not much—it’s just an unpaved path cutting through the jungle—but at the point where it meets the river, it widens onto a sturdy wooden bridge.

I stop and listen, but all is silent. No sounds of a car approaching, no signs of the guards.

I turn onto the bridge and start walking. Immediately, I realize I was right not to try crossing the river at the earlier location. The river is wide, and both banks are steep, almost cliff-like. Even if I made it across, I would’ve had trouble climbing up the other side.

I keep walking, and soon the bridge—and Esguerra’s compound—is behind me. I try to keep to the tree line as much as I can while staying by the road. I don’t want to be spotted by any drones that might be patrolling the area, but I can’t chance missing the returning delivery truck.

I walk for what feels like hours before I finally hear the rumble of a car engine.

This is it.

I take out the knife I stole from Lucas’s kitchen and stick it into the waistband of my shorts, covering the handle with the bottom of my tank top. I hope I won’t have to use the knife, but it’s best to be prepared.

Ignoring the frantic hammering of my pulse, I step out onto the road and wait for the vehicle to approach.

It’s a van, not a truck as I supposed. It stops in front of me, and the driver—a short middle-aged man with darkly bronzed skin—jumps out, staring at me in surprise. He asks something in Spanish, and I shake my head, saying, “Tourist. I’m an American tourist, and I got lost. Please help me.”

He looks even more surprised and says something in rapid-fire Spanish.

I shake my head again. “Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”

He frowns and looks around, as if expecting a translator to jump out from the bushes. When nothing happens, he shrugs and motions for me to follow him to the car.

I climb into the passenger seat next to him, making sure to keep my hand close to the knife at my side. The delivery man could be Esguerra’s employee, or he could be a civilian who just happens to deliver food to an arms dealer’s estate.