The man was screaming, the whites of his eyes noticeable even in the dark.
A government soldier. They were always fucking cowards.
“Luc!” Someone was shouting at him but he tuned that out too because that was another distraction. He’d take this guy out first then he’d deal with whatever other problem was happening.
Someone pulled on his arm. Hard. What the fuck? He snarled and whirled around, finding another soldier at his elbow, still tugging on his arm. Prick. Why hadn’t he spotted the second guy?
He reached out quickly with his free hand, grabbing the man by the throat. The guy on the ground was still screaming, which meant Luc could probably leave him until he’d dealt with the fucker trying to get his knife.
Springing to his feet, he propelled the gasping soldier up against the wall of a ruined building and brought his knife under the man’s throat. A dark trickle of blood began winding down the pale skin.
Wait. Pale skin?
In the sky above, light flashed. Red and green and blue.
Illuminating Eleanor’s terrified face.
Chapter Fourteen
She kept saying his name, over and over again. Because this wasn’t him, she could see it wasn’t. There was a horrifyingly blank look on his face and a dead expression in his eyes.
She didn’t know where this man had come from or why, but she knew Luc was in there, somewhere behind that terrifying expression. And if she kept saying his name she’d reach him.
She could feel the knife at her throat, the slight pain of the blade against her skin. The trickle of blood. But she forced down the fear. Because she knew that this man wouldn’t hurt her intentionally. Knew it with absolute certainty.
All she had to do was reach him.
The drunks that had lumbered into her, including the one that Luc had taken to the ground, had long since run. There was no one around except this man, who had her up against one of the campus buildings, his fingers around her throat, the point of his knife under her chin.
Fireworks exploded above her, but she kept saying his name.
And then something must have clicked in his head because his eyes widened suddenly. And she knew he’d finally seen her.
Horror flooded through his face. “No,” he whispered. “Oh fuck no.” The knife fell away, dropping to the ground as he stumbled back. Then he gave an anguished groan and covered his face with his hands.
Her heart twisted at the sound. Something was very, very wrong.
Luc hadn’t been in Auckland. He’d been somewhere else, seeing something else. And she didn’t know where or why, but she was going to find out.
Ignoring the sting of the cut on her throat and the fear echoing through her, Eleanor propelled herself away from the building. Crossing the distance between them, she took his wrists in a strong grip and pulled them away from his face.
“Something happened to you in Africa, didn’t it?” Because she was now pretty sure of that. “Tell me.”
His eyes were black holes, sucking in light. The pain in them depthless. “You don’t want to know.” His voice was hoarse, ragged. He shook her hand away, reaching to touch the line of blood now drying on her skin. “Fuck, I only wanted to protect you, but…I hurt you.”
Eleanor gripped his wrist. Held it. “I do want to know. You pushed me up against a building and held a knife to my throat. Don’t you think I deserve to know why?” It was brutal, but she had the sense that if she wanted to get anything out of him at all she needed to be brutal.
Luc stared at her for a long moment and the anguish in his expression made her chest hurt far worse than any stupid knife prick. “I never wanted this to happen. I tried…fuck…” Abruptly he turned, taking a few steps away from her as if he wanted to put distance between them. “After my parents were killed, I was recruited into one of the antigovernment militias, headed by an ex-general, Charles Inza. They needed fighters and they took everyone. They took me.”
“But…” she couldn’t quite get her head around it, “…you were a kid.”
“I was twelve. They took a few younger than me too.” His voice sounded flat, lifeless. “Kids make good soldiers. They’re obedient. You don’t need to pay them. And you can mold them into whomever you want them to be.” He paused. “The first six months were the worst. They gave you a week’s worth of training, put a gun in your hand and then told you to kill people. And if you didn’t, you were shot. If you protested, you were shot. If you cried, you were shot. The only way to survive was to do what they told you to.”
Shock and grief rose in her throat, choking her. The cold sound of his voice… Jesus. He was detailing things no child should ever have to go through. “And you had to…” Her voice failed and she couldn’t make herself say it.