The Rebel King (All the King's Men Duet #2) - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,13

look good.”

Wallace grabs my hand. “Don’t lose hope.”

How do I tell him I lost hope long ago? Now I live between flashes of faith and glimpses of hope, even as I fight. The one thing that has given me hope, the one thing that has renewed my faith, is another thing I’ll lose.

Maxim.

“Wall,” I say, squeezing his hand with new urgency. “I need you to promise me something.”

“No.” He shakes his head, his eyes panicked. “No promises. You’ll make it out of this.”

“You have some leverage. Maybe not much, but promise me you’ll try to do what I ask.”

“What . . .” He swallows and looks down to the dirt of the cave floor. “What is it?”

“My body,” I choke, blinking back tears. “Make him send me home.”

“Lenny, no.” Wallace hangs his head, clenching his eyes closed. “Please no.”

“Yes.” I lift my cuffed hands under his chin, forcing his gaze to meet mine. “Try to do this for me. My father can’t go through that again. Not knowing. Never seeing. Not sure. He needs closure, no matter how bad it is.” I stuff a sob back down my throat.

“And Maxim,” I say, “he’ll need that, too. God, I never got to tell Maxim I love him, and now it’s too late.”

Tears leak from under Wallace’s closed lids, dampening his lashes. He shakes his head. “I hate you got dragged into this. I’m so sorry. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not your fault.” My tears win, coursing over my cheeks.

I cover my mouth, capturing the painful sob before it escapes and reveals my vulnerability to the bastards guarding the cave. Hot tears leak over my fingers and burn a trail down my neck. I close my eyes and draw a deep breath from the well of strength inside me that I pray is deep enough for what’s ahead.

“You sound like you’ve accepted this,” Wallace says. “That’s not like you. You’re a fighter. You don’t surrender. Remember?”

“You can still fight with fear in your heart.” A watery chuckle escapes me. “Sometimes it’s the greatest motivator. The fear of what you’ll lose can make you that much more determined to win. My life is at stake, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this alive, but if I don’t, I have to think about the ones who mean the most to me.” I discipline my mouth into a firm line. “I’ll be prepared for the worst and fight for the best.”

I reach over and grab his hand, our shackled wrists overlapping. “There are two things that do give me hope, Wall.”

“What?”

“Did I ever tell you that I dream of my mother?”

The question seems to startle him. His brows lift and he fixes all his attention on me. “No. What do you dream?”

I recall the night I huddled in Maxim’s arms after a nightmare, and can almost feel the strength, the comfort I found in him.

“It’s different, but sometimes the same. Sometimes a recurring nightmare, sometimes a memory.”

I find Wallace’s eyes in the dim light of the cave. “I dreamt of her. We were back at my Sunrise Dance, this rite of passage for young girls in my tribe. She looked right at me and told me to run.”

I shake my head, a slight smile curving my lips. “I’m hoping she’s reaching me somehow, letting me know when the time is right, to be ready. That gives me hope.”

“And the other thing?” Wallace asks. “What’s the other thing that gives you hope?”

“Maxim,” I say with soft certainty. “If there’s a way out of this, he’ll find it. If there isn’t . . .” A hot knot of emotion and tears crowd and burn my throat.

“If there’s not,” I tell Wallace, “just remember your promise. I have to go home.”

The words I don’t say chill the silent air between us.

Dead or alive.

7

Maxim

“You stay here.”

Grim’s words cut through the thick jungle humidity like a machete.

“I told you I’m a great shot,” I say, my voice gravelly and frustrated.

“It was short notice, but between my contacts and your brother’s, I’ve assembled a great team of qualified guys,” he says pointedly. “You might be a great shot, but you ain’t qualified, brother.”

“I can still help.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near the action. We shouldn’t need your help, but if the action comes to you, you got that.” He nods to the gun holstered at my hip, and then glances at the nine men checking their weapons and preparing for the strike. They’re some scary motherfuckers. Like a