Chapter 402
Chapter 402:
Skye stared into the fire. The exhaustion lowered her guard.
“I’ve heard that sound before,” she whispered.
“You’ve never been near guns,” Liam said, frowning. “You hate violence p>
“In the warehouse,” Skye murmured, her eyes glazing over.
“What warehouse?” Liam asked slowly.
Skye blinked. The fog in her brain cleared instantly. She realized what she had said. The sound of the sniper’s bolt action—the metallic clack-clack before the shot—had triggered a specific auditory memory. Not of her death, but of what happened right before.
“The sound of the lock breaking,” she lied quickly, her heart hammering. “When I was… kidnapped. Years ago. You didn’t know. Before we met p>
It was a clumsy lie. Liam didn’t look convinced. He held the lighter up, studying her face. The excuse was thin, and they both knew it. He looked at the hardness in her eyes, the tactical awareness she had shown, the way she moved.
“You’re not the Skye I married,” Liam whispered. “She was soft. She was scared of the dark. You… you jumped into a ravine without hesitating p>
He leaned closer. “Who are you, really p>
Thunder crashed outside, shaking the ground. It masked her silence.
Skye leaned her head back against the cold rock wall and closed her eyes.
“I’m the woman who survived you,” she said.
Liam looked like he wanted to ask more, but a sound from outside stopped him.
Snap.
A twig breaking. Right outside the vines.
Liam extinguished the lighter instantly.
Darkness swallowed them. They held their breath, listening to the heavy breathing of a predator just feet away.
The snap of the twig was followed by a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against the humid air.
Inside the cramped cave, Skye and Liam froze, their breaths locked in their chests.
The mercenary outside didn’t barge in. He was cautious, a professional sweeping the perimeter.
Skye watched a beam from a tactical flashlight slice through gaps in the foliage at the entrance, missing their huddled forms by inches.
𝘕𝗼 𝘪ո𝗍𝘳𝗎𝗌𝗶𝗏e 𝗮𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝖻𝘦.𝗰𝗼𝗺
She knew they couldn’t overpower him—not in their condition. Liam was dead weight, and her ankle throbbed with a pulse of its own.
They needed a distraction. Or a miracle.
Skye’s fingers found a fist-sized rock buried in the sand.
She waited until the footsteps shifted slightly to the left, away from the entrance.
With a silent prayer, she hurled the rock through a gap in the vines, aiming for a tree trunk ten yards away.
Thud.
The mercenary spun, rifle raised toward the noise.
“Contact right,” he muttered into his comms, moving toward the sound.
“Now,” Skye hissed.
She hauled Liam up, adrenaline masking the pain in her ankle.
They didn’t run. They scrambled out of the cave and toward the service road they’d spotted on the map earlier.
Luck, it seemed, was finally dealing them a playable hand.
A battered, rust-eaten Land Rover sat idling near a small supply shed, its driver likely the man now investigating the tree trunk.