Page 40 of Lucky

I find it, grip it, and drive it upward. The blade sinks into his side, and his grip loosens just enough for me to suck in a ragged breath. I twist the knife, and he howls, rolling off me and clutching at the wound.

I scramble to my feet, grabbing the fallen rifle, and aim it at his head. My finger hovers over the trigger. He looks up at me, his face contorted in pain and fear, but I feel no mercy. Not for him. Not after Marco.

The shot rings out, final and unforgiving.

The silence is broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing. I look around, taking in the carnage—the bodies, the blood, the shattered remnants of the afternoon. And then my gaze falls on Marco.

He was more than just a soldier. He was my friend, my confidant, my family. And now he’s gone.

“No!” I scream, my voice an anguished plea. I drop to my knees beside him once again, the weight of his loss crashing down on me, but strong hands grip my arms, dragging me backward. I thrash violently, my gun slipping from my grasp as my attacker tightens his grip on me.

A black van screeches to a halt behind me. The side door slides open, and I’m shoved inside with such brutal force that my face hits the metal floor of the van bed. I feel the sting of my skin as it splits open. I bolt upright and shoot a leg out. It connects squarely with a man’s face and he falls back, no longer obliterating my view. My eyes skirt across the road at the death and destruction in front of me, landing on an unmoving Marco.

Another man appears out of nowhere and pushes me further into the van, then climbs in and stalks toward me. The interior smells of oil and sweat. I kick out, landing a solid hit on the man’s shin, but another man appears and forces my arms behind my back, securing them with zip ties.

“Let go of me, you bastards!” I spit, my voice venomous.

One of the masked men leans close, his breath hot against my ear. “There’s no place for little girls in the jungle,” he hisses.

My blood runs cold at the malice in his voice, but I take comfort, no matter how small, in the fact that they haven’t killed me yet. If they wanted to, they would have already.

The van roars away, leaving the smoldering wreckage of my convoy behind. I struggle hopelessly against my restraints, my mind racing. Marco is dead. My men are gone. And now, I’m at the mercy of her enemies. And with a sudden burst of clarity, I realize that nothing short of a miracle can save me this time.

21

JACKLYN

Iwake in a cold, sterile room, my head pounding, my vision blurry. My wrists are bound by ropes, my hands numb from the tight sting against my skin. The room smells of antiseptic and old leather, and I can hear the faint hum of machinery in the background.

It takes a while, but my eyes start to focus and a shadow starts to take shape.

I’m not alone.

Daniel Russo steps into my line of sight, his eyes cold, calculating. He shoots me a cocky smirk.

“So, Jacklyn... seems like you’ve found yourself in a bit of a pickle again.”

I want to spit at him, want to tell him exactly what I think of his betrayal, but the words get stuck in my throat. The image of Marco laying in a pool of his own blood is all I see, and it causes me to panic as fury surges through me. My heart is pounding too loudly in my ears, my thoughts racing in a thousand directions at once as I close my eyes and wish to be anywhere else but here.

Anywhere else. On any other given day. Far from this maddening crowd of thugs. If only I could undo the past fewhours and turn back the hands of time. If only I could bring Marco back. One thing is clear as I sit facing my arch nemesis; the city is burning, even in the presence of Seattle. Which means we’re all in more trouble than we bargained for.

“What are you doing, Daniel? Where am I?”

My hands and feet are tied to a chair, which tells me there’s at least some level of fear when it comes to me. But I may just be delusional – maybe it’s more caution so I don’t run away.

Daniel struts around the room like he owns it. Which he may – I don’t know. But he’s a cocky bastard, and if I get the chance, I will drive a stake through his heart and bury him six feet under. Gladly. I may even record the whole thing so I can get high on the feeling every time I play back the scene. That’s how much I hate this man.

“Not such a big shot now, are you Jacklyn?”

He bends until we’re level, face to face, his calculating eyes piercing through me. With a jolt, I realize he’s actually waiting for an answer to his question.

“No,” I answer. “You’re the big shot now…especially when you have to tie me up to control me.”

And that does it. I’ve pushed the right button. His jaw ticks back and forth before he straightens, standing to his full height.

“I heard Dante Accardi is in town,” he says, as he paces around me.

“Oh, ok,” I snipe back. “So you brought me here so we can have cookies and tea over a good gossip?”