Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) (9 page)

The rocket hit the ground close enough to them that she could feel the shock wave. She'd had no chance to brace for impact, wasn't even sure how close the explosion actually was to them. Close enough that Marc was lifted off the ground and sent flying. A wave of dirt went with them, as well as pieces of a Jeep that had been parked nearby.

Lily was alive when she hit the ground, though she almost wished she wasn't. She screamed as her broken fingers were mashed against the ground while she rolled over and over, landing in some bushes.

Her ears were ringing. Her lungs were on fire. She wasn't entirely sure which direction was up or down, but she managed to push herself upright. The chair was kindling now, so she yanked the ropes free from her wrists and stood up, scanning the area for Marc. While she looked, she saw what the explosion had been – a man was standing on the roof of the building, reloading a rocket launcher.

A bazooka. That motherfucker just fired a bazooka at us.

Marc hadn't made it to the treeline; he must have actually thrown her before the rocket had hit the ground. He was laying on his stomach, facing away from her, and he wasn't moving. Lily hurried over to him, dropping to her knees at his side. She gripped onto his arm and yanked and pulled, forcing him onto his back. He groaned and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Off,” he coughed out. “Get this off.”

She ripped open his dress shirt, revealing a lightweight bullet proof vest. It was peppered with shrapnel, though whether it was from the vehicle or the actual rocket, she couldn't tell. She could only use her right hand, so the going was difficult, but she eventually yanked apart all the Velcro straps. Marc gasped and sucked in air when she pulled the vest off and tossed it away from his body.

“Okay, it's off. Time to move your ass!” she yelled, not relishing another hit from Mr. Rocket Happy on the roof.

It took him a while to climb to his feet, and he was slow as he jogged to the tree line, but Marc picked up speed as they ran. Lily had no clue where they were going, but he seemed to be heading in a specific direction, so she trusted him. There was no time to do anything else, to question anything they were doing.

They crashed through bushes and undergrowth, dodged under branches, slipped around tree trunks. She went down at one point, and Marc didn't miss a beat, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet as he raced past. They could hear people in the jungle behind them, could hear the occasional gunshot, but pretty soon, Lily could hear something else, as well.

Water. The sound of rushing water. A river. She remembered looking at a map of the area surrounding Damiano's home. It had only been about a mile away from
Rio Quindio
, a small river that had several towns up and down its banks.

We're gonna make it. We're totally going to make it. He had a plan. He had a goddamn plan, and it worked.

Then they burst out of the bushes and Lily shrieked as she skidded along the edge of a cliff. Marc's arm went around her waist and hauled her back up against him. She held her breath as she leaned forward a little, looking down. It had to be at least a one hundred foot drop to the river below them. Maybe more.

Fuck his stupid fucking plan. Fucking plans. They never, ever work.

“C'mon!” Marc yelled, then jerked on her arm, dragging her behind him.

They ran along the cliff's edge, and though it did seem to dip down and lower a little, it wasn't nearly enough to make her feel entirely comfortable about jumping. The water was still easily seventy feet below them.

They eventually ran out of room. A huge embankment of rock sprouted up in front of them, blocking them from following the river any farther. They would either have to go back into the jungle to move around it, or they could try to climb it.

Lily couldn't decide which seemed like a worse choice – sheer rock face that offered little to no grips or support, or the jungle that was already full with the sounds of gunmen running through it, getting closer and closer.

“We don't have a choice. We can probably take a few of them down, maybe clear a path,” Marc was breathing heavy as he checked the rifle he'd managed to hold onto, making sure its magazine was full. Lily glanced at the jungle, then glanced at the waterfall, then glanced over the ledge they were standing on.

Seventy feet seemed like a lot. It
was
a lot. But how high did cliff divers jump from? Weren't they known to go as high as one hundred feet? If they jumped from the ledge, she thought maybe it would be okay. The waterfall would have smoothed away the rocks in the pool underneath it, making it nice and deep.

Or at least deep enough, please god. Maybe the jungle isn't such a bad idea ...

A bullet pinged off the rock next to her, and Lily's mind was made up.

“We can jump!” she yelled over the roar of the water.

“Are you fucking crazy!? Did you get hit in the head!?” Marc demanded. She glared at him, then ripped off her gauzy blouse.

“We can do it! We'll be okay!” she assured him, yanking her hair out of its ponytail and rearranging it into a tight bun.

“No! That's suicide! Don't you step off this fucking ledge!” Marc warned her, then he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“That jungle is suicide!” she pointed out, and as if to emphasize that fact, bullets traced through the air above them. They both ducked and Marc returned fire.

“It's a better option than that!” he replied. Lily glanced at the ledge, then back at the jungle.

You're scared. And that's okay. It means you respect the situation. Now move.

“Marc,” she said, her voice soft.

“What!?” he snapped. She turned to stare at him. A lot of time had passed between them. A lot of moments lost. Bonds broken. But still … it was
them
. Lily and Marc.

“
Trust me.
”

She took off running. Marc shouted behind her, but she was too quick. She only had about ten steps, and then she hurled herself into the air.

It was an odd sensation of being frozen. She began to wonder if she was actually going to fall. She could hear her blood pounding in her veins, her breath leaving her body, Marc calling out her name. Then bullets ripped through the illusion. She could hear them above the waterfall, listened as they shredded the ledge she'd just leapt from. She started to feel the fall and she screamed the whole way down.

She hit the water
hard
– she'd never gone cliff diving before, she hadn't been exactly sure what proper protocol was for jumping. She twisted around in the water, fighting against the pain, the undercurrent, the pull of the waterfall. Then something fell into the water next to her and a moment later, Marc was grabbing her, hauling her to the surface.

“That was so ...” he gasped for air, “... fucking dangerous.”

“But it ... worked ...” she was having trouble breathing as well.

The water had ripped most of her pants away, and she kicked her legs to get free of the material. Marc dragged her towards the shore, and though she wanted nothing more than to collapse on the bank, their pursuers broke free of the jungle above them and opened fire on the river.

“
Move!
” Marc was struggling to pull her along behind him.

Lily eventually found her legs and once again, they tore into the forest. It wasn't exactly fast going, but they easily jogged for about a solid mile, maybe more, before Marc suddenly made a sharp right turn. The waterfall was then at their backs and he started moving forward. They were a mile or so in the jungle and walking parallel to the river.

Lily was only wearing her underwear and a black tank top. Her pants, shoes, and the Kevlar panels were gone, stolen by the river. Marc had managed to keep all of his clothing. But they kept trekking, not speaking or stopping for another half an hour.

A vacation. That's what I want. A vacation, where I don't move for a week. Don't move, don't talk, don't even think. That's all.

Lily wasn't sure how long they went for, it seemed like forever. So much mud and green and pain, it all blurred together. She cradled her injured hand to her chest and walked hunched forward, trying to keep up with his pace while watching her steps, but she finally reached a wall. She leaned up against a large tree, then fell to her knees beside it. Leaned forward and pressed her forehead to a root.

“Just for five minutes, I want everything to be still and quiet.”

She had been moving, non-stop, for over six months. She didn't feel like it was too big a request to ask.

“What are you doing!?” Marc demanded, stomping back to her. She sat up and looked at him.

“I have to stop. You go ahead, I don't mind,” she offered. He snorted at her and lowered himself to sit on an old log.

“To get down that cliff, it would've taken them awhile. If they bothered at all. We should be good for a couple minutes,” he said, watching the area around him with a wary eye. Lily shifted so she was sitting on her butt, still holding her hand against her chest.

“Thank you,” she sighed, leaning against the tree and closing her eyes.

There was a shuffling noise, then she felt him right in front of her. She didn't open her eyes till she felt him grabbing her hand and pulling it towards him. Then she watched as he looked over her injured fingers.

“Jesus, that was sick to watch,” he mumbled. She started laughing.

“You think? You should've felt it.”

“Nah, I'm good on broken bones for a while.”

There wasn't a lot they could do for her. Marc found some twigs, then broke them down to the same size as her fingers, making a splint of sorts. He tied them and her fingers together, using his shoelaces. Then he ripped off a strip at the hem of his shirt and wrapped the whole thing around the splint, almost mummifying her digits.

“Thanks,” she said, examining his handiwork. She was thankful that Damiano had started on her left hand, and that he hadn't gotten too far. It wouldn't slow her down too much.

“Fuck, look at you. I can't believe you fucking jumped,” Marc chuckled, shrugging out of his dress shirt. It wasn't much, but it was better than her tank top, and he draped it over her shoulders.

“Had to do something. I've yet to get shot. I'm trying to see how long I can hold out,” she replied, sliding her arms into the sleeves.

“Oh yeah? I'll shoot you. Y'know, to initiate you. Like in the leg,” he offered, teasing her. She rolled her eyes.

“So generous. How many times have you been shot?” she asked. He leaned back against a root and thought for a second.

“I don't know. A couple times. Grazed in Africa, when I took the diamonds. One time in the side, luckily straight through. Another time, right in the ass. You wanna talk about pain,” he sucked air through his teeth.

“Kingsley's been shot a lot,” she commented, and Marc grew still.

“Yes, he has.”

She didn't want to get into it. She didn't owe anything to this man, this person next to her. She didn't want him knowing about her relationship with Kingsley. It wasn't any of his business. He hadn't been there for it, and he wouldn't understand it. Didn't deserve to know anything about it.

“What now?”

“Fuck, that got so fucked up, so fast. What happened?” Marc groaned, running his hand down his face.

“I don't know. Damiano acted like he had no clue who I was, when we danced. And I mean, I really bought it. I stared at him the whole time, and nothing. He didn't show a flicker of recognition, not once. It was all a ruse,” she replied. Marc was quiet for a second.

“Or all a trap,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it was awfully easy to get in the house. Security seemed lax. Damiano should've been shocked to see you, shocked to find out I was there, shocked that we seemed to be together. Why wasn't he surprised?” Marc wondered out loud. Lily was at a loss.

“In the room back there, he did seem surprised that we were together – he couldn't figure out your role in it all, but he'd heard about me, knew I was in Colombia, knew all about the diamonds. Maybe someone warned him about us, but separately?” she threw out there.

“Maybe,” was all Marc offered.

“Probably. Doesn't matter. It was so fucked up,” she agreed with him, looking down at her hand again. Her broken fingers throbbed.

“But we got out,” he countered.

“Still. I didn't learn anything I didn't already know, whereas Stankovski is now
very
aware of my presence. Now he's gone and I have to start from scratch. What a waste of time,” she complained, slowly getting to her feet. He followed suit.

“It wasn't a waste. I learned some stuff, like Roksana and Damiano are sleeping together. And now we know that Stankovski has already got Damiano wrapped around his finger, if he's getting him to poach for low lifes like us,” Marc pointed out.

“Whatever. I just want to get out of this fucking jungle. This fucking country. I want ...
room service,
” she breathed out.

“
Spoiled
.”

“Shut up, De Sant.”