Seal of Surrender (15 page)

The guards escorted him out of the plane to a waiting armored truck.

As he ducked to climb inside, Chago caught sight of Irena and Innocent through the terminal windows. They'd reached Xander and Luther and now pointed furiously in Chago's direction. His commander looked up and they locked gazes. At least something had gone right this day.

They traveled for what seemed like hours.

Chago scanned the cloistered interior of the transport for an escape route or something to fashion into a weapon. The surrounding guards scowled and fidgeted in the stagnant air, the pungent odor of sweat thick in the rear of the jostling vehicle.

Before he could locate a viable option, a familiar voice rained disdain all over his save-the-day parade. “You didn't honestly believe your half-assed plan would succeed, did you?”

Fists clenched, he unleashed a volley of visual daggers at the man responsible for his current incarceration. “And what do you hope to accomplish by arming these rebels to the eyeballs? World domination?”

“In this hellhole?” Drake's phony chuckle pinged off the thick steel walls like machine gun fire. “Like I give two shits about these filthy scum.” He slapped away a persistent insect from near his ear. “No. My plans are much more civilized.”

Chago held the dubious honor of dealing with more than his share of power-hungry maniacs and Drake was nothing if not an oozing bag of ebullient charm mixed with the deceit of a world-class sociopath. The night of the fundraiser gala, the sneaky bastard had bilked those loaded billionaires before they realized his sticky fingers were anywhere near their pockets. “Civilized my ass.”

“Yes. It's too bad your friends will be deprived of your sparkling conversation, but where you're going, there's no visitors allowed.” Drake settled into a corner of the hard metal bench, crossed his legs, and folded his hands atop his knee like a choirboy waiting for the sermon to start. “Don't worry though. I'll be sure to look after Irena when you're gone.”

The thought of Irena at the mercy of this asshole again made him want to vomit. “If you so much as breathe on her, I swear I'll — .”

A rifle butt slammed into his temple and sharp pain brought an abrupt end to his tirade. Blood trickled slow from the fresh wound, matching the steady burn of his fury.

In a burst of adrenaline, Chago wrapped the chain between his handcuffs around the neck of a nearby guard, choking the man in an attempt to gain control of his weapon. His efforts earned him another barrage of kicks and punches.

Drake sat back and observed the scene with a look of abject boredom. “So hard to find good mercenaries these days.”

Head pounding, he continued, undaunted. “You won't succeed.”

“I already have.”

The truck jerked to a stop.

He tried to see past the bars dividing the driver from the rear compartment, but a rifle barrel forced him back against the wall. Given the time and the vehicle's speed, Chago guessed they'd driven a moderate distance, but he had no idea of the direction. If the whiff of scorched elephant grass and mildew was any indication, he was now somewhere close to the coastline.

The cargo doors opened to blinding light. Two guards dragged him out and forced him to kneel on the baking ground.

“I'd like to say it's been a pleasure, but I don't want to waste a perfectly good lie.” Drake climbed into the passenger side of the truck then turned to the guards. “Make sure he's dead. And burn the evidence. I don't want any messy issues to crop up later.”

Drake took off in a spray of gravel.

The first bullet fired moments later.

Pain ripped through Chago as ammo lodged in his left chest, missing his heart by a few inches. A second round struck near his pelvis, nicking his femoral artery. Blood pooled beneath him, the coppery metallic tang swelling as his consciousness wavered. Only the dark odor of gunpowder registered after the third strike, his senses beyond overloaded. The final bullet grazed behind his ear and across his temple, shattering bone but missing his vital brain tissue.

He slumped forward. Rocky earth stung his wounds as the soldiers lifted him and tossed his body into a nearby ravine and fled. For once, he was grateful the bastards didn't follow orders.

Vision gone, his last tether on reality slipped. Inevitable death approached through the darkness and his last thoughts focused on Irena. He registered a distant vibration in his pocket, the final sensation of his failing nervous system before he plunged into the abyss. Time ceased and the world faded to peaceful, cocooning black.

Chago floated in a timeless vortex of soothing blankness, lulled into a tranquil, healing oblivion.

Awareness returned in stages.

Cool. Damp.

A quick glance around offered no clue to his whereabouts and a fast check of his limbs found everything in working order again.

He managed to stand, only to strike his head on a hard surface. Fumbling, he extended his hands to determine the dimensions of his shrouded surroundings. His fingertips registered the stark reality — small and without a tangible exit. Fantastic.

His phone, concealed from the soldiers and still in his possession, provided some illumination but no signal. The low battery light flashed near the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Shit.

Chago held the device aloft and performed a quick survey of the area, relieved to discover a hidden egress toward the rear of the cave, cramped but passable. He switched the device off to conserve power and stumbled forward as his eyes slowly readjust to the dark. Jaw clenched, he stuffed his large frame through the tunnel and out into a much larger enclosure. A crevice in the rocks aloft allowed a few beams of light to shine through and provided his only means for escape.

Several large boulders rested in one corner. Chago stacked them to construct a makeshift ladder and a modicum of hope returned. With Xander and Luther's help, they'd ensure Irena's safety.

Life was good
.

A sneeze issued from the tunnel entrance, followed by a menacing growl. He turned slowly to find dozens of eyes gleaming orange in the gloom, the occasional flash of fangs bright as incandescent bulbs. A pack of hyena eyed him like filet mignon.

Life was bad.

He continued to stack rocks while the clan circled, their tongues lolling and saliva dripping. They were hungry — starved, if their gaunt faces and poking ribs were any indication. Chago eyed the space between his capstone and the hole in the ceiling. If he jumped he might make it. If he fell, he most certainly wouldn't. Even immortality had its limits.

Years of Scion training had drilled the rules into his head. If the main portions of his body remained intact, he would survive. Scattered parts meant all bets were off. With no one else available to pick up his pieces — and the way the mangy pack appeared ready to pounce, there would definitely be pieces — he'd be a goner.

The alpha jumped to his makeshift tower's base.

Chago scrambled higher on the pile with the snap of jaws sharp on his heels. The exit loomed farther than his outstretched grip. Jagged rocks offered the promise of a solid hold, if he could extend his reach. He glanced down to find the rest of the pack had followed their leader. One pair scrambled higher to a small shelf of rock. The alpha leapt for another shot, his yellow eyes bright with deadly intent.

Out of options, Chago drew a deep breath and jumped. His fingertips scrabbled against the sharp stone, his legs swinging in a perilous arc above the cavern. Biceps strained, he hoisted up and attempted to climb toward the opening. He reached and found purchase, but his relief was short lived. A crack echoed through the cave. The chunk of rock beneath his grip broke free.

Arms flailing, he plummeted.

Time seemed to slow.

A patch of blue sky above twinkled a merry taunt at his fall.

His body impacted the hard stone floor with the force of a one-mile nosedive. The air exploded from his lungs and his bones shattered like dry chalk, rivaling the agony of the canines tearing his flesh to shreds.

His final groan escaped as a solemn prayer. “Irena.”

Irena sat curled up in the corner of the sofa in Xander's room, her phone in hand. Every vibration of the device prompted her to scroll furiously through the delivered messages, hoping for a word from Chago.

Days ago, she hadn't known he existed. Now, it seemed she couldn't survive without him. No other man appealed to her in the way he did. No other person touched that area inside of her, wounded and broken by atrocity. No other soul seemed so attuned to hers. Damn, she missed him. If honesty prevailed, her heart had struck a proprietary claim on the brooding warrior the night of the fundraiser gala.

“I got something!” Luther pointed to his laptop screen. Xander moved into position beside him, as did Innocent.

Relief flooded Irena's system and she rushed join them.

They'd been able to use the last signal from Chago's phone to obtain his GPS coordinates — two hours outside of Kinshasa, near the coast. With what she now knew of Drake's nefarious deeds, the isolated locale made sense. The bastard wouldn't want witnesses — bad for publicity.

“Let's secure a vehicle and get him the hell out of there.” Xander's voice had lost none of its bluster since their arrival at the hotel. “We can't be sure of his physical condition.”

Luther rushed from the room to procure transport.

Xander checked his weapons then turned to Irena and Innocent. “You both stay here. We'll return soon.”

“No.” She stalked to the door “He's in trouble because of me. I won't stay behind.”

Chago's commander fixed her with the measured stare of a battle-hardened veteran. A look meant to infuse fear in the ordinary person. Too bad she wasn't ordinary. She'd faced much worse over the years and his glower meant little more than nothing to her now. Irena stood her ground like a true embattled refugee, a deadly huntress on a mission of mercy.

“Please.” Xander changed tactics, his tone now imbued with reason. His quicksilver gaze held the correct amount of concern and warmth. He stepped forward with a sympathetic expression, his warm voice tinged with a hint of Mediterranean accent.

“I'm sure he's fine and you'll be more comfortable here. It's not your fault he's out there. Protection's his job.”

The man was good. Very good. She could just imagine women swooning over his tall, dark gorgeousness, but Irena was immune to his potent charms. Her only goal was Chago. She crossed her arms and held firm. “If you don't take me, I'll find my own way to the site.”

Innocent snorted from his spot on the sofa and all eyes turned in his direction. “I wouldn't argue with Ms. Irena. She and Mr. Chago are — ”

Irena coughed and shot Innocent a silencing glare, interrupting his statement.

“Yes, Mr. Balewa?” Xander prodded. “She and Chago are what?”

“Me name's Innocent. Nobody call me Mr. Balewa except the tax man, so's I don't care for it much, yeah? All I saying is she and Mr. Chago work close these last few days. They gots kinship. She might help you find him.”

Irena forced herself to remain steady under Xander's laser-sharp focus. Chago was in peril and she'd fight heaven and hell to save him.

Luther returned with a set of car keys. “Vehicle's downstairs. Range Rover.”

Xander stowed the laptop in a messenger bag and slung it across his body. Irena grabbed her phone and followed in his wake. Innocent moved to stand beside her and lifted the hem of his white cotton shirt to reveal the hilt of a sinister looking dagger couched in his waistband.

“Right.” Xander departed, leaving the others to trail him to the elevators. “Let's go.”

• • •

His world had been reduced to a haze of agony.

Every square inch of real estate on Chago's person felt bruised, broken or otherwise flayed. Sunlight continued to beam down in a dusty torrent, the angle now elongated, shifting as time pushed forward. A snarl from the shadows focused his attention. Fuck. Where was the hyena pack?

He struggled to sit, but his head spun from blood loss and his lower extremities felt disengaged from the rest of his torso. In his weakened state and with questionable navigational skills at present, flashing was out of the question. Plus, his power reserves were completely drained. Claws skittered in the dim recesses and the occasional growl edged nearer to his face.

Chago slammed his eyes shut and awaited the second onslaught.

Nothing.

He peeked one eye open and scanned. Turned to the opposite side and allowed the dizziness to abate before he peered again. A flash of white blipped through his line of vision, the figure's gaunt silhouette full of jarring angles and wicked lines. The singsong-crazy chuckle and brimstone stench foretold the stranger's identity. Lucifer. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why did it have to be Lucifer?

Black ooze dripped into a sizzling puddle on the stone floor near his head. A set of bare toes touched down before being covered by the hem of filthy polyester pants. Sulfur choked his already bruised lungs. The infernal creature drew closer and leaned into his face. The combined effect of Lucifer's crack-addict complexion and his injuries made Chago want to puke.

“Looks like you've gotten yourself into a small bind.” Lucifer assessed his numerous wounds with inhuman speed. “Poor boy. My hyena tore you to shreds. Pity. I taught them better than that. One should never toy with one's food. Ruins the flavor.”

Lucifer flicked his serpentine tongue across his paper-thin lips. A snarl of a smile stretched his cadaverous face into a Grinch-like grin.

“Get away from me.” He struggled to move. “You better be long gone before I heal, otherwise I'm going to kick your sorry ass past Hades and back again.”

The cavern filled with Lucifer's maniacal laughter, his gaunt frame lounging on the dirt floor beside Chago. “Ah, I've missed the Scion jokes. You guys haven't visited me since the first Seal mission. How's my Mira? I hear she's in a family way.”