Bounty

Chapter 7

He gave my body the slow once-over and smiled, showing more evidence of his disdain for oral hygiene. I figured the old guy had to be Makhmud Gurzhikhanov. He had an air of authority about him, and everyone was treating him like the big boss.

He said something incomprehensible to me in a language I didn't recognize. I looked at him blankly. He raised his voice and tried again, but I shrugged my shoulders. That seemed to enrage him.

He turned and shouted at a nearby man, who approached and tried to calm him as much as he could. It didn't work. Gurzhikhanov hauled off and punched him, screaming the entire time. He punched him until the poor man fell to the ground.

By now, I had a nice buzz going from the Valium that Brodie gave me. I was still scared and disoriented, but I didn't much care. I was floating. I made a mental note to ask for more Valium as soon as possible.

With the man beaten to the floor, Gurzhikhanov grabbed my hand and raised it high. "Nashkha!" he shouted in much the same way Brodie did. And it had the same effect. The crowd cheered and whooped it up, spraying bullets into the ceiling and outside into the air.

Introductions were over, and I was shuffled into the middle of a sea of women. We paraded down the street, cheered on by spectators. Everyone was very friendly, and they were obviously thrilled to have me there. Perhaps I judged the whole kidnapping thing too harshly. I had finally found a big, loving family.

"Hello. Hello. I am Anna." A lovely young woman with bright blue eyes pumped my hand in greeting as we walked. Her thick, Slavic accent lilted melodiously. "I am so happy you are here. It is like miracle."

"Nice to meet you, Anna. I'm so happy you speak English," I said.

"I learn in school."

Anna offered me water and a cookie. I was delighted to have a friend in the midst of the craziness. She was kind and supportive and possibly my ticket out of there.

"Anna, do you think I could use a phone?" I asked.

Her smile vanished. "Oh, no. You cannot do that. You use phone, and Gurzhikhanov will cut off your nose."

"My nose?"

"Or ear. Ear is better." She pulled back her hair to show me the hole on the side of her head where her ear should have been. "Not too bad to lose ear."

The Valium started to wear off.

We walked a couple of miles until the city gave way to the countryside and the mountains. The parade of women got smaller, and by the time we reached their compound, I had only a handful of escorts.

The compound consisted of several scattered wood huts, one larger, three-story building, and a smattering of broken down vehicles.

We walked past a broken bus, and I was startled when a man screamed from inside it, throwing his body against the back door. He beat on the windows, which were all sealed shut from the outside. It took a moment for me to realize that the bus was, in fact, his prison. He screamed and pleaded, trying to get the attention of the women, who did everything they could to ignore him.

I didn't know how they could avert their eyes. He was bloody, bruised, and swollen with dirt smeared all over him. His expression was pure terror. I wanted to help him, but Anna pushed me forward, and my cowardly legs kept walking.

"This is your marriage home," Anna said and opened the door of one of the huts. Mats covered the floor, and it was furnished with a solitary straight-backed chair. Home.

"You sleep now," Anna said. "Tomorrow you start your wedding."

"Tomorrow?" My heart sank. I didn't have much time to escape.

"Chechen wedding take long time," she said. She pointed to a mat in the corner and motioned me to lie down. I did, and she covered me with a blanket. "You sleep now. Tomorrow big day."

I eyed the mat dubiously. "Don't worry," she said. "Men watch door. No problems for you." I looked through the doorway, and sure enough, two gun-wielding men stood there. There was no way out.

I lay down on my side, and covered my head with the blanket to block out the screams. It was no use. I could still hear the poor man in the bus.

But stress is an amazing thing, and Valium isn't so bad, either. Within minutes, I was sound asleep.

It was freezing cold in the mountains of Chechnya, which came as a welcome relief from the unbearable heat of Africa. However, my Chechen lady escorts were doing their best to take my parka away from me. We were having a game of tug of war in my little, very cold, hut.

"Cold," I said, miming the shivering carcass that I would be without my coat. They responded with a fast argument in a language I didn't understand and a more aggressive tug on my parka.

"My kingdom for an English/Chechen dictionary," I yelled out.

Better than a dictionary, Anna walked in. "Nashkha, you will be changed today," she explained. "You must to change in dress for wedding."

"Will I get my parka back?"

"No," she said. "You are traditional Chechen now."

"I think I'll keep my coat." I gave the ladies a pull.

"Nashkha," Anna said gently, touching my arm. "Give coat, or I shoot you in leg. Wedding happen, leg or no."

Anna lifted her sweater to reveal a large pistol tucked in her waistband. It was a sentiment I had heard before. Everyone was threatening my limbs. At least I wasn't locked in a bus and tortured, I reminded myself. I handed over the parka, and they made quick work of the rest of my clothes.

I was stripped down and then piled high with layer upon layer of silk dresses. Several kerchiefs were tied around my head, and I was decked out in at least twenty pounds of silver belts, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. When they got to my feet there was a loud gasp from the four women.

I hadn't been applying the medicine like I was supposed to, and it was noticeable. My feet looked worse than ever. I was a foot monster. There was a lot of discussion among the ladies with pointing and gesturing at my feet.

I didn't bother explaining my condition to them. I didn't tell them that I had medication for my feet in my overnight bag, wherever that was. Perhaps the wedding would be called off on account of the bride's grotesque feet. Besides, my Princess Peach polish was almost entirely chipped off, and the prospect of losing my toenails was becoming less and less disagreeable. I didn't care anymore. I was going to be wed to a psychopathic killer with bad teeth. No more Princess Peach polish, but a less shiny princess in its place, nonetheless. It was almost poetic.

Three of the ladies continued their discussion about my feet in earnest, while the fourth left the hut, only to come in a few minutes later with a small goat.

"Nashkha, stick your feet under goat," said Anna.

"I don't think I like where this is going," I said.

"It work," she said. "Luba know these feet. She know what to do. Put them under goat." The lady named Luba nodded her head vigorously and smiled.

"I have medicine," I began.

Luba shook her head and frowned. "Medicine, no! Medicine, no!" Funny how that was the only English Luba knew. She grabbed one of my feet and placed it under the goat. She gave the goat's belly a little squeeze, and out came yesterday's lunch, plop, right on my foot.

"Oh, my God," I shrieked.

"Good! Good!" yelled Luba, encouragingly. She smeared the stuff all over my feet and covered them with wool stockings. They topped it with wool slippers, and I was officially bride material.

Goat s**t and all.

I squished, squished, squished up the path to the bigger building where, according to Anna, a succession of live shows, singing, dancing, and musical and pantomime numbers were to take place.

The wedding had centuries of tradition behind it. The mountain people were a proud group and happy to pull out the stops for my historic nuptials.

I slip-slided in my slippers. The homemade "medicine" on my feet mixed with my sweat had turned it all into a slimy mess. I held my arms out to balance myself.

As we approached the bus, the man threw himself against the back door again and screamed pitifully. He looked even worse for wear than the night before. His left eye was swollen shut, and his bottom lip was cracked and bleeding. He pounded on the window and pleaded in what I figured was rapid-fire Russian.

Anna and the other ladies averted their eyes. I had to do something for him. They would surely kill me if I tried to free him, but I had to do something. I couldn't let him suffer like that. I stopped in my tracks and waved. It was the lamest of gestures, but I couldn't think what else to do.

The man stopped screaming and watched me. A tear ran down his face, smearing the dirt there and leaving a little, clean trail on his cheek. I watched as in an instant, his terror turned to desperation and then to acceptance. He lifted his hand and waved back at me. His thumb had recently been cut off, and a makeshift bandage was wrapped around his hand. It was thick with blood and lord knows what else.

The world swirled around me, my knees gave way, and I fell to the muddy ground. Anna was furious at me for dirtying my wedding dress, but some quick swipes with a towel put everything to rights.

The entire clan was there for the show. They were either performing or watching in the audience. The inside of the building was deceptively large. Walls had been torn down to make way for what was probably one of the biggest parties in the area in a long time.

Long tables piled with delicious looking food filled one half of the room, and the other half was open floor for the performers. A troupe of dancers twirled about the floor, their skirts swirling around them. I was the guest of honor, or perhaps the star performer, because I was seated in the center of all the happenings, and I was the number one object of conversation and pure, unadulterated ogling.

I was on display.

"Enjoying the show?" Iain Brodie, mercenary man and kidnapper, sat down next to me. He still oozed testosterone and raw, carnal everything, but I didn't care. I looked at him, and all I saw was the tortured man in the bus and my dismal-and probably short-future.

"You bastard!" I grabbed a fork and lunged for his throat. He blocked me, but I held on to the fork, determined to stab him anywhere I could. He was responsible for my misery. He took away my freedom, my future, and imprisoned me at the whims of a maniacal killer.

"Hang on now, Princess. Don't get yourself overwrought."

"Overwrought? I'll show you overwrought!"

I lunged forward, slamming all my weight into him and succeeding in tipping him over. The chair flew out from under us, and we writhed on the floor for a moment, limbs flailing in every direction, until he flipped me and pinned me on my back.

"Drop the fork, Princess."

"I'll drop the fork in your eye, you scum sucking pig. Drop it, twist it, stab it through whatever passes for your brain. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Look where you left me. Look what you've done to me!"

I tried to knee him in the groin, but he had me pinned under the length and width of him. Unable to move, I gathered a big wad in my mouth and spit in his face.

Brodie shut his eyes for a second and took a deep breath through his nose. He squeezed my arm. "Drop the fork, Princess, or I'll be forced to break your arm." He squeezed a little harder, and my hand opened in pain, sending the fork clanging to the floor.

Brodie hopped up and pulled me up with him.

"There," he said. "As reunions go, that one wasn't so bad. How about we sit and enjoy the show? We should get settled before Gurzhikhanov arrives, in any case."

If I was the center of attention before, now nobody could keep their eyes off me. They stared with their mouths wide open. Some were even wringing their hands. The tension was palpable. They were probably wondering where they would find another bus for my torture session.

I sat down and tried to act normal. I popped a pastry in my mouth. It was delicious and savory. My stomach growled for more.

"You decided to stay for the wedding?" I asked Brodie through clenched teeth.

"Something like that."

"Wanted to see me suffer up close. Is that it? You couldn't just use your imagination?"

"Maybe I wanted to make sure you were all right. Did you think of that?"

"Ha! That's a laugh. So why are you here? I thought you would be enjoying your bounty on an island in the South Pacific by now."

Brodie ran a hand over the back of his neck. "So did I," he said.

"Have you changed your mind? You don't want to be rich anymore? Or haven't you gotten paid yet?"

He stared at me for a moment. I could virtually see the cogs moving around in his brain, trying to decide if he should answer me or not.

"Just a minor hiccup" he said, finally. "I have to wait here until after the marriage ceremony for the wire transfer to go through."

The performers stopped mid-twirl, and a murmur swept through the room. All heads turned to the front door, where Gurzhikhanov walked in with his entourage. He was a man, intent. His psycho eyes scanned the room and glanced over me, but he showed no reaction. He shouted orders to his gun-laden comrades as he walked. Thankfully, he chose another table on the other side of the room.

The man who angered him the day before was flailing his arms and defending his case about something to Gurzhikhanov, but the old man was having none of it. He yelled at him and pushed him away. Hands flew to their guns, anticipating a fight, but the man left the building quietly with his head down.

Brodie and I watched the scene. There was an air of expectancy all around us. No one knew what would happen from one minute to the next. It was like watching a horror movie. Brodie watched as intently as anyone. He was like an animal ready to pounce, but he didn't know where.

"You seem different," I said to Brodie.

He gave me the Brodie Look, expressionless, unblinking.

"You seem nervous, on edge. I didn't think Superman ever got nervous," I said.

"Superman?"

"I kind of think of you as Superman. The muscles part, not the truth, justice, and the American way part."

The corners of Brodie's mouth turned up in what could have been construed as a smile.

"Superman," he said as if practicing the word. "Probably not a good idea to mistake me for a superhero, Princess."

"Don't worry, that will never happen. I've got you pegged. You're an arch villain, but you happen to have Superman's body."

Brodie's right eyebrow shot up, and his head dipped toward me.

Anna took a seat next to me and handed me a large red drink. "Nashkha, I have drink for you. It's good. Drink. Drink."

"This didn't come from a goat, did it?"

Anna laughed and slapped my back. "Very funny, Nashkha. No goat. It is daiquiri. Do you like daiquiris?"

Finally, a daiquiri. I had to go all the way to Chechnya to find one.

"Do I ever," I said. "Keep 'em coming."

"You want daiquiri, Mr. Brodie?" Anna asked.

"No thanks. I'll just sit here and let Miss Williams admire my body."

The performances ran into the morning, and so did the supply of daiquiris. I was seeing double by the time they got me back in my hut and sat me in the chair in a corner with a baby on my lap.

It was part two of the complex wedding ceremony that would last another day and a half. I was given someone's firstborn son to hold, and I held court in my little hut while people brought me various gifts.

By noon I had received a bowl full of candy, several rugs, a bolt of fabric, and two sheep. Then the baby was taken away to be fed, I assumed, and the place cleared out for lunch.

I was instructed to stay seated, and I did, despite a wretched backache from the uncomfortable chair and a desperate desire to sleep it all off. Even without the company, I had my armed escort of two soldiers standing just outside my doorway. My groom was nowhere to be found, which I welcomed as a blessing.

I slumped down as much as I could. My traditional headdress slipped down over my eyes, but I was swathed in so much material that I couldn't move my hand to adjust it. My stoicism was at an end, and I sniffed.

"Here, let me get that."

Gentle hands moved my headdress away from eyes, but my vision remained blurry from unwanted tears.

"There. There. You shouldn't be crying on the happiest day of your life." Brodie dabbed at my eyes with his sleeve. He must have slipped in when everybody left.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny," I choked out.

He sat cross-legged on the mat at the foot of my chair. I eyed it enviously. My back was killing me. I would have paid good money to switch places with him.

"I deserve this, you know," I said.

"I doubt that anybody deserves Gurzhikhanov, Princess. This isn't your run of the mill group of Chechen militants. This is a group of terrorized individuals under the tutelage of a deranged madman."

"I deserve him. I do." I sniffed again and wiped my nose on a patch of my dress. "I'm a very bad person. I could tell you stories."

It was Brodie's turn to sniff, but in laughter and disbelief.

"It's true," I said. "I bring more than ten items to the express lane at the grocery store. I do it all the time. Twice they told me to move, and I argued that I didn't really have more than ten items."

I waited for Brodie's response, but he sat quietly, a look of confusion on his face.

"I bet you've never done that. Taken more items."

"I don't go to grocery stores." Of course he didn't. He was Superman. Superman didn't shop.

"And I stole a cab once," I said. Tears ran down my face at an alarming rate now.

"You stole a cab." He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I didn't actually steal it, but I cut in line at the taxi stand, practically pushed aside an old lady and a man in a wheelchair. I bet you never did anything like that."

"Princess," Brodie said, softly. "I'm a mercenary. I kidnapped you and sold you to a Chechen warlord."

He had a point. Taxi stand etiquette came a distant second to that.

He cleared his throat. "But I'm intrigued, Princess. They have express lanes at grocery stores?"

I searched his face for humor, but he was serious. "Who are you, anyway?"

"No one special."

"You're like a bionic man or something," I said.

"I assure you, all my parts are real."

"Nothing about you is real. You're super real. It's like you were brought up in a bubble and genetically altered to be who you are."

"That's far more romantic than the truth, I'm afraid."

"Was Logan telling the truth about you being Britain's intelligence wonderboy?"

Brodie shifted on the floor. "Jake Logan has a rather big mouth."

"So, it's true, then."

Brodie sighed and cleared his throat. "I did that for a while, but it wasn't for me. Actually, I think of myself more from my first incarnation. SAS."

"British special forces?"

Brodie nodded.

"Then, you are Superman," I said.

"Between you and me, Princess, I did have my moments."

"What were you?" I asked. "Some special dark commando commander or something?"

"Does this really interest you?" he asked. But he seemed pleased that I was interested.

"I've got nothing better to do except be sold off to a crazy, psycho killer."

"Well, then, I was team unit leader. Assault team, anti-terrorism unit."

"Ha! Anti-terrorism. Imagine the irony," I said.

"I chose a complicated path to follow, it's true," he said. His face grew softer, the hard planes and angles rounded out for a moment. It was probably the first time in a long time that he opened up to anyone, I realized, and I felt almost honored, despite the circumstances. Letting his guard down for a second, he almost looked human. Almost approachable.

"I need comfort," I said. "Real comfort."

"I know," he said, softly.

"I need white bread, the kind you can mush into a ball. I need chicken noodle soup. I need a fire in a fireplace, old black-and-white Christmas movies, and chocolate. I need flannel pajamas, hot cocoa, macaroni and cheese. I need comfort."

"I'm not used to comfort," he said. "But I can try."

He stood and gathered me to him. I slumped against his body, happy for him to carry my weight, to relieve me of some of my burden. My head fit against his chest, my body wrapped in his.

And he hugged me.

It occurred to me how little I had been hugged in my life. Sometimes, my mother gave me a peck on the cheek. Friends at school might have given me the occasional hug as a greeting, but it was short and perfunctory. My relationships with men never amounted to many hugs. In fact, I had never gotten a real hug, an "I really mean it" hug.

Brodie really meant it. He hugged all of me, and he hugged me like he was never going to stop. And I didn't want him to stop. I rubbed my cheek against his chest, feeling where his chest came together in a little dip. I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his waist and hugged him back. He was rough and hard and impenetrable, and I was soft and pliable, and the only thing separating us was a world of differences and five layers of silk.

Footsteps broke the moment. They were loud and coming quickly.

"Princess," Brodie murmured.

"I know," I said. I pulled away from our embrace and re-took my seat.

I was allowed a two-hour nap before dinner, which was another piece of the wedding tradition. I was expecting a huge gathering like the night before, but it turned out that the dinner would only be Gurzhikhanov, his entourage, Brodie, and me. I supposed Brodie was considered to be the bride's family contingent.

This time, I sat next to the groom, and he was worse than I remembered. He ate a lot with his hands, which were unwashed and tipped with long, dirty, ragged fingernails. He was horribly thin. His clothes hung off him, as if he had recently lost weight. He didn't carry a gun like everyone around him, but his belt had four loops, and hanging from each loop was a black grenade.

Swell.

Gurzhikhanov spoke to Brodie in Russian.

"He says he's upset that you don't speak the local language, Nakh," Brodie said.

"Tell him not to be insulted. I failed high school Spanish class three times. I only got credit because the teacher, Señor Sanchez, liked my legs."

Brodie translated for me, and Gurzhikhanov broke into a wide smile and patted my back.

"I think something was lost in the translation," I said.

"I told him that Nakh is the most beautiful language you've ever heard, and you can't wait to learn it," Brodie explained.

"Why, Mr. Brodie, you're a diplomat," I said.

"When it's a matter of life and death, I am most certainly, Princess."

The evening was pleasant enough. I was for the most part ignored, which suited me just fine. My two guards occupied themselves with getting plastered, and I imagined that fact gave me a pretty good chance of sneaking out of the camp in the middle of the night. It was now or never. The next day I was going to be married, and who knows what Gurzhikhanov had planned for me then. What use would he have for me after he officially became part of the first clan of Chechnya? Marriage was his goal, not married life.

I ate course after course. What the hell? Why diet when I could be dead in a few hours? My dinner companions ate with equal vigor. Everyone seemed very much at ease, and even the man who had argued with Gurzhikhanov was enjoying himself. In fact, Gurzhikhanov made a point of being kind to him and ordered him a special meal of something that looked like the lining of a goat's stomach or some such delicacy.

"He made it especially for him. It's his favorite," Brodie translated. "It's supposed to be quite delicious."

"Oh, really? Maybe I'll try some," I said between bites of my own meal.

"Hold on, Princess," Brodie said. He directed his gaze at the man, who sat fork in hand, enjoying the goat stomach or whatever it was.

But then the man froze. His hand floated in midair, the fork securely clutched in his fingers. His eyes stopped blinking, and his chest stopped moving with his intake of air.

As if on cue, the table grew silent. We all studied the man as he surely suffered something catastrophic but in slow motion like a car crash on television.

He wheezed once and after a long pause, a second time, and then he fell forward into his plate of goat stomach. His fork flew out of his hand across the room, and rivulets of vomit flowed from his mouth onto the table. We watched as his life ran out.

With the man's last breath, Gurzhikhanov roared with laughter and pounded on the table in delight. He encouraged everyone else to laugh, as well. Brodie and I remained silent. Brodie studied me, waiting-I was sure-for me to break out into hysterics and run screaming from the room. But I was beyond that point or I was in shock, or perhaps I had already died, and I was in hell.

The dinner continued without me. Abby has left the building, I thought, and giggled softly.

No way was I going to be tortured and locked away in a broken down bus. No way was I going to be poisoned at the dinner table. No way was I going to be shot, stabbed, or beaten to death. No way was I going to be married.

I was done, finished. I was out of there.

Thoughtfully, the guards passed out cold by my door, just as I had planned. I tiptoed past them in my slippers and gained more speed the farther away I got. By the time I reached the edge of the compound, I was running full out, holding down my necklaces so they wouldn't clang.

The cold night air smelled of freedom. I planned on running through the forest to the road into town where I would find a policeman or somebody who wasn't a complete lunatic.

The first thing I would do when I got somewhere safe was take a hot shower and wash my disgusting, poop-covered feet. And junk food. I definitely needed junk food.

The forest was straight ahead. I only had to run past a broken down truck and I would be home free. I was ecstatic, euphoric. Free at last! Free at last!

With my freedom in reach, I ran behind the broken down truck but was stopped dead by a behemoth. From behind me, he wrapped his arm around my middle, and he covered my mouth with his other hand. I struggled against him with all my strength. I elbowed him in the stomach, kicked behind me to land a good one in the shins, but he wouldn't let go.

"Princess. Princess. It's me. It's Iain Brodie."

He let me turn in his arms to see him.

"I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth, and you're not going to scream," he said.

Daggers shot out of my eyes, and I bit down as hard as I could on his fingers. He didn't move his hand.

"Princess, if you scream, I might be forced to break your neck."

I bit him again, harder this time and struggled against his grasp.

"Princess," he growled ever so softly. "Princess, to tell you the truth, I don't want to break your neck. I really, really don't. But if you scream, they will come and kill me, and between your neck and mine, I'd rather break your neck. Do you understand?"

I could taste his blood in my mouth, but he didn't move his hand. I nodded slowly. I wasn't planning on screaming anyway. I wanted to escape, not have them come running after me.

Brodie removed his hand and wrapped it in the hem of his shirt to stem the bleeding. I wiped the blood from my mouth.

"No," I hissed. "No, no, no. You cannot stop me. How dare you try to keep me here when you've seen that crazy bastard at work? Please let me go. How can any amount of money clear your conscience? Did you see the guy in the bus?"

"Yes, I saw the guy in the bus. It's not about the money."

"Yeah, right."

"Princess, it's not about the money. Look at me. Believe what I have to say to you. The forest is mined. There are mines everywhere. The road is guarded, and those guards, as opposed to your guards, didn't drink tonight. They're quite clearheaded and trigger-happy. I've checked every out possible, Princess. I know this for a fact. There's no way out tonight."

I turned and looked toward the forest. It was so close, no more than a couple of feet. Brodie turned my head back toward him.

"Princess, there is no way out tonight."

"I think I'll take my chances with the mines and the guards," I said.

Brodie cupped my chin. "I won't let you take that chance. Tomorrow is another day."

"Does that mean you'll help me escape tomorrow?"

"It means that we need to wait until the moment is right, and now is not that moment."

"Does that mean you will help me? When the moment is right, I mean?" I asked.

"We're in a complicated situation. I can't make promises."

I pulled away from him. "That sounds like you're hedging your bets."

"You would be wise to do the same. Now come on. I'll get you back to your bed."

I pulled away from him. "No thanks. I don't need you. I'll be perfectly fine by myself."

Brodie was gone. There was no sign of him all morning. Anna said that he had left to catch a transport plane. He must have left after he picked up his money. Clearly, I was nearly married, and it was his time to leave. I was a fool to have trusted him. There probably wasn't a single mine in the forest or a single guard on the road. He fooled me and got what he wanted.

Now he was doubtless on his way to a tropical island, and I was getting my kerchiefs re-tied for the final moments of my wedding, a trip to fetch water for my new husband. I just had one more ceremony to perform, and I was officially Mrs. Crazy Psycho Killer.

I walked alone down a path to the water, which in this case turned out to be a large barrel of rainwater. The path was lined with men and women who threw flour at me as I passed. With every step I took I was smacked in the face with flour. I coughed and sputtered, but the throwers were blind to my discomfort. In fact, they were delighted with the ritual, and the children made a sport of it, trying to get the most flour to splat on my face as possible.

The bus was quiet as I passed. I made a silent little prayer for the man inside. I hoped he was still alive.

I stood at the barrel for quite some time. Obviously something went awry with the wedding schedule. The groom was nowhere to be found. I hoped he got cold feet or died or something, but just my luck, after waiting for about an hour, he hobbled down the path toward me, his entourage following him. They were in serious conversation, and to my surprise, Brodie was on their heels. I got a flutter of excitement in my chest. Perhaps he was there to save me.

When they arrived at the barrel, Gurzhikhanov said something, and his entire entourage lifted their guns and aimed them straight at Brodie.

Everything happened very fast after that. Superman-blur-level. Brodie ducked and kicked, knocking the gun out of one man's hand and making contact with his chin. He whirled around, two big handguns appearing as if by magic in his hands.

Three of Gurzhikhanov's men shot at him, but Brodie was quicker. He fired as he spun in a circle, killing half of the men. Taking advantage of the confusion from the c*****e he left, he bolted as fast as he could run toward the forest.

My mind worked quickly, and it told me to follow him fast before their attention turned to me. I picked up my skirts and ran with everything I had. My lungs were ready to burst, but I kept running. I heard bullets fired around me, but I kept running. I could no longer see Brodie, but I kept running.

I ran right into the forest. I hoped that Brodie was lying about the mines.