Tender Savage (Siren Publishing Allure) (8 page)

Eleanor was being dragged across the clearing by two men. She was crying bitterly, frightened. She was begging them to tell her what they intended doing with her. Crouching low, Abe moved in closer. Scanning the area, he counted two other men, no three, all Brazilians and all armed to the teeth. The one who appeared to be in charge was standing arrogantly, arms akimbo, in the centre of the clearing shouting orders. Jaw tight, Abe trained his binoculars on the man for some time—Carlos! He might have known. Once a man to be trusted, he’d then betrayed not only his friends but his country as well. Money and power had made him greedy. Getting involved with the underworld he’d found that the rewards they had offered far too tempting to refuse. It hadn’t taken much for him turn his back on all that was good and just, to succumb to a life as a mercenary selling himself to the highest bidder where the difference between right and wrong was only judged by the price.

Railing against his lack of professionalism, he vilified himself, calling himself every kind of fool. If he’d kept his mind on the job instead of in his pants, Eleanor wouldn’t be in this predicament now. She’d still be safe at the plane, and he’d have delivered the discs.

Closing his mind to further recriminations, Abraham donned his professionalism like a cloak. Panning the binoculars around, he made within seconds a mental note of where everyone was, what equipment they had, and what they were doing. Eleanor was now under a makeshift shelter, bound hands and feet. Two men were patrolling the parameter of the clearing, holding machine guns, machetes tucked into their belts, and the one apparently in charge was conversing volatility in Portuguese with another man and glancing over at Eleanor. Abraham’s instincts tightened his gut, twisting in an agony he’d never felt before. He knew that look.

Lying on the forest floor, Abraham moved stealthily, crawling through the scrub, the rotting vegetation, and numerous insects, which scurried away or, in some cases, signalled their displeasure by angrily displaying their striations. Tree frogs scurried up trees, and spiders’ eyes gleamed at him like stars in the dark undergrowth. Travelling slowly, he inched forward, using his elbows as leverage. At the perimeter of the clearing, he crouched behind a fern as big as a tree and drew out his binoculars, directing them once again toward the encampment.

Eleanor visibly shook as one of the men pulled her to her feet and dragged her toward the one they called Carlos. Brought up in front of him, she stood tense as he walked nonchalantly around her, and she could feel his eyes on her. It was like they were burning into her quivering flesh.

“What is your name?” he asked in astonishingly correct English.

Staring at him in surprise, Eleanor failed to answer until roughly shoved from behind.

“I’ll ask you again, who are you?”

“My name’s Eleanor Courtney-Vance,” she replied, for some indefinable reason even more frightened by the fact that he spoke such good Oxford English.

“Well, Miss Eleanor Courtney-Vance, perhaps you could enlighten me as to what you are doing here?”

Swallowing hard, Eleanor explained in a small but steady voice about the crash, but for some unknown reason, cautiously decided to keep quiet about Abraham.

Staring silently at her, Carlos reached out with one hand and closed his fingers tightly around her throat, forcing her head up.

“So, Eleanor—may I call you Eleanor?” he asked quietly.

Eleanor nodded, so terror stricken that she thought she might faint.

“So, Eleanor, you expect me to believe that you survived the crash, crawled out of the wreckage, and managed to make your way this far, through the brutality of the Amazonian jungle all on your own?

“Yes,” she whispered through trembling lips, feeling her eyes growing wider.

Narrowing his gaze, Carlos stared deep into their depths then tightened his fingers around her throat until she gasped for breath. Her tied hands lifted to grasp his wrist, her fingers clawing at the flesh on his hands.

Just as the world was beginning to darken, he released her. Falling to the ground at his feet, she coughed, panting and gasping for air.

Being dragged roughly to her feet again had her trembling once more.

“Now, Eleanor, we will begin again. Who is with you? And what of the discs?”

“No one. No one is with me, and I don’t know anything about discs,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

Carlos watched her tears through narrowed eyes, admiring how their dewlike clarity formed like diamonds along her lashes, and then almost dismissively, he turned from her. Hearing her breathe a sigh of relief unleased an explosion of anger inside him and, turning, he drove his fist into her soft stomach. With a sharp cry, she fell to the ground and, clutching at her middle, she curled into a fetus position, writhing in agony.

Lifting a foot, a steel-capped boot found its target, and she screamed again.

Crying out, Eleanor begged and pleaded with him to stop.

Crouching beside her, Carlos stared into her terrified, pain-etched eyes, and, grabbing a handful of her hair, he lifted her face close to his.

“I suggest you take time to reconsider your answer, sweet Eleanor, because next time I will leave you to the mercies of my men, who have very…diverse ideas in how to extract information.”

Letting go of her hair, he watched impassively as her head hit the ground, making her cry out in pain.

Almost tenderly, he reached out and trailed a finger along the tear stains, marring her pale cheeks.

“Such beauty!” he murmured dispassionately.

Abraham watched the scene enfolding before him with eyes that were detached. The only giveaway as to the force of his emotions was the tightening of his jaw and the twisting of his gut. Checking his watch, he looked at the canopy above his head. It would soon be dark. Hunkering down, he drew his knife from the holder and calmly cleaned it, his face set impassively and his eyes empty.

* * * *

Lying on her side, Eleanor was curled into a ball, her hands and ankles tied. Tears stained her grubby face, and quivers of distress shook her body. She was frightened and desperate for a solution to her plight—if only she could think of a way of escaping. The man named Carlos asked about discs, but she knew nothing about any discs. How could she convince him she was telling the truth? And where was Abraham? It was hours since he’d left the clearing.

Had he come back and seen what was happening and left, stranding her out here subject to the mercy of Carlos and his band of desperadoes? A frightened, nervous chuckle at her dramatic choice of words escaped her parched throat. Or was he still out looking for whatever it was he had left for? Or more frighteningly, had he been killed or injured and was lying in a pool of blood out there on the jungle floor? She whimpered in distress. Poor Abraham, and poor her. Was this all that fate had in store for her? Murdered out here in the jungle, her body never to be found, the remains eaten by the wild animals, and her loss always remaining a mystery. The tears came thick and fast. She couldn’t help it. It just wasn’t fair. She should be safely in Manaus waiting to complete her assignment, not lying on a filthy jungle floor surrounded by things that wanted to hurt her. She sniffed, rubbing her wet face and snotty nose on the sleeve of her blouse. Who said life was fair anyway?

* * * *

Darkness had fallen. The encampment was illuminated by the blazing fire the men had built in the centre. Two of the four guards were standing beside it drinking coffee, Carlos was eating some kind of stew from the pot hanging over the fire, and the other two men were still pacing the parameter, awaiting their turn to eat. Eleanor was where the men had left her, still tied up on the ground under the makeshift canopy.

Moving furtively, Abraham began to circle the encampment.

The guards were relaxed, pacing the parameter, calling out jokingly to each other, and laughing when they passed by. That was good. The more relaxed they were, the easier it would be to pick them off. His hand went to the knife at his belt, and he felt an iciness enter his eyes.

An inattentive sentry walked nonchalantly past the place where Abraham, fully alert, was hiding. This was just the moment he’d been waiting for, a guard who was not focused, who didn’t appreciate the seriousness of the game, who knew nothing of stealth, and who temporarily let his guard down. The timing was right, so, stepping quietly out from the undergrowth, Abraham calmly and cold-bloodedly killed him with one swift blow, dragging his inert body into the undergrowth. Settling back, he waited, and not by a whisker of movement did he give himself away. The second guard arrived, calling for his friend, and laughingly asked him if he was having a pee. Like a phantom, Abraham struck. The second guard fell prone to the ground.

Carlos, secure in the knowledge that his men were patrolling the perimeter, poured himself a mug of coffee and gestured to one of his men, who, throwing his cigar butt into the fire, obediently went over to the shelter.

Bending, he clasped Eleanor’s ankles and pulled her, struggling, from the makeshift tent. Grabbing her bound hands, he dragged her to her feet. She staggered, her tied ankles unbalancing her. Reaching down, the man sliced a knife down between her ankles, cutting the ropes. Catching hold of her arm, he forcibly pushed and pulled her toward the fire.

Carlos, relaxed and totally in command, was enjoying the fire, drinking coffee, and smoking a cigar.

Brought up before him, Eleanor waited to be noticed.

Finally he looked up from his coffee mug and nodded. Eleanor was thrown to the ground alongside him. Gathering herself together, ignoring the stinging on her arm where she had grazed it in the fall, she sat up and, pushing her hair out if her eyes with her fists, looked defiantly at Carlos.

“It is a beautiful night, isn’t it, Eleanor?”

Looking doggedly at him, she pressed her lips together, refusing to respond.

Ignoring her resentment, Carlos gazed up at the sky. “The stars are out, and the sky is clear.” He looked at her considerately, his stare steady and cold. “Think about it for a moment if you will, Eleanor.” He stared back up at the sky. “Those same stars can be seen across the world, even in London, New York, or wherever you originate from.” Returning to look at her, he gave a small smile, the movement barely stretching his thin lips. Reaching out to her, he drew a finger down her cheek. She flinched but bravely withstood his vile touch, visibly shaking as he moved his finger across her throat to stop at the base and press the little vein beating there.

“I cannot believe, Eleanor, that you want the stars up there to be the last ones your eyes will ever see.”

“W–what do you mean?”

“Ah, my dear Eleanor, what do you think I mean? Such beautiful eyes.” He gazed deep into them. “The colour of good sherry, clear, deep, vibrant, alive, such a pity to extinguish their loveliness.” He played with the blade that was heating in the fire. Eleanor gazed from him to the knife in horror.

“You can’t. That’s inhuman!”

Ignoring her, he continued, his tone as expressionless as his face.

“Sadly, if you won’t give me the information I need, you leave me no option but to blot out their beauty forever.” Sighing loudly, he smiled at her, a smile that sent a shiver of fear down Eleanor’s spine.

“Believe me when I tell you that it will cause me great pain to do this distasteful task and then leave you here in the wilderness at the mercy of the elements and the ferocity of nature.” He gazed steadily into her terrified eyes.

“So—what will it be? The information I seek or eternal darkness?”

Eleanor’s lips trembled, and, swallowing convulsively, frightened though she was, she tried desperately to hang on to her courage.

“I don’t know anything. How many times do I have to tell you!” she whispered, her voice husky with fear.

Carlos sighed. “We will begin again—who was with you? And what has become of the discs?” He held up a warning finger. “And remember—think before you speak, as this is the last time I will be asking you this.”

Eleanor began to cry bitter, burning tears. Her thoughts were mixed up, erratic. What option did she have but to inform him about Abraham? Opening her mouth to tell him what he wanted to hear, she closed it again. If she told him, would he blind her anyway? Or would he just kill her? Either way the end result would be the same. She’d never be able to survive the jungle blinded, and could she rely on Abraham? She didn’t know whether he was alive or dead, whether he was still in the vicinity or miles away. Her instinct for survival was strong, but so was her love for Abraham. Shocked, the tears checked, she hadn’t even realised that she’d fallen in love with him, but now, on the point of death, her true feelings were exposed. Now, she realised she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t betray her one true love and couldn’t reveal that he had been with her. If he was alive, then she had to give him every chance of survival.

Lifting her chin, her lips quivering and fear lodging like a lump in her throat, she defiantly looked up at Carlos.

“There hasn’t been anyone with me. I am alone, and I have no idea what discs you are talking about.”

Roaring in rage, Carlos lost control and, getting to his feet, dragged her with him. Frothing in anger, he shook her, screaming obscenities in Portuguese, covering her face in his saliva as he venomously spat out the words. Shrinking back from such anger and fully aware that this was it, Eleanor kicked out at his shins, each kick viciously finding its target. His clawing hands made a grab for her as she twisted away, but adrenaline had given her wings, and hampered though she was by her bound wrists, she sped off into the jungle. Hearing cries and shouts from behind, she raced blindly on.