But I’m hungry and thirsty, and my legs feel like gelatin right now. Half my stamina isn’t as good as all of my stamina when I’m at one-hundred percent.
All at once, the gunfire ceases, and I peer over the top of the canyon, seeing it clear before hauling myself out. I’m tempted to go back and see if everyone is dead, but decide to keep running like hell.
I’d rather get picked apart by buzzards than risk returning to capture.
Lying on my back, I pant for air, ignoring the shooting pain through my side from the constant sprint for my life. Sheer determination has me pushing myself back up to my feet and stumbling my way into the desert.
But then pain explodes against the side of my face with no warning, and the taste of blood fills my mouth as I cry out, falling hard to the ground.
Weak from hours of running, and drained from exhaustion, dehydration, and hunger, I don’t have the strength to push myself up to my feet. I hover on my knees, digging deep for strength, when I feel a boot collide with my stomach.
Pain lances through my core, and I get nauseous as I roll across the ground, my eyes closing and opening as I watch the black boots draw closer.
“Maya is so strong,” comes a soft, taunting voice. “Dad always said that,” Troy tells me on a sigh. “She’s going to be an excellent Blackbird.”
I spit out the blood, even though more merely pools in my mouth. I bit the hell out of my tongue when the dickhead punched me.
“How strong are you now?”
“Strong enough that I won’t beg for my life,” I say as I peer up. “Strong enough that I won’t ever tell you how to steal my Family’s money, no matter what Lathan does to me.”
I spit out blood and wipe my mouth, my head swaying a little as I try to keep my attention trained on him and not allow myself to pass out.
“Strong enough to run for hours after being drugged for two days,” I go on.
Though, I think I can thank adrenaline for that. I’ve apparently exhausted my supply, because I’m reeeaaalllyy feeling that shit hardcore now, and there’s that whole dizzy and queasy thing just to put the miserable cherry on top.
Not that I’ll tell him that.
“And strong enough to look your father in the eye and tell him I had to kill his son for being a traitor.”
He laughs humorlessly as I continue to hug the ground, waiting for another burst of adrenaline to save me at any damn time it feels froggy.
Unfortunately, no such luck, and I see two laughing Troys, then one, then two again. My head feels like a big ball on a tiny stick, completely unbalanced and ready to tip over.
I drop it back to the ground, unable to find another ounce of strength.
“There’s that spunk Dad always boasts about. You know, you’re nothing more than a little girl with a big mouth. You amuse the men who actually matter. That’s all you are—a court jester.”
A small smile toys with the edges of my lips. “You know as well as I do this court jester will be avenged. Just picture what Ezekiel or Ingrid will do to you when they find out you betrayed me.”
I get to see his bravado doubly falter when he splits into two Troys again.
“Not just that, Troy. I have other friends. Friends who might very well make the pain last for days. Friends who only know how to deliver pain. Friends who will make you wish you’d been born loyal instead of an entitled little prick.”
He kicks me hard in the side, and I flop over onto my back from the force, grinning up at him as I start laughing.
“What the hell is so fucking funny?” he roars.
“I was so weak, that I couldn’t get the gun out of the front of my pants.” His eyes widen as I hold the gun up, concentrating on both of him. “Until you knocked me over. Thanks.”
Since I can’t decide which fuzzy blur is actually him, I shoot both of him, hearing a cry of pain that tells me I hit the real one with one of those shots.
But my head is spinning too hard, and I shoot again, trying to listen to where the sounds are coming from.
Another cry of pain is forced out of me when he’s suddenly wrenching the gun away and kicking me hard again in the ribs. Definitely cracked some of those damn things.
“Fucking bitch. You shot me!”
“You betrayed me,” I bite out, hissing out a breath of pain.
He grabs me by my hair, and I try to claw at his hand as he starts dragging me, cursing his bleeding wound—that apparently isn’t freaking fatal or too damaging—as he uses my hair like a handle.