Chapter 191: ~ 191
Chapter 191
~ Franklin ~
They didn’t rush us. That was the first detail I cataloged through the feverish haze of my mind. They didn’t come in like a rescue party, shouting names or waving markers; they moved with the slow, predatory deliberation of men who knew they held every card in the deck.
I stayed pinned to the muddy earth, forcing my breathing to remain shallow and ragged. I let my eyes flutter, projecting a vulnerability that wasn’t entirely an act. Pain still pulsed through my leg in rhythmic, sickening waves, dulled only slightly by Raquel’s makeshift medical work. I leaned into it, letting my head lol to the side, playing the part of the broken elite. If they saw me as a threat, they’d kill me. If they saw me as a carcass, they’d leave me. But if they saw me as an asset? That was the only path to survival.
The men stepped into the clearing, three of them in full view now, their silhouettes sharp against the damp green of the canopy. Their clothes were worn but practical—tactical gear stripped of insignia, boots caked in ancient mud. These weren’t amateurs or lost travelers. They moved with a disciplined silence that chilled me more than the jaguar ever could.
One of them crouched beside me, his eyes—hard as flint—scanning my face. He was assessing the cost of my suit, the quality of my watch, the architecture of my features.
"Está vivo," he muttered to his companions. He’s alive.
Raquel shifted beside me. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the raw tension of a cornered animal. She was watching them with a fierce, localized focus.
"¿Qué quieres?" she demanded in Spanish, her voice remarkably steady.
The man didn’t answer her immediately. He stood up slowly, exchanging a look with a taller man who seemed to be the leader. The leader stepped forward, gesturing between Raquel and my crumpled form.
"You...money," he said in heavily accented English. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
My stomach tightened. We weren’t survivors to them. we were leverage. We were a payday wrapped in a tragic headline.
"You think we have money?" Raquel asked, switching to English, her tone laced with a calculated skepticism. "Look at us. We just fell out of the sky."
The man’s smile widened, turning cold. "Everyone has something. A man in a jet? He has a lot of somethings."
Another man began to sift through the wreckage near us, kicking at the scorched metal. He wasn’t looking for survivors; he was looting. He was looking for satellite phones, jewelry, anything that could be fenced or used for ransom. If they found my wallet—if they saw the Flemington name—the price on our heads would skyrocket, and our chances of being released alive would plummet.
"Stand," the leader barked, looking directly at Raquel.
Her body went rigid. "I’m not leaving him."
The man’s expression hardened into something ugly. "You move. Now."
Instead of retreating, Raquel stepped closer to me, her small frame a defiant barrier between me and the rifles. I felt a surge of something—gratitude, guilt, awe—tighten my chest.
"Tá bom," the leader mumbled, growing bored with the negotiation. He flicked his wrist toward his men. "Pega eles." Take them.
Two of the men lunged forward. Raquel reacted with a speed born of pure adrenaline. "Don’t touch him!" she snapped, shoving at the first man who reached for her.
The man snarled, grabbing her arm with a force that made her wince. He yanked her toward him. "Let go of me, hijo de puta!" she shouted, struggling against his grip.
I forced myself up. The movement sent a fresh explosion of agony through my leg, white-hot and blinding, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. "Hey! Get your hands off her!"
My voice was a guttural growl, weak and rough, but it was enough to make the man pause. He looked at me, his eyes dangerous and mocking. He tightened his grip on Raquel until she gasped.
"Careful, rich man," he said slowly.
I held his gaze, even as the edges of my vision began to turn black.
"She stays with me. You want your money? She stays with me."
A beat of heavy silence followed. The leader looked between us, then gave a short, sharp nod. "You both come."
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a sentence.
Another man grabbed my shoulder, hauling me upright with a ruthlessness that nearly made me black out. My injured leg buckled instantly, the bone screaming under the weight. I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might shatter, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.
Raquel broke free of her captor for a split second, ducking under my arm to provide a human crutch. "Easy," she whispered, her voice a low, grounding hum against the chaos. "I’ve got you."
"Move!" the leader barked.
They pushed us out of the clearing, away from the only place that felt like home, and into the suffocating green of the deep forest. The trees closed in behind us like a curtain. The air grew thick, smelling of wet earth and rot.
Every step was a fresh descent into hell. I counted the paces to keep my mind from fracturing. I tracked the position of the sun through the leaves, trying to maintain a sense of direction. Information was the only currency I had left, and I refused to spend it all on pain.
"You’re losing too much blood, Mr. Flemington," Raquel whispered as we navigated a steep, root-choked slope.
"I know," I breathed back.
"We need to stop. If we don’t stop, your heart is going to give out."
She turned to the man behind us, her eyes flashing with fire. "He needs a break! He’s going to die if you keep pushing him!"
The man ignored her, shoving the barrel of his rifle into her back. "Move."
Raquel’s jaw tightened. "I will make them stop," she mumbled to me.
I glanced at her. Even in the middle of a nightmare, she was still looking for a fight. Her bravery was the only thing keeping me upright.
Suddenly, a shout erupted from the front of the line. The group slammed to a halt.
"O que é?" the man behind us called out, his voice laced with sudden tension.
There was no verbal answer, only a flurry of violent movement in the undergrowth ahead. The men reached for their weapons, shouting in rapid-fire Portuguese. The forest, which had been so still, was suddenly alive with the sound of snapping branches and rustling leaves.
"What’s happening?" Raquel whispered, her grip on my waist tightening.
"I don’t know," I said, my hand instinctively moving to cover hers.
Something was very wrong. This wasn’t a planned stop. Then, a sound tore through the canopy—a sound that didn’t belong in the natural world. It wasn’t an animal, and it wasn’t the wind.
It was the sharp, violent crack of a gunshot.
Raquel gasped, her body jerking against mine. Her grip suddenly faltered, her fingers slipping from my side as she began to slump toward the mossy floor.
"Raquel!" I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat.
In that terrifying second, as the forest exploded into gunfire and chaos, I didn’t know if she had been hit, or if the world was finally ending.
