Savage

Chapter Nine - Treyton

Chapter Nine

Treyton

My heartbeat radiates through my body. It pounds against my ears, chokes my throat, twists my stomach. It is everywhere, flashing in front of my eyes with each pulse. My breaths are sharp, but useless. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

"Please. I'll do anything." The words don't feel like mine. I would never beg for mercy, not to the enemy.

The girl's eyes drop from my face and travel down the length of my body. I wait for her to say something—anything. But she just keeps staring with this calculative look on her face. I glance at her gun. Mom taught me years' worth of knowledge on Lieth weaponry. I should know every detail about this gun from its model to its bullet size to its stopping power. Yet the only detail I notice know is the black pit of the barrel. It'll probably be the last thing I see.

"Just please—"

"Stop talking," snaps the girl. Her fingers tighten on the gun as it begins to shake in her hands. Her mouth is slightly open and her lips quiver. I can see her chest heaving, jerking with about as much force as mine.

Something breaks inside me. I always knew my death was inevitable, yet I never thought it would come. I would defy the odds; I always have.

"Don't move," she says. She pushes from the ground and takes a few backward steps, never lowering her gun.

I don't know where she's going, but right now, I don't care. As soon as she turns her back, I'm going to make a run for it. I'm closer to home now than I was before my first attempt. If I can just make it into the trees, I might make it home.

I don't know where she's going—or why—but I don't care. Any reason that increases the distance between me and that gun is a good reason. Especially with an escape route only feet away. If I make another run for it, I just know I could beat her home.

The girl is now about ten feet away, pacing the strip between forest and river. I wait for her to turn, but she never does. She keeps her gun and her eyes locked on me. Then, she stops, wearing an expression all wrong for murder. She doesn't have crazed eyes or a snarled lip; nothing like I've seen in the movies. Her face is utterly blank, almost like a mask.

She walks toward me, gun still raised.

"Anything?" she says.

The way she looks at me...it's like she expects me to understand her question. She repeats herself, louder.

"What?" I say. She's too close. I swear I can smell the blood she's about to spill.

"You said you'd do anything." She presses her lips together. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes," I say, forcing the word through strangled vocal chords.

"I won't kill you. For now." Her voice shakes as she speaks. "But you have to meet my conditions."

I don't say anything. I don't think I can.

"Will you meet me here, tomorrow night?" she asks. Her eyes are cold, daring almost.

I nod before she finishes the question.

"That's the first." She runs a finger over the barrel, but I can't decide if it's a threatening movement or a nervous one. "The second: you can't tell anyone about this. Understand?"