Nathan’s foot pain had reached critical mass. Some of the cuts had clearly opened wider during the run, making the pain crippling. Frustration flared and with it, anger. And a long-suppressed memory of being bullwhipped in front of a crowd of weeping women and children. The blind hatred at being helpless to stop it had consumed his soul, like fire on flesh. It was then that the other first emerged, subverting his conscious self and quite literally saving his sanity, and probably his life.
The other.
He sensed its malevolent presence threatening to surface. He felt himself yield, needing its help. But at what cost? Despising himself for being weak, he closed his eyes and gave into fourteen years of built-up frustration, shame, and rage.
And wondered if he’d just sold his soul.
Chapter 41
Deep in the Nicaraguan jungle, Nathan hangs at the brink of insanity. All he has left is hatred. At everything. At earth. At sky. At all things, living or dead.
Crack.
Sixteen.
The bite of the lash becomes venomous. Each crack of the whip hardens his hatred. He clings to it like a life raft-separating him from an ocean of infinite agony.
Eight feet of braided catgut strikes again.
Crack.
Seventeen.
Oblivious to his torn feet, Nathan pursued Montez across the empty expanse of West Mission Bay Drive.
Its siren and air horn blaring, a fire engine rounded the corner from Mission Boulevard. Its engine roared. A second, more distant siren joined the din. Probably police.
The whipping continues at ten-second intervals.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
Time drifts. The other had taken him away... for how long? How many lashes had he taken? He lost count at twenty-eight.
He opens his eyes and catches a glimpse of Montez leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. Montez yawns in mock boredom and nods runt boy over. They speak in hushed whispers for a few seconds. Maybe runt boy needs a rest, his arm must be tired from the exertion.
Nathan feels liquid running down his legs. He hopes this is the end.
Nathan saw Montez reach an expanse of grass and veer toward a loose group of palms. Closing the distance, he easily kept Montez in sight. His prey was silhouetted against the multicolored lights of the amusement complex beyond.
Time drifts again.
Montez’s calm voice brings him back. “Why don’t you just tell me your name? What possible harm could it cause? Why go through all this needless suffering?”
He doesn’t respond.
Montez snaps a finger.
He closes his eyes, expecting a blinding crack. It doesn’t come.
The waiting is so horrible.
The rope suspending him jerks. He opens his eyes. Runt boy is untying the knot. He’s lowered just enough to stand on his toes. A cruel trick. His shoulders are out of the sockets. They have been for hours.
Montez strolls over and throws power on his torso. He grits his teeth against the blinding sting.
“We’re going to take a lunch break. Can we bring you anything? A club sandwich and beer?”
“Fuck you.”
“Such language.”
Time drifts again.
A slap across his lacerated face brings him forward. He opens his eyes. Montez. Inches away. Holding something. Leaning his head back.
A canteen? Water. He’s drinking water.
His tormentor spits the liquid onto his legs and feet. His welts erupt in fresh agony.
He hears himself again. Laughing. No, crying.
Maybe he could end this. Definitely worth a try.
He winks at Montez and grins.
Montez grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head forward. “What are you smiling at?”
Fighting to stay conscious, he bites his tongue and feels blood flow into his mouth. With all his strength, he spews the red load into Montez’s face.
Montez wipes his face on his sleeve, hisses something, and hurries toward the shed, where he disappears. A few seconds later, he reappears with something in his hand. A radio?
No, not a radio.
Below a sickening smile, the stun gun disappears from view.
Crackling white agony.
His scream penetrates the jungle wall. All birds go silent.
Merciful blackness. The other returns faithfully, taking his place.
Time drifts again.
Where is he? What’s happening?
The answer arrives in force with another jolt.
He wrenches his head back and forth as he screams.
And screams.
And screams….
Feet forgotten, Nathan reached deeper for a final burst of speed. He flew over the parking lot’s west curb, up a narrow landscaped area, and relished the feel of damp grass. Cool air filled his lungs in full, deep breaths. As the other receded, Nathan’s senses became heightened-razor sharp. His muscles worked in perfect harmony. He felt free, like a cheetah on the savannah. Total exhilaration. He knew his body well. Its limits. Its reserves. He was far from spent.
Chapter 42
Montez glanced back. Unbelievable. McBride had managed to close the distance separating them. How could that be? The man was barefoot. His feet had to be shredded from the broken glass back in the hotel room. He couldn’t have traversed that mess unscathed. How was this possible?
One thing become clear. He wouldn’t be able to outrun this man, not over the long haul.Arturo was dead, and his other men remained on the yacht, out of contact. Which left him completely alone. He’d have to set up an ambush. A fatal shot would be best, but he’d settle for any direct hit.
Nathan sensed Montez’s growing unease. By the time his prey reached Mission Boulevard, Nathan had nearly halved the distance separating them. But if Montez entered Belmont Park, the degree of difficulty grew exponentially. There were hundreds of variables in there, all of them to his disadvantage.
Decision time.
He’d have to risk it. No choice.
Like a baseball player sliding into second base, he skidded to a stop on the damp grass, gained a knee, and toggled the laser. He took a deep breath, painted the red dot onto Montez’s fleeing form just below the torso, and pulled the trigger.
Montez felt the bullet tear through his right thigh at the same instant he heard the suppressed shot.
He dodged and weaved on instinct as panic seized him. The shock receded a bit when he realized he could keep going. But for how long? He pivoted and fired a blind shot at his pursuer, hoping to slow him down.
McBride must be using a laser sight, something he wished he had.
He limped toward the park’s entrance, knowing blood loss would soon become critical, especially with his heart rate elevated. He needed to reach the cover of the park before a second bullet found him.