Page 12 of Risky Passion

“Move!” I hissed, a desperate plea to my failing body.

The mud was relentless, dragging at my limbs, sucking me down like it wanted to eat me. My muscles burned and every movement was a war against nature.

The boat was closing in. I could feel it, like I had a fucking bullseye on my back. My lungs screamed for air but I couldn’t stop. Not even for a second.

Then the mud began to firm, just enough to give me a chance to reach the thicker mangroves ahead. With a frantic effort, I finally pulled myself out of the sucking mire and into their shadows.

I collapsed behind the trunk of a massive tree, pressing myself against the bark. Every nerve in my body was on fire, screaming at me to rest. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

A crack of gunfire shattered the air. The bushes around me exploded in a violent storm of bark and leaves, raining splinters down on my head. I stifled a scream, biting into my lip until I tasted blood.

My heart was a jackhammer, slamming against my ribs, and each breath was a knife slicing through my chest.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to fucking kill me.

I couldn’t stop shaking, but I had to keep moving. Staying here was death.

Keeping low, I shoved off with every muscle trembling. The ground was a battlefield of sucking mud, tearing thorns, and slick roots. My sneakers slipped and skidded, and my arms stung as branches clawed at my skin, but I didn’t stop.

I pushed forward, pure desperation fueling me. Every step was agony. Every breath tasted like raw, metallic fear.

Just a little further. Just a little further.

A burst of gunfire ripped through the air, wild and reckless, shredding a branch inches from my head. Splinters rained down, stinging my face. I screamed, veering hard to the left. Ducking low, I forced my trembling legs to keep going.

The roar of the boat engine got louder. The boat was slicing through the water like a shark, churning white foam in its wake. Themen onboard shouted with sharp, guttural voices, and though I couldn’t make out their words, their intent was crystal clear. They wanted blood.Myblood.

Then, the engine cut out.

Silence spread over the swamp like a suffocating shroud, thick and poisonous. My heart pounded harder, and the absence of sound was more terrifying than the noise.

A man shouted orders through the vegetation, sharp and brutal, and I jolted.

Shit. They’re coming.

I needed cover. Now. Clenching my jaw, I shoved off from the tree, pushing my burning legs onward. I scanned through the maze of mangroves, desperate for a place to hide. Several yards ahead, to my left, a massive tree rose from the muck, and its twisted roots formed a natural fortress.

Heading toward it, I forced myself to slow down, staying low despite every instinct screaming at me to run. One wrong step or slip in this hellscape of roots and mud would slow me down or cripple me. The muck was only ankle-deep now, but each step was like wading through wet cement.

I had no weapon or phone. But I did have one advantage . . . this godforsaken mud. Those bastards would have to slog through it just like me, and every trace of my passage quickly vanished beneath the hungry sludge.

Finally reaching the ancient tree, I scrambled over its massive, blade-like root. The rough bark shredded the backs of my legs as I slid down behind its protective trunk. Safe. Hidden. For now.

This is good. They can’t see me behind here.

I just had to survive long enough for the rescue party to reach me.

My relief evaporated in a flash as reality hit me: for my friends to find me, I needed to stay nearLadybeetle’scrash site.

My rasping breaths clawed at my throat, but the sudden, suffocating silence of my pursuers was far more terrifying.

Where are they?

Panic seized me, and each ragged inhale was a struggle against its icy grip. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to listen, to let the swamp speak.

Like a switch had been flicked, the mangroves blossomed into a cacophony of sounds: the sharp squawk of a bird, a guttural croak barking from soggy depths, a strange, rhythmic clicking that I couldn’t place, and the soft plop of water or maybe a frog, or something far more sinister.

Then, cutting through the chaos, came the unmistakable snap of a branch.

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