Page 54 of Bratva Prince
We were stuck on this island alone, and that thought had settled in more each day we’d been here. Mihailo still hadn’t located us yet, and though I wouldn’t admit it to Willow, I was growing wary that they wouldn’t find us.
I closed my eyes against the cool rain, allowing it to soothe my frustration.
What would we do if we couldn’t get off this island?
I didn’t stay out of the cave long. The rainwater was too cold. Maybe if it had been sunny, the warmth from the sun would pair well with the cool rain, but it had been raining for days, so it was just cold on cold.
I grabbed my spear and hurried back to the cave’s entrance to see if the firewood was dried enough for a fire. Willow had found some wood that was partially covered and wasn’t too damp, so we’d left it sitting out to dry. But right now, I could use that warmth.
Fortunately, I managed to get a fire going, and huddled around it, holding my clothes over the flame to warm them up before I slid them on. It reminded me of clothes fresh from the dryer, and how good they feel against the skin.
God, I missed that.
The first thing I’d do when I got home—after taking a hot shower, of course—would be to put on a clean pair of sweatpants and t-shirt from the dryer. I loved my expensive Italian suits, but what I would give for a comfortable pair of sweats…
Willow stirred to life, her eyes darting to the fire with a flicker of excitement. “Heat,” she mumbled, crawling closer with the blanket wrapped around her body.
I scooted closer to her, giving her a peck on the cheek before attempting to stand. My leg was throbbing, so it was a painful move—one that Willow jumped to attention to stop me from—but I had to get that boar before it started decomposing.
“Keep the fire going. I’m going to get the pig,” I said, patting her shoulder.
Her hand jerked out to stop me. “No. I’ll get it. You need to sit.”
“It’s too heavy,” I reasoned, but she shook her head, not listening.“Even for a juvenile.”
“I can get it. You stay put.”
I watched as she pulled on her clothes and shoes, and climbed out of the cave to hike down to the boar. It wasn’t far, and I could see her the entire time.
On the way down, she slipped, falling to her ass and sliding down a small decline in the terrain, mud caked on her back and legs.
I stifled my laughter, feeling bad that she busted her ass and I was over here laughing about it. But watching her struggle to move the boar sent me over the edge and I couldn’t hold back.
Watching her closely, I could practically follow her thought patterns as she circled the boar, debating the best way to go about moving it. She tried lifting it, but it was too heavy for her to pick up. Staring up the mountain, she realized she’d be carrying it uphill, which would make it even harder. After huffing and planting her hands on her hips to look around, she tried dragging it.
Getting a good grip was proving to be a challenge because it kept slipping from her hand. And when she did get a good grip, the ground was so slick she couldn’t hold the stance to pull it.
“Need a hand?” I called out, her face frowning in response.
“I got it,” she snapped, waving me away.
She managed to pull it a few inches before sliding through the mud again, caking her front this time.
“You sure you got it?” I shouted.
“Yes!”
I chuckled, muttering under my breath, “Someone’s in a mood.”
About fifteen minutes later, she returned looking like a wet dog with her hair matted down over her face, her body covered in mud from the shoulders down, and her clothes completely soaked through.
She probably would’ve been shivering if she weren’t burning bright with rage.
“Where’s the knife?” she asked, huffing and out of breath. I motioned to the bag and she swiped it from the pack, heading back down the hill without saying another word.
“Willow,” I called out. She turned, heading back. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
She shrugged.Obviously, she didn’t.
