The Rebel King by Kennedy Ryan EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:Kennedy Ryan
- Language: English
- Genre:Multicultural & Interracial Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
LENNIX
I’m running.
Desert wind whistles past my ears and whips through my hair. My feet
are feathers, light, quick, but my arms and legs are lead, the muscles aching
and burning. The shouts, the encouragement of my tribe spur my spirit
when I fear my body will fail.
Run.
Nistan.
The Apache word thumps in time with my heart and races through my
veins as I run in the four directions.
East.
South.
West.
I turn north but falter, coming to a halt when I see the beautiful woman
standing solemnly among the cheering crowd. The wind lifts the dark hair
from her shoulders, and her eyes fix on me.
“Mama?” The strangled whisper catches in my throat. I stumble toward
her, the ceremony forgotten. The run abandoned. Tears roll over my cheeks,
and my hands reach out. Beseeching. Begging for my mother’s touch just
once.
The unique blend of her soap and shampoo and natural scent floats to
me. Longing, desperate and sharp, spears through me with aching
familiarity. I’m almost there, can almost touch her, but she points a finger
over my shoulder. She points in the direction I have not yet run.
North.
“Finish, Lennix,” she says, the words firm and unyielding.
“What?”
Her lips tighten. Her eyes are slits. She is the fierce warrior who lives
inside the gentle mother, and she shouts.
“Run!”
I jerk awake in complete darkness, startled, disoriented.
Panic rips my mouth open on a scream, and the sound shatters, falls
around my ears. I can’t move my arms. Ropes bite into my skin, my wrists
bound in front of me.
Oh, my God. Where am I? What’s happening?
I want to be strong, but a whimper dissolves on my lips.
“Lenny,” a voice says to my right.
I know that voice.
“Wall?” The word grates painfully inside my throat. “Is that you?”
“Yeah. Thank God you’re awake.”
“I can’t see,” I tell him, choking back tears.
“They put a bag on your head. On mine, too.”
I turn toward the sound of his voice, and coarse fabric brushes my
cheek. A stale scent clogs my nostrils. I’m entombed in burlap and
uncirculated air.
“Shit, Lenny,” Wallace says, relief and torture in his tone. “I thought he
was gonna drop you.”
Drop me?
The memory rushes back up at me like the ground when you fall,
inevitable and jarring. The horror of a masked madman dangling me over
the side of a mountain. The feel of his fingers slipping around my throat.
The sight of him straining and struggling to keep me aloft. The utter
indifference in his eyes about whether I lived or died.
The images set my heart on fire in my chest, the burning, pounding
muscle beating so fast my head starts spinning.
“How long have I been out?” I ask.
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