Page 234 of Alessio

“Here’s where I let you go, huh?” Without warning, the guy pushed the mask up over his face, giving Corrado the first peek at one of the people on his team—the team that trained him. Dane, one of the few members of The League that Corrado liked … strange how that worked … gave him a grin. “Everybody else got dropped off in vehicles at different points. Nobody is going to kill you, but it might seem like it when they get a little close. Don’t stop moving, because that’s when predators find you, find your way back—keep going east. Do you remember how to tell if you’re moving east?”

Corrado glanced at the rocky ledge.

Yeah, he knew.

East meant going right over that ledge.

“I know how to keep going east,” he muttered.

Dane chuckled. “Now you get it. This isn’t going to be easy, but if you keep going east, you’ll be fine. At some point, if you’re going the right way … you’re going to start recognizing shit from things you’ve done in training, or whatever else.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Some training had taken place in areas around the complex. Miles into the desolate land that surrounded the area.

Dane pointed at the bag next to Corrado. “There’s a satellite phone if you need it, and it’s preprogrammed with the only number you can call from it. You want water? Find some. You’ve got one small blade in there—get it out, and have fun getting your ties cut. Then, start moving. Sound good?”

Corrado smirked. “Sounds like hell, really.”

“Depends on who you ask. This was one of my favorites. How else are you going to learn to survive, Corrado?”

Something beeped.

Dane checked his watch. “And that’s my signal. Stop wasting time, Corrado.”

That said, Dane straightened to his full height, and turned to head for the chopper. Corrado had about a million and one questions he still wanted to ask, but he figured Dane was right. Those things didn’t matter, and he was losing seconds right now.

He bet even those were going to count here.

Seconds would make the difference to him succeeding with this or failing. With hands still tied, he used his booted feet to drag the small bag back closer. Then, he used his teeth to rip the zipper down as far as he could get it.

Corrado had the knife balanced between a rock and his boots as he ran the edge of the blade against the zip ties at his wrists before the helicopter had even lifted from the ground again.

And then he heard it.

A whistling.

The dirt next to his knee exploded, peppering his body, and making him jerk sideways to protect himself. The knife slipped from his grip and hit the dirt. Not that it mattered, despite slicing his skin a bit, he also cut the ties enough to break them when he yanked his wrists apart.

He was more concerned with the fact a bullet just hit the ground next to him, though. Looking up, he found Dane resting along the side door of the helicopter, sniper rifle aimed right at him. The man looked up over his scope, winked, and waved two fingers.

Yeah.

It kind of was a hunt.

Except … he didn’t like to be prey.

Damn.

“Let’s fucking go, then.”

No one else could hear his mutter, sure, but that was fine. He grabbed that bag and the knife tight in one hand, and headed for the rocky ledge leading to the cliffs. But first, he had to fucking climb.

All the way down.

“Now why would you put metal in your face?”

Stepping off the escalator leading in from arrivals, Alessio grinned, knowing exactly what Cree was griping about. Raising his hand while giving Cree a look from the side, his fingertips drifted over the two small, golden hoops he had put side by side—with about five millimeters of space between each—in his right nostril.