CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAMES
I still can’t believe I left her alone. Hell, she’s probably sitting in the truck right now, laughing about our argument and how she kicked my ass without even trying. She’s fucking powerful, that’s for sure. I swear, all it takes to bring down an army of men is one woman like her.
I walk along the highway, Michael and Ryan by my side. My dad always said every journey teaches you something. Sounds poetic, sure, but to me, it just means keep your eyes open and a hand on your weapon.
Ryan breaks the silence first. “I’ve heard about you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “All good things, I hope.”
“Funny wasn’t on the list.” Ryan chuckles, but his eyes flicker with that cautious look people get when they realize who I am. He knows. Hell, everyone knows. The stories, the rumors, the things I’ve done.
Michael slaps a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, cutting in. “Don’t let him fool you. He was an asshole when we first met.”
“To be fair, you did have a rifle pointed at my face.”
“Good times, huh?” Michael laughs, tossing me a wink.
Ryan looks between us, stunned. “Wait, wait, you pointed a gun at Hill’s face, and you lived? That’s some next-level shit.”
Michael pushes his cap back, giving me an amused look. “Why? Is James famous or something?”
Ryan’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Are you kidding me? You don’t know who he is?
This is James fucking Hill. Every gang from Chicago to Dallas is scared shitless of him.
I’m from Texas too, and I’ve heard the stories.
” He turns to me, his earlier caution gone.
“So what’re you doin’ out here? Come to clean up Colorado next? ”
I shake my head. “Not anymore. I’m done with all that.”
Ryan frowns. “Why not? You saved—”
“Look!” I cut him off, pointing toward a beat-up gas station maybe a hundred feet off. I already know what he’s about to say, and I sure as hell don’t need to hear it. Not in front of Michael. Not when it’s nowhere near the truth. “Let’s check it out.”
We move in silence, boots crunching over gravel as we take in what’s left of the place. If any gas station had ghosts, this one’s haunted by one or two. The pumps are rusted-out husks, their hoses torn and dangling like dead snakes.
Michael drops to the ground, leans back against one of the pumps, and catches his breath. “Give me a minute.”
I leave him there and head for the workshop, yanking the gate open. Inside, it’s a tomb—dark, thick with dust, not a single window.
“Let’s make this quick,” I say as Ryan slips inside. “We’re already two miles out from the girls.”
Ryan nods and gets to work, weaving through the shop. He checks some shelves, digs through a couple of barrels, then cracks open a cupboard.
“Bingo!”
He pulls out a couple of gas cans, the fuel inside sloshing loud enough to make him grin.
I scan the back of the shop. “Ryan, will that work?” I nod toward the pile of tires stacked against the wall.
He follows my gaze, walks over, and grabs one. “Yeah, I’ll make it work.”
For about five glorious seconds, we’re actually having a lucky day. Then, naturally, the universe shits all over it.
I step outside, take a look around, then double back to be sure we’re clear, that we’re alone. But the truth is, we’re never really alone. Not out here.
That’s when I hear it.
At first, it’s a faint whisper buried in the wind, but my gut already knows. It’s an engine. Distant, but heading our way. And out here, the sound of a motor means one thing: trouble.
A red pickup appears on the northern ridge. I whistle, sharp, to grab Michael and Ryan’s attention.
Michael jerks upright, and Ryan freezes mid-pour, still holding the gas can.
All three of us lock onto the truck, watching as it rolls closer.
Three hundred yards… two-fifty… two hundred.
We’re wide open out here. No cover, no shade. If we can already see them, they can damn well see us. Fucking perfect. Just sitting ducks, lined up and waiting.
Ryan darts back into the shop and starts stashing everything: gas cans, tools, whatever we’ve grabbed. Out here, a can of gas isn’t just fuel. It’s power. It’s leverage. It’s a reason to kill.
“Get ready.” I nod at Michael’s rifle. “Stick to the story. We’re just out hunting, looking for parts. As long as they think we’re harmless scavengers passing through, they won’t dig too deep.”
Michael gives a quick nod. “Got it.”
Soon enough, the truck’s tires crunch onto the gravel, and the engine is cut off. I tug my baseball cap lower, shading my face as best I can, trying to make myself no one worth noticing. Just some guy in a flannel shirt with no past.
My eyes lock on the driver’s door the second it creaks open.
The guy who steps out is thin, with a shaved head and a cigarette hanging from his lips.
His faded jeans and black T-shirt fit like he’s worn them every day for a year.
But it’s not his clothes that get me; it’s his arms. Both are completely covered in burns, with scars twisting his skin from shoulder to fingertips.
Shit, that had to hurt.
Two more guys follow closely behind him. Same boots, same beat-up jeans, different shirt colors, but they’ve all got that same seen-too-much look. One glance, and you can tell life hasn’t exactly done them any favors.
They’re armed, too. That tracks. Out here, who isn’t armed? What stands out is how unfazed they are by our guns. No fear, no hesitation. If anything, they seem curious.
The one with the scars steps forward. “Morning. I’m Axel.”
He jerks his chin toward the two guys hanging back by the truck. One’s skinny as hell with stringy blond hair, and the other’s got a cowboy hat pulled down so low I can barely see his face. “That’s Jacob and Noah.”
Three guys. Coordinated, armed, too calm to be looters. This isn’t some group passing through. They’ve got the posture, the control. They’re a gang.
Michael’s still posted up against the busted gas pump, not moving a muscle. I catch his eye and hold it, my message clear: Watch it. This could be their turf. Could be rules.
Axel steps closer, dragging on his cigarette. Smoke curls from his mouth as he says, “Don’t think I’ve seen y’all around here before.”
“We’re just passing through,” Michael replies, face unreadable.
“Passing through?” Jacob’s tone makes it clear he’s not buying it. His eyes flick to Ryan, half-visible in the shop, probably cramming our haul behind something. “Where you headed?”
“It’s none of your fucking business,” I snap.
Jacob just shrugs. “Fair,” like he’s heard worse before breakfast.
Axel comes up to me, his gaze lingering too long. “Haven’t we met before?”
I press my lips together, lowering my head just a little.
“Never.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you want?” I cut him off, already over this shit.
He doesn’t answer. He just walks to the gas pump and slowly squeezes the nozzle, but nothing happens. Just a puff of dry air.
“You got any gas back there?” Axel calls out to Ryan, still hanging by the shop.
Ryan leans against the counter, playing it cool. “Sorry, fellas. This place is bone dry. We checked.”
Axel’s eyes shift toward the road. “Any other gas stations around here?”
My stomach knots. The girls. Shit! They can’t keep heading down this highway. If they do, they’ll run right into them.
“We already checked the rest of the highway. There’s nothing else left out there,” I say, hoping he’ll move on.
Axel smiles.
Why does that answer make him look so damn pleased?
“Is that so? Then what brings you to a workshop with no ride in sight?” he asks.
“Pliers,” Ryan says without missing a beat. “There’s a fence in the woods we gotta cut through to get to the hunting trail.”
Axel nods. “Right… That fence was meant to prevent accidents back then, keep animals from getting run over.” He pauses, eyes flicking to mine. “Now feels more like a trap, don’t you think? Like it’s meant to catch someone trying to run from this side to the woods.”
Fuck. Those words…
“Well, there’s a big city north of the highway,” he adds. “If you’re hungry, you’ll find something there.”
“How big?” slips out before I can stop it. Stupid move. Now he knows I’m curious, and guys like Axel? They eat that shit up.
“As big as the goddamn horizon.”
“What city you talking about?” Michael asks.
“It used to be Denver,” Noah says. “But not anymore.”
My face must’ve given me away. That tight pull at my mouth? Happens every time shit doesn’t sit right. Axel’s eyes flick to me, like he’s clocking it. I’ve seen enough cities to know they’re all the same. Run by assholes with too many guns and zero mercy.
“It has an owner?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. Of course, it does. Every big city belongs to someone these days.
“Tyler from the Reed Brothers. He’s got a lot of rules.”
No fucking kidding. That doesn’t surprise me either.
I nod toward the north road. “Are you guys from there?”
Axel smirks, the kind that makes you want to wipe it off someone’s face.
“We go there sometimes. Everyone who trades with Tyler plays by his rules. But hunting’s easier out here.”
I feel Axel’s eyes on me, heavy as lead. A silent threat that makes my jaw clench tight. Next to me, Michael shifts his weight, one hand drifting closer to the trigger of his rifle. He’s ready. So am I.
Ryan clears his throat, stepping in before things get worse. “Do you need anything besides gas?”
“Maybe,” Axel says, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “You got a woman with you? We could use some company on the road. Don’t matter who. Any woman’ll do.”
My whole body locks up.
Just the thought of Axel touching Sarah makes me sick, and my fists itch for a fight. And for some fucked-up reason, when our eyes meet, Axel’s already staring at me, like he knows what I’m thinking.
Ryan lets out a fake laugh that’s almost convincing. “Women, huh? They’re nothing but trouble.”
He says it like it’s some kind of “guy wisdom” we’re all supposed to nod along with. But I know he’s bullshitting.