Chapter 18
Hope and warinesswage an epic battle in my empty gut from the moment I wake. We need our traps to have caught something edible in the night, and a part of me feels like I can will it into reality if I manage to believe with enough conviction. My other half fears the devastation that will engulf me should that not be the case.
I reassure myself that I have good reason to be hopeful with so many more traps in place.
Renzo must be grappling with the same emotions because we’re both up and going not long after the first hint of sunrise warms the cabin. We share the broth that cooked overnight, then head out with minimal conversation. Neither of us even glance toward the circle of charred remains that used to be our bonfire.
While anxious thoughts about our traps are a challenge, the uncertainty of a rescue effort is almost too sensitive to touch. It feels safer to focus on the snares, the same as buying into a few scratch-off games rather than hoping to hit the mega ball jackpot.
Flurries fall gently around us, creating a peaceful setting beneath cloudy skies. The possibility of heavy snow or even a storm adds to the existing tension coiling in my shoulders and back. I’ve been so focused on whether we’d find more game on our snares that I haven’t considered the weather. We’ve been lucky so far, but that won’t last forever. A storm will come through at some point—will we still be here when it does?
The uncertainty is the worst part. We can’t check the weather on our phones or listen to the forecast on the evening news. All we can do is wait and see.
A tiny fissure of the pressure releases when I see a fat bird at the end of one of our lines. “Look at that! What is it?” I try to think of what birds live on the ground like turkeys. “A pheasant?”
“Couldn’t say. When I hunt, it’s not birds I’m after.”
“Ba-dum psh.” I mimic hitting the drum and cymbals. I can’t help myself. The line was too much to pass up.
Renzo cuts his eyes over to me, and I think he might be irritated with me, but then he huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Go check the others while I get this guy unhooked.”
Farther down the creek, I find another rabbit on a snare and pump my fist in the air.
Hell, yes!
I take our catch by the ears and display it proudly to Renzo. “Look who’s eating good tonight!”
“Nice, though I’d suggest we only eat one today and save the other for tomorrow, just to be safe.”
“Probably a good call.” I’m surprisingly not disappointed. Knowing we have meat for tomorrow is a relief. “It would be nice to stockpile a little. How exactly does that work? It’s plenty cold outside for the meat to keep, but I don’t want to attract Old Smokey or any other nasties.”
“I’m not really sure. Guess there’s the outhouse.”
We lock stares, then both shake our heads.
“No shit-flavored meat, no matter how hungry we are.”
“Agreed.” Renzo nods, leading us back to the cabin. Before we make it all the way, he finds a log to sit on and starts plucking feathers from the bird.
“Grouse,” he says out of nowhere. “I think that’s what they call these things.”
“Sounds familiar. Don’t think I’ve ever eaten it, though. Never plucked anything either.”
“I sure as hell haven’t. You think there’s some sort of system to it?” He holds it up, and we both stare.
“Probably,” I say. “You should google it.”
When he shoots me a wry stare, I give in to a laugh.
“Sorry, I’m just so relieved. It makes me a little stupid.”
“Not stupid.” He continues plucking. “I appreciate the way you can stay positive even when things suck.”
“It helps that we have food. Things suck a lot less when you’re not starving.”
“Yeah. I counted twenty-eight cans of food left in the cabin, only three of them beans. The rest are all fruits and vegetables. I figure if we can keep to one can a day and otherwise rely on catching our food, we could make it a month.”
“That’s essentially one meal a day, and a low-calorie meal at that,” I point out.
“Plus, any extra meat we have. If we can catch more than one or two animals a night, that’s not so bad.”
“True, though catching anything at all isn’t a guarantee.” A somberness settles over me as reality hits. “You really think we’ll be here that long?”
“At least. It’s mid-February.”
“The seventeenth. I’ve been keeping track.”
“And this far north, we’d likely need to make it to mid-March before nighttime temps aren’t totally unbearable. The trip out of here could take a day or a solid week before we run into anyone. We have no way of knowing.”
I watch as feathers drift to the ground and begin to form a fluffy pile. “I learned how to fight and count cards,” I say distractedly. “I mastered jiujitsu and am comfortable with all sorts of guns and knives. I thought I’d done so well preparing myself to handle anything. Those tools I considered survival skills mean nothing out here.”
“I’m in the same boat. No shame in it.”
“I suppose you can’t prepare for everything.”
“Nope. You do your best to get through, and when it’s over, you get even.”
“No shit,” I agree. “When we get back home, I’m finding each and every one of those motherfuckers.”
“You’ll have to get in line.” He lifts the bird and examines its now naked neck and chest.
“I keep thinking about it, and it feels like too much of a coincidence that the guns sat there for that long untouched, and when we finally go to move them, those assholes show up.”
“Someone was definitely tipped off,” he grumbles.
“Maybe the others will have learned something by the time we get back.”
“They probably think we’re dead.” His tone is morose, but I’m oddly entertained by the thought. Renzo sees my smirk and cocks his head. “That funny?”
I shrug. “Can’t say I won’t enjoy seeing my cousins’ faces when I stroll back into town.”
“You say that like they might be glad to be rid of you.”
“Nah, but we’ve always pulled little pranks to piss off one another. This wasn’t a prank, but it’ll still shock them. I’ll enjoy the big reveal.” The part that worries me comes after. I’ve worked so hard to gain their trust and respect. Will the guys try to stash me away in a glass case after having to face the possibility that I’ve died?
It’s been five days since we met at the warehouse. They won’t have written me off yet, but after another month, they’d be foolish not to assume the worst. The prospect of regression is frustrating, but I can’t exactly blame them for wanting to avoid losing me again.
My gaze drifts to Renzo as he works, and I think about how he tried to keep me in the cabin for protection. He may not be family, but I shouldn’t discount his worries about my safety. I was terrified when I thought he might die and leave me out here alone. Is it so ridiculous to think he might feel the same? And what did I do? I bit his head off for wanting to keep me alive.
Hell, I might have overreacted.
I have so much baggage about men not taking me seriously or being overprotective. But I’m woman enough to understand that there is honor in protecting the people you care about, and sometimes, I may have to let myself be the protected rather than the protector.
An hour later, the bird is plucked, rinsed, and ready for the skillet. I watch Renzo intently as he cleans his hands in the water bucket. It’ll need to be rinsed out. If I did overreact yesterday, this would be a great opportunity for a do-over.
I shove my hands in my jeans pockets and rock back on my heels. “You want me to swap out the water, or would you rather do it?” The hesitation in my voice sounds foreign to me. I rarely ask for other’s opinions on my actions. Renzo is an exception.
I try to tell myself it’s because of our circumstances, but I know I’m full of shit.
He dries his hands and stands opposite me, and I swear his penetrating stare reaches deep enough inside me to examine the rough-hewn patchwork pieces of my soul. Eventually, he gives a single nod. “You’re not back in ten, I will come looking for you.”
“You better.” I offer him a shy smile before grabbing the bucket and bolting from the cabin to escape the sweltering tension.
The number of unspoken words that fill the air when we’re together could compete in length with a Tolkien manuscript, should they ever be put on paper. I don’t even know what words would be spoken on my end. Maybe that’s what makes them feel so heavy. The uncertainty. A part of me is fascinated by Renzo Donati, and the rest is sure any interest in him is a terrible, awful idea.
Unfortunately, that’s never stopped me before.
Again,the meat is incredible. We savor every bite, then sit back and relish the feeling of being full.
“We still have half the day left,” Renzo comments. “I’m thinking of trying to construct some sort of storage container on the side of the cabin in case we can catch enough meat to store some for our trip to town.”
“Will that small box of nails with the tools be enough?” I raise my hands and run my fingers through my hair, letting the nails scratch at my filthy scalp.
God, what I wouldn’t give for a shower.
“It’s worth a try. Guess it’ll depend on what wood I can round up. We’ll have to either chop down a tree soon or start gathering wood from farther out as it is. I hate to use good firewood for the box, but it’s just as important to our survival.”
“Agreed. You need any help?”
“Don’t think so at the moment.” He watches me go to the water bucket and stand over it.
Those five-gallon paint buckets are tall. I bend at the waist and consider how I might get my head down into the water to wash my hair. The bucket gets heavy with too much water. I only filled it with enough to get us by without straining myself on the walk back.
“What the hell are you doing?” Renzo finally asks.
“Trying to figure out how to wash my hair,” I answer absently.
He stands and closes the distance between us, hitting me with that devastating stare again. “Go lie on the bed.” His words are soft yet frayed at the edges.
I have to swallow twice before I can summon my voice. “That fever coming back? You seem to be a little confused.”
His hands lift to cup either side of my neck, his thumbs sliding along my jaw. His presence suddenly feels immense, like he fills every square inch of space, leaving no room for oxygen. And when he brings his face an inch away from mine, I forget how to breathe.
“I know exactly what I’m doing. You—” His thumb sweeps across my cheek. “Just need to trust me, Chaos. Now, lie on your back on the bed. I’m going to wash your hair.”
My entire body sways when he releases me. Or maybe I’m floating. I could be floating.
He called me chaos again, and I swear it sounded even better this time than the last.
“Um, yeah. Okay.” I do as I’m told because, Jesus Christ, I’m only human, and Renzo is obviously not. Be it deity or wizard or voodoo shaman, I’m not sure, but he’s definitely not playing fair.
He sets the bucket and the stool at the end of the bed while I get situated, lying on my back with my head hanging over the edge. My insides riot when his hands move with deft confidence through my short hair. Electric bolts of pleasure shoot from my scalp to my nipples and lower. It takes all my control to keep from arching with need.
Am I simply horny, or is Renzo that adept with his hands? I’m scared to know the answer because if he’s truly that gifted, a girl could become addicted.
The first cup of water poured into my hair is a shock to the system. It’s cold as a witch’s tit, but each round is more tolerable than the one before. He continues until my hair is fully soaked, my scalp tingling, and I’m feeling pleasantly relaxed. Then he begins to massage my head.
If I were a cat, I’d purr.
“You’re better with your hands than I would expect.”
“Why wouldn’t I be good with my hands?”
“Seems like most men aren’t very intuitive about touch.”
He stills. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience.” When his hands resume their circular motion, my eyes drift shut in ecstasy, preventing me from seeing him lean in toward me. I almost gasp when he continues from an inch away. With so little distance between us, the deep timbre of his voice vibrates a path from my ear directly to my clit. “I thought you said you have a girlfriend.”
“I do.” It’s the breathiest two words I’ve ever spoken. I have to get a grip on myself.
“But you’ve been with men?”
“I’m attracted to all kinds of people, but I prefer to be with people I respect, and that doesn’t seem to happen as frequently with men as it does with women.”
“And the men you have been with.” His words sound oddly strained. “They didn’t know how to touch you?”
His hands feel so incredible. If I wasn’t on my back, I’d be drooling.
“Not really,” I say dazedly.
Renzo lifts the cup and pours more water over my hair. When a drip strays to my temple, his finger catches it, then drifts along my cheek to my jaw and down the side of my throat. This time, I can’t resist the urge to press my chest upward. I’m so hyper sensitized by him that I don’t miss the hitch in his breath.
“Let me prove not all of us are worthless in bed.” Each word is a physical caress, flaming the already raging fire inside me.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ren.”
“Why?”
“You’re you, and I’m me. Our families. Our loyalties.”
“There are no loyalties out here.” He continues slowly in a soft but urgent voice. “No families. Just you … and me.”
That’s true. What happens in the wilderness could stay in the wilderness.
I could scratch that itch. It’s tempting. I’ve never made Mari any sort of commitment, and the fact that I’ve hardly thought about her since I’ve been gone speaks volumes. What I need to remember, however, is just because I can doesn’t mean I should. This is Renzo Donati, boss of the Moretti Mafia family, not some schmuck off the street.
He must sense my indecision when he takes another angle.
“How about we make a bet?”
Oh, fuck. I do love a bet.
There’s a reason my family’s primary source of income is gambling—we live for a game of chance.
“What sort of bet?” I ask hesitantly.
“How about this … if I can catch a fish from the creek, you let me show you how good I am with my hands?”
A desperate voice buried deep in my psyche begs for me to let him show me now. Logic clears her throat until I’m forced to pay attention. Any sort of sex with this man is a bad idea. However, what are the chances he can catch a fish?
“How would you do it? A spear or something?”
“There’s some fishing line in the cabinet. I’ll make a rod.” He sounds so confident that it’s easy to fall in step with his words, but I know better. The city boy using a homemade fishing rod with no reel to catch a fish from a half-frozen creek in the middle of winter—that’s got to be the best odds I’ve ever been offered.
“And if I win?”
“I’ll jump in that creek naked, fully submerged.”
He’ll never win, but even if lightning strikes, and he not only catches a fish but also manages to make me come, it’s still a win for me. What kind of Byrne would I be if I didn’t take those odds?
I steel myself and say the one word that may be the best or worst thing to ever happen to me.
“Deal.”