Chapter Eight
Rob
T he rain’s coming down like it hates us. Every step I take squelches in ankle-deep muck, and the hood of my jacket is stuck to the back of my neck—water-resistant, my ass.
“Ah, the great outdoors,” I call, to no one in particular.
Behind me, Scarlet grumbles something I can’t quite catch.
“What do you mean, this isn’t your idea of a good time ?” I call back. “I’m having a blast.”
He catches up to me with two huffing steps. “Shut,” he says, water dripping from the tip of his nose, “the fuck up.”
I just smile and clap him on the shoulder. “Attaboy.”
“Would you two move your asses?” roars LJ from a few paces away, flipping up his night-vision googles.
“Coming,” I yell back.
We’ve already done two full sweeps of the property, and I can feel it in my shoulders. The kind of dull ache that only creeps in when the adrenaline wears off and the cold sets in. I shift the crossbow, adjusting for the weight that is as reassuring as it is a drag—custom grip, camo tape, the sight I dialed in perfectly back when I had time for shit like that. Will’s got the recurve bow, and LJ’s got...I don’t know what, but the man can turn into a bear, so I ain’t worried.
We’re not just stomping around aimlessly, either. Every twenty feet or so, we pass a marker—trees with notches cut into them, or little motion sensors wired up high, blinking a soft red if you know where to look. The perimeter’s rigged tight: tripwires with flashbangs, high-frequency emitters to scramble anyone who gets too close, and silent alerts pinging straight to our phones. I’ve got three burners in various pockets just in case one dies in the wet.
I trudge forward, whistling a little. The sky above the canopy is pitch-black now—not twilight, but real, middle-of-the-night black. Every now and then, I see one of our own boot prints washed half away in the mud, so we’ve been here at least long enough to start overlapping ourselves. Time’s gotten slippery, and I’m reacting to the uncertainty of it all by being a happy-go-lucky jackass, because it’s the only way I know how.
Will grumbles again, something about how no one in their right mind would be hunting in this kind of weather.
“I don’t disagree,” I call back. “But if we were dealing with folks in their right minds, we wouldn’t have to patrol at all.”
Finally, we catch up to LJ, who looks impassive as always, even under pelting rain. “You both caught your breath?” he says.
“Yes,” I say, just as Scarlet says “no.” LJ grunts and keeps walking anyway.
“Not all of us are in fighting form,” Will grouses, slogging into the leaves and underbrush.
LJ snorts. “Please. Like you don’t do push-ups in front of the mirror every morning.”
“Speaking of fighting,” I say, to cut the tension. “How did that go? You teach her anything useful today?”
LJ gives a half-committal sound, and then I remember how he’d turned up that afternoon—and how Maren had looked when she turned up.
“Hang on.” I grab his elbow. “What did you do to her, my friend?”
Will turns around, alarm in his eyes even under his hood.
LJ shrugs. “Nothing.”
Will opens his mouth, shuts it, then points at LJ. “You. It was you. That burst of...whatever it was. You did something to Maren, and you made her...”
“Or didn’t make her,” I say. “Am I right?”
LJ’s eyes go dark. “I told you. I don’t kiss and tell.” But there’s a smirk under his beard. “She didn’t earn it. Had to deny her.”
Will winces. I just have to laugh.
“Good Lord, my friend. You’re a stronger man than I.” I press a humble hand to my chest—because, really? Get that woman all riled up and begging for it and I’m putty in her goddamn hands. “Remind me to swipe you a purity ring next time we lift some jewelry. Truly some king shit to be able to do that.”
“That,” Will says. “Or he got her warmed all the way up and then left her cozy at home with Tuck to reap the benefits.”
LJ rolls his eyes and keeps walking.
“I’m just saying,” Will says, shout-talking over the sound of the rain as we plod on. “He’s probably got her bent over that desk of his right now. Probably—”
“Can it,” LJ barks. “Don’t be fuckin’ crude.”
Will scoffs. “Crude? First of all, I’m insanely jealous of the man if that is indeed the case. Second of all, don’t act all innocent when we all know you’re the only one of us with a filthier mouth than mine.”
I wipe rainwater out of my eyes as we ease down a slight slope. Judging by the markers, we’re closing in on our second roundabout. If nothing turns up in the next, say, three minutes, I’m going to call it a night.
“Speaking of filthy, Scarlet,” I cut in, hoping to ease some of the tension, “when are you going to show her your whole bag of tricks? If memory serves, you’re hoarding an awful lot of gear and whatnot in that armoire of yours.”
“Yeah, to jerk off with,” LJ mutters. Will, to his credit, ignores him.
“Whenever she wants,” Will says easily. “The only correct answer to that question. Besides, probably want to ease into it regardless. Shibari isn’t exactly a spur of the moment kind of—”
LJ flings out an arm.
“What was that?”
I freeze, quieting my breath. Even over the rain, I hear it now: a crunch. Too heavy for a deer.
Someone’s out there.
LJ doesn’t say a word, just flips his lenses and scans the tree line. Behind me, Will clicks his tongue and nocks an arrow. And I don’t need telling twice: my crossbow’s unclipped, already lining up the direction of the noise.
In my pocket, I feel the motion sensor ping on my burner, vibrating against my thigh.
There we go—confirmation.
“I see him,” LJ murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. “Thirty yards. Moving—hey!”
His voice raises almost to a shout because I’ve already fired.
“You fucking crazy?” LJ asks. “You can’t see for shit.”
“Don’t need to.”
The bolt flies right where it’s supposed to, trained dead on that little flicker of movement—but the bastard ducks. The bolt thunks harmlessly into a tree trunk, vibrating with the force.
“Shit,” I hiss, already moving, and already behind LJ.
He’s off like a damn shot, boots digging into the muddy ground. Scarlet’s right behind him, crashing through the underbrush, and I’m on his tail.
It’s a messy fucking chase. Branches are whipping out every which way, it’s dark as an oil spill in a coal mine, and the rain makes it all godawful. Sightlines are trash and footing’s worse. I swear a blue streak under my breath and thank whatever God there is that I recruited men with more sense than my own sorry ass.
I look ahead; we didn’t lose him. LJ veers wide, flanking, and Scarlet’s pushing forward to cut off the path. I stay on the guy’s tail—he’s fast, whoever he is, but not too fast, and from what flashes I can see he’s flailing in all directions, arms flying—a recipe for a turned ankle in these woods when it’s dry as a bone, let alone pouring buckets.
Sure enough, I hear him slip—a wet squelch and startled yelp—and that’s enough. The ground slopes down, and LJ cuts him off at the next ridge.
He skids, trying to turn and hang a right to the clearing, but no good. No traction on those leaves. Just a hard faceplant into the mud.
Will tackles him before he can scramble up, rain beating down through the gap in the trees. I slide to a stop just behind them, crossbow raised, as LJ strides over and angles his flashlight down onto the intruder.
The beam catches the kid full in the face.
And yeah—he’s a kid. Eighteen, maybe. Barely old enough to buy his own cigarettes. Mud streaks his cheeks and forehead, hair plastered to his skull like a drowned rat. His chest rises and falls in shallow, panicked breaths. He’s shaking.
“Please,” he says. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Don’t fucking tempt me, asshole,” Will growls, tensing his hand on the kid’s neck. I grab his arm.
“Hey, easy.”
“He’s armed.” LJ yanks the kid by the shoulder, rolling him just enough to slide off what appears to be a rifle slung across his back, which LJ picks up and smirks at. “Well, sort of.”
His flashlight beam reveals an old-ass .22 bolt-action, a Marlin or Savage, maybe, the kind they sell in bulk to ranchers and kids learning to shoot cans off fences. The scope’s cheap as hell—Walmart-special, plastic dial caps missing—and I’d bet money it’s not even zeroed in.
This kid’s not a hunter. Shit, he’s barely prepared for a hike.
“Who sent you?” Will barks, but I push him back. “Who are you working for?”
“ Easy ,” I repeat, a little firmer this time. “No need to make this worse than it already is, okay?”
I pull the hood back off my jacket—not like it was doing much in this rain anyway—so I can look the kid in the eye, and crouch to where Will has him pinned.
“What’s your name?”
LJ’s Maglite sweeps back over, and the kid blinks against the beam, eyes darting between the three of us.
“Um...” His lips move like he’s trying to come up with something plausible.
“Don’t bother lying,” I interrupt. “That’ll definitely make it worse than it is.”
He nods.
“Nick,” he says, voice hoarse. “Nick Miller.”
Will snorts. “Is he kidding?”
“It is,” the kid says quickly. “I swear. I’m not—” He swallows. “I didn’t come to hurt anyone. I just—”
“Didn’t wanna hurt anyone?” LJ says, tilting the rifle this way and that. “Don’t you know you can shoot your eye out with this?”
“I...” The kid stops, white as a sheet. It hits me that he didn’t think he’d get caught. Or didn’t think, period.
“Who are you working for?” Will asks again, and this time, I let him.
“No one,” Nick says, shaking his head frantically. “I mean...” He swallows. “The post...I saw there was a bounty out, and I didn’t think—I didn’t know it was real. Like, really real. I wasn’t sure. I just...I needed the money.”
His words tumble out like he’s hoping we’ll let him go if he talks fast enough.
I glance at LJ. He’s frowning, hard, still holding the flashlight on Nick’s face like it might burn a confession out of him. But I can already see: there just ain’t much to tell.
And honestly, that’s kind of a relief.
“You needed the money,” Will drawls. “So instead of pumping gas or flipping burgers, you figure you’ll roll the dice and take your little Red Ryder out in the forest just for the hell of it, even though you’re—what was it?— not sure it was really real? ”
“Yes,” Nick sputters. “I mean...no. I knew it was real. Everyone knows. That guy Lackland’s loaded, and—”
My blood goes cold.
So much for relief.
“Say that again,” I interrupt, keeping my voice as even as I can. “Who’s loaded?”
“That...Lackland. John Lackland, I think?” Nick looks from Will to me with a desperate hope, like maybe he’s said the magic word.
And in a way, I guess he has.
Because that changes things a good fucking deal.
I glance at LJ. His mouth is a hard line. Will mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like motherfucker .
So it’s not just a bounty. It’s his bounty.
Maren’s shitstain of an uncle.
Without warning, Will draws back and smacks the kid across the face—hard.
“Hey!” I cry, and lunge for him. “For fuck’s sake, Scarlet. He’s a kid. Chill the hell out.”
Will glowers. Gives his head a little shake. “Sorry,” he mutters.
“You better be,” I spit back. “Give me your cuffs.”
He grumbles—“how’d you know I have cuffs”—but digs into his pocket. Nick must see the change on my face, because he flinches and tries to shrink back into the mud. “Are you—are you gonna kill me?”
Scarlet hands me the plastic ties, and as I thread them around the kid’s bony wrists, zipping them just tight enough that he can’t escape, I get a really good look at him—skinny, soaked, shaking like a goddamn leaf.
I recognize the look. Desperate. Scared shitless. Still young enough to make stupid, stupid decisions.
The kind of look I’d see in the mirror when I was his age.
“No,” I say, standing up, and I mean it. “But we sure as hell aren’t letting you leave, either.”