Chapter 18 #4
“That was work, you dumb fuck. Penny, the pussy, needed to be motee-vated, and you don’t got the equipment—or brains—to do it.”
“Like you do,” Pit sneered.
“Got her to arrange the yard work assignment—and us all together, didn’t I?” Slash’s grin was ugly. “Told her a story ’bout the family we butchered. She got all excited.”
“Fuck, you didn’t.” Pit’s expression was shocked.
“Made Slash laugh. Clueless bitch.” Slash ripped the wrapper of the protein bar.
“Yeah, well, you had pussy already.” Stub pointed to Gin. “We want a turn with that one afore you ruin her.”
Hand on his crotch, Pit nodded.
“Dream on, asshole. She’s mine.” Slash stopped, his gaze still on Gin. “Gonna ream that cunt while I cut pieces off the rest of her.”
Terror blasted Gin so violently she almost heaved. Run.
How? Even if she managed to run, they’d catch her before she made it out of the rocks.
Or they’d shoot her down like a rabbit.
“Fine, I’ll wait for the other bitch,” Pit snarled. He glared at Crack. “Be done before I come back from taking a piss, asshole.” His boots crunched on the loose rock.
“Keep watch,” Slash told Stubb. “Slash got shit to do…”
“Fuck that. Pit can watch.” As Stub’s voice rose in protest, Gin stared out at the darkness.
A bullet would hurt. I don’t want to die. Her belly tightened. But… No matter what, there would be pain and death. Through burning tears, she watched her fingers tremble. She wanted to live. To stay in this little town. To be with Atticus.
Because she loved him. Oh, so, so much—more than words could express. And she’d never told him.
A tear slid down her cheek, hot against her chilled skin. I just found him. This isn’t fair.
Heaven didn’t answer her protest.
She bit her lip and pushed her despair back. There were only two choices here. Should she wait like a victim to be put through horrors and murdered? Or take a bullet trying to escape? Either way, Slash wouldn’t let her live.
Atticus…he was coming. She knew it. “Virginia, I’ll always come after you. I keep what’s mine.” Like an old-fashioned cowboy, he wrote his own code, and he’d never give up. But he couldn’t arrive in time to save her.
She breathed out slowly. Her man had borne enough in his life; he didn’t need to see what Slash would do, see her brutalized body. No, she couldn’t do that to him.
The sound of ripping fabric brought Gin’s head up. Karen’s voice was muffled, but she was crying. Trying to scream.
Karen. No. Gin pulled in a sobbing breath.
If I run, they’ll chase me. All of them. She’d win a few minutes reprieve for Karen.
There was her goal. A positive goal. Save Karen. Even if only briefly.
Which way then? Run to the right, toward Slash and Stub and Pit, wherever he’d gone.
Or to the left, toward the clearing. No cover there, though.
Or straight out from the huge boulder at her back toward the forest. Crack and Karen lay right across that escape route.
But…but… She gave a huff of bitter laughter. Heh. No one expected a victim to run directly at him.
Curling her hands around a softball-sized rock, she shifted from a half-sprawl and stood, hiding her bound hands in the wreckage of her dangling shirt.
Stub and Slash stopped arguing. Slash took a threatening step toward her.
Taking her cue from Pit, she blurted out, “I-I have to pee. Please…?” She motioned to her right.
“Stupid cunt.” Slash drew his knife. “Playtime.”
Before he could move, she darted forward, straight toward Crack.
Straddling Karen, Crack had his attention on the struggling woman.
Gin skidded to a halt and brought the rough piece of granite down on Crack’s head with all her strength. The impact hurt her half-numb hands. The stone dropped.
She ran.
Shouts of fury came from behind her.
Son-of-a-bitch. Hearing furious shouts, Atticus abandoned restraint and frantically heaved himself upward. Almost… Fingernails ripped as he slid back.
One toe found a crack.
With another surge, he scrambled up and over the smooth dome face—and almost slipped off the other side.
The moon shone down on the frantic activity below.
Gin! She was sprinting directly away from his boulder.
“Cunt!” One con grabbed a pistol from a pack. He aimed at her back.
Fuck, no. Atticus dove straight off the top. Freefall. He hit the bastard in the spine—bones snapped like dry spaghetti—and they slammed into the ground with the convict on the bottom.
Breath knocked out of him, Atticus rolled free, trying to inhale. A bullet spit dirt into his face, and he kept rolling. The next shot would—
A rifle blast echoed off the rocks.
Someone groaned and gave a rasping gurgle. Atticus turned enough to see a body crumple to the ground. But who?
Atticus fought to move, to sit up. Couldn’t. His vision was blurry. Still gasping for breath, he struggled to reach the holster at his back and finally managed to pull his weapon.
A shape blocked the moonlight. A friendly.
“You dumbass, son-of-a-bitch, you almost got yourself killed.” Rifle in one hand, Wyatt kicked a weapon away from a body sprawled on the ground. “You dove headfirst off the fucking rock. Are you fucking insane?”
A pistol snapped.
Wyatt staggered back, blood blossoming on his shirt.
A shadowy figure emerged from between two rocks. A convict.
Shit. Arm still half-paralyzed, Atticus struggled to lift his pistol.
A black shape coalesced out of the shadows to attack the inmate. Trigger’s furious snarls filled the air. The convict’s pistol dropped as he fought to keep the dog from ripping out his throat.
Morgan trotted into the clearing, reversed his rifle, and butt-stroked the inmate. As the man fell, Morgan grabbed the dog’s ruff and pulled him back. “Good job, mutt. Now settle.”
Straightening, he surveyed the area. “You all right, bro?”
“Hell, no.” Wyatt lurched forward, holding his bloody upper arm. “You’re late.”
“Looked to me like I was right on time.”
“Bullshit, you—”
“Check the area. Stay on guard,” Atticus ordered. “And find Gin and the other woman.” He could hear a woman sobbing nearby. As the brothers split up, he struggled to sit.
The sound of running made him turn to look. “Shit,” he hissed as pain spasmed his muscles. But then relief swept through him.
Gin, emerging from the darkness between two boulders, was heading straight for him. “It is you. I heard your voice…” Eyes widening in distress, she dropped to her knees. “Oh honey, look at you.”
Before she could move, Trigger tore across the space and bowled her right over.
As she patted the frantic Labrador with her restrained hands, Atticus felt the knot inside him relax. Alive. She was alive.
All right then. He twisted his belt around and holstered his pistol—and just that amount of movement hurt like hell.
With the dog calmed, Gin moved closer.
“Hold still a second, sweetling.” Atticus pulled his knife from the belt sheath and cut the ropes around her wrists. Scraped raw, goddammit. “That’s better.”
“Where are you hurt?” Her freed hands trembled as she yanked his ripped-up shirt open. Her concern bordered on hysteria so he let her look.
He glanced down at the bloody scrapes covering his chest. Fucking granite. “Not as bad as it looks, baby.” His voice tore his throat like gravel.
After a quick, reassuring hug, he moved her back so he could do his own assessment.
She was moving without obvious injury. In the thin moonlight, he could see scrapes, bruises, gashes. Shirt ripped to shreds. Slacks still on. They hadn’t had time to…
His next breath came easier. “Are you hurt, sweetling?”
“Am I hurt?” Her voice rose. “Me?” She looked like she was ready to punch him. “I didn’t jump off a mountain.”
“Not much more than a big rock.” He eyed it, surprised he’d survived even with the crash pad of a convict. “I’m fine.” Although standing up was going to feel like hell.
“Sure you are, you…you idiot man.” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “You c-came. Oh, G-God, you’re really here.” Shaking so hard he could almost hear her bones rattle, she dropped her head to his shoulder
God, she was adorable. Touching her bruised cheek, he took himself a gentle kiss. “Guess if you can yell at me, you’re not too badly injured.”
“I’m fine.”
Bullshit. “Sure you are.” He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “Now focus, Gin. We heard four inmates. Is that correct?”
Her hands fisted as she fought for control. God, she made him proud. Then even though her breath was hitching, she sat back on her knees. “Four. Yes.” As she looked around the clearing, her face whitened further.
The eerie, pale moonlight illuminated bodies in motionless heaps. Hell, this was no sight for her. He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head before raising his voice. “Morgan, report, please.”
“No one else around. Wyatt’s tending the other woman.” Morgan yanked a final knot on the dog-savaged inmate and rose. “This asshole’s alive. The one you landed on is dead. Broken neck.”
Atticus breathed out and put the hit to his soul aside. He’d deal with the emotions later.
“The asshole with his dick hanging out might—or might not—make it.” Morgan jerked his chin to the right. “Looks like his skull got busted. Which of you did that?”
“Ware’s little bit helped us out,” Wyatt said from the left. Heedless of the blood soaking his shirtsleeve, he was trying to untie the weeping older counselor. “She smashed a rock over his head.”
“Seriously?” Morgan sounded as if he wanted to laugh. Well, adrenaline took some men that way. “Go, Gin.”
“And the last inmate?” Atticus asked.
Wyatt’s shoulders turned rigid. “My shot took out the other one. He’s dead.” The very lack of emotion in his voice shouted pain.
Damn me. The Mastersons were civilians. “Wyatt…”
Masterson didn’t lift his head as he helped the counselor sit up.
“Wyatt.”
The man looked over.
“You saved my life, Masterson. He almost shot me.”
Even as Wyatt’s expression eased slightly, Gin burst into tears, holding Atticus so tightly he couldn’t breathe. Hell. Shouldn’t have said that about almost dying. She hadn’t cried when saving herself or when being rescued. Not until now.
He wouldn’t have loosened her embrace for the world. This was where she belonged. As he rubbed his chin in her hair, the words escaped him in a whisper, “God, I love you.”