35. Chapter 35
Hunter
I slide the phone out of my back pocket. Eighty yards to the pin drop location. I lock it, then secure it once more.
The oaks are getting thicker, branches low enough that I duck under them without slowing. No moonlight cuts through the canopy. Don't need it. My eyes adjusted ten minutes ago, and the shapes are enough—trunks, gaps, the deer trail bending ahead.
Something moves to my left. Small. Low to the ground. Not a threat.
Unlike Garrett.
My jaw clenches, molars grinding hard enough the pressure shoots into my temples. This is all my fucking fault. I let Garrett back in. Believed he'd changed. Because I needed it to be true. Would mean I could change too.
Pathetic.
And now he took what’s mine.
A branch snaps, and I freeze, crouching slightly, hand going to the hilt of the knife in my waistband. Nothing moves or comes into sight. I wait a few more seconds before continuing.
The texts from Garrett came forty-five minutes ago. Not sure when the picture was taken. Or if Atlas is even alive.
My stomach twists hard enough to slow my next step.
He’s alive. He has to be.
I’ll get there in time, then end this. Because I love Atlas.
Always have.
Should’ve told him years ago. Trusted it wouldn’t have changed anything. Except . . . I attacked him and ruined it all.
Atlas can hate me, never forgive me. Move halfway across the country if he wants.
He just can’t die.
The ground slopes downward, and I adjust my footing, eyes raking over every trunk, gap, and place a person could hide. My brother has no idea what I am. No idea how much like our father I’ve become.
He’s about to find out.
The tree patterns are changing. The oak trunks wider, less space between them. Something scuffs fast against the dirt, then stops.
I slow, crouch down, and wait in the shadows. Whatever it is, it’s not an animal.
The frantic scuffing starts again, followed by a trapped grunt.
I inch toward the sound. Twenty yards ahead, something is moving. Tucking up against a thick trunk, I scan the perimeter. Left, then right, working a slow arc through every shadow. No movement. No silhouettes. No glint of metal.
Pressing forward again, I keep tight to the trees. Fifteen yards north, someone is partially upright against a tree, legs stretched out in front of them. They start struggling, letting out a high-pitched grunt as they thrash.
Atlas.
It’s got to be.
I let out a breath. He’s alive.
And alone.
My brother is around here somewhere. Waiting. Don’t know if he’s armed, if his intention is to kill Atlas the moment he spots me. So, I can’t risk rushing in.
I drop lower, keeping tight to the trees. The brush is thicker past him, waist-high in places, black shapes layered over black shapes. Enough room for a man to crouch. Enough cover for a rifle barrel. A knife. Anything.
But there’s no movement, no shift of weight in the leaves.
I creep closer. Five yards. Three.
Atlas’s head jerks up when I step into view. His eyes widen for half a second before they sharpen, and he gives one hard shake of his head.
A warning.
I stop behind an oak, one hand against the bark, eyes cutting left, then right. Slow. Wider this time. Past him. Behind him. Through the low shrubs and the thin gaps between trunks.
Nothing.
Atlas makes a sound. Low. Muffled. Angry. Then another shake of his head, smaller this time.
But I cross the last few feet anyway, then crouch beside him, putting my body between him and the thickest part of the brush.
Atlas’s eyes find mine. They’re swollen, bloodshot, furious.
And alive.
A dark strip of fabric is shoved between his teeth and tied tight behind his head. A thin cut runs from his cheekbone to his jaw.
My molars grind. Garrett fucking cut him.
I reach behind and untie the fabric, then toss the gag aside. “You okay?”
“Wade.” His voice is raw. Wrecked. But steady. “It's Wade.”
“What?”
“He’s here, broke out of prison. He planned this.”
I swallow hard, lips pressed into a thin line. If my uncle escaped, why didn’t VINE call? Why didn’t they fucking warn us? I cup Atlas’s cheek, my thumb grazing over the cut on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry. This is on me. I should’ve told you about my brother.”
His brows furrow, nostrils flaring. “Yeah. You should have. But we've got bigger problems.”
Understatement.
Both my uncle and brother are around here somewhere. Watching. Which means I need to get Atlas free, and fast.
I shift to his ankles, pulling the knife from the back of my waistband, then cut the rope binding him.
“Hunt, they threatened to go after Davis. They have a picture of him.”
My grip tightens on the hilt, pulse spiking.
When the rope is loose, I move behind the tree trunk and get to work on the zip ties.
They dug in deep, blood coating Atlas’s skin, making the plastic slick.
I carefully work the blade under the first zip tie and cut through it.
Atlas flinches and grunts. Every fiber in my body pulls taut.
Going to kill every last member of my family for what they did to him. For even thinking about going after Davis.
Fuck.
Did my brother ever even leave New York? Has he been watching us this whole time?
I move back to the other side of the tree as Atlas rubs his wrists. “You need to get out of—”
A crack cuts through the air.
I slam into Atlas, driving him sideways and down, one arm around his head, the other braced against the dirt as something punches into the trunk above us.
Splinters of bark hit the back of my neck. Atlas grunts under me, his hands fisting in my shirt as more pieces rain down over my shoulder and into his hair.
“Stay down,” I say.
One second.
Two.
No second shot.
But a branch snaps. Then another.
I lift my head and look over my shoulder just as my uncle steps into view.
“Knew you'd come for Bambi.”
My grip tightens on the knife as I spring to my feet, making sure to keep my body between him and Atlas.
A second shape, thinner, steps out of the shadows.
Garrett.
My brother stops just past the trunk he came from, arms hanging loose. His eyes move from me to Atlas and back. His expression gives nothing away, but his hands are shaking.
A snarl rips out of my chest, my lip curling back over my teeth.
Garrett looks away, the fucking coward.
The brush rustles behind my uncle, and another man steps out. No one I know. He whistles, looking me up and down. “Oh, he's a big boy.”
I widen my stance, keeping my body between Atlas and the three men, knife angled and ready.
My uncle smirks, a slight tilt to his head. “Promised you a good hunt, didn't I? And this one will fight until his last breath. Will be the best thing you ever killed.”
Behind me, Atlas’s boots scrape the ground. A second later, his fingers rest against my lower back, his harsh breath fanning the back of my neck. I angle my free arm backward, making sure he stays tucked behind me.
My uncle chuckles, low and deep, his smirk widening. “If I were you, I’d run, boy.”
“No.”
Another crack cuts through the air, shards of bark spraying Atlas and me again when the bullet hits the tree behind us.
There’s someone else out there.
Fuck.
I could get to my uncle and open his throat. Take out the wannabe behind him next. Even hurt, Atlas can handle Garrett. But I don’t know where the one with the rifle is. Might even be more out there.
I step back, closer to Atlas until his chest presses into me.
“Hunt, go.”
“No.”
Another shot. More wood fractures around us.
God-fucking-dammit.
Atlas shoves me. “Run, you stubborn asshole! Please!”
“Better do what he says. Or the next bullet goes in Bambi’s head.” My uncle pulls his hunting knife out of its sheath, then runs his finger along the blade. “Come on, boy. Run. I’ve been waiting twenty years for this.”
A growl tears past my lips, and my eyes drop to his throat. No. First I want his wrist. Want the bones to shift and break under my fingers. Then I’ll use his own knife to end his life.
Not clean.
Not quick.
I’ll drag it out the way he did to all those kids.
My uncle points the tip of his hunting knife at me. “Three.”
Atlas nudges me again. “Hunter, go!”
Wade takes a step. “Two.”
I take a deep breath, tucking my knife into my waistband.
“One.”
After spinning to face Atlas, I pull him close and kiss him—brief, hard, eyes open. Pressing my forehead to his, I hold his gaze. “I love you.”
Before he can respond, I turn and run.