Chapter Fourteen
~ Liam ~
Bear studied my scribbled message with narrowed eyes, his massive shoulders tensing as he read the words.
"Hunt the hunters," he repeated, a dismissive grunt following the words.
He looked down at me, skepticism radiating from his entire body.
"No offense, kid, but what exactly do you know about hunting men?
You've spent fifteen years hiding from them. "
I didn't blame him for his doubt. In his eyes, I was still the feral creature who'd been scavenging from their dumpsters, the broken thing who flinched at sudden movements and couldn't—or wouldn't—speak.
He had no way of knowing that surviving alone for fifteen years hadn't just taught me how to hide. It had taught me how to hunt.
I moved away from the edge of the outcropping, finding a fresh patch of dirt in the moonlight.
The earth was cool beneath my knees as I knelt, my fingers already moving to clear away small rocks and twigs.
I sensed rather than saw the others gathering around me, their shadows falling across the makeshift canvas I was creating.
The compound spread below us like a battlefield chess board. Victor's men were still methodically searching the buildings, their tactical lights cutting through smoke and darkness.
I let my eyes unfocus slightly, seeing beyond what was happening now to what could happen—what I could make happen—if these men trusted me enough to follow my lead.
I dipped my finger into the soil and began to draw a more detailed map than the one I had drawn before.
First, the terrain—a precise topographical map emerging from quick, practiced strokes.
The clubhouse and outbuildings. The access road.
The fence line. The natural features I'd catalogued during months of observation.
Depressions. Rises. The drainage ditch that offered concealed approach from the north.
The fallen log that created a natural blind on the western edge.
Years of surveillance had taught me that victory often hinged on these details—the aspects of terrain most people overlooked.
"What is he..." Gunner started, but Rooster hushed him with a raised hand.
Bear watched with crossed arms as my fingers continued their dance across the dirt. I added Victor's men next, marking their current positions with X's, then drew arrows indicating their most likely movement patterns based on their training level and previous operations I'd witnessed.
Bear's posture shifted subtly. The dismissive tension in his shoulders gave way to something closer to curiosity.
I kept working.
With my free hand, I gestured for Bear's knife. He hesitated only a moment before handing it over. I used the tip to draw four clear circles at strategic points surrounding Victor's projected positions.
I pointed to the first circle, then to Bear, then traced a path through the underbrush to a granite outcropping I'd discovered months ago. The natural formation created a perfect firing position—high ground with multiple sight lines, but sufficient cover for someone of Bear's bulk.
"There?" Bear asked, leaning closer to study the position I'd indicated. "That doesn't give me a clean shot at their command vehicle."
I shook my head, adding Victor's likely extraction routes to the map. Then I drew a series of figures fleeing toward the road—right past Bear's position. I mimed a shotgun blast, then pointed to the narrowest part of the path where the undergrowth would funnel them directly into his line of fire.
Understanding dawned on his face. "You want me to let them get past me. Catch them in retreat."
I nodded, then continued marking positions. Gunner's circle appeared near a cluster of mature pines I'd used as a surveillance post in early spring. The positioning would give him clear sight of the main approach while providing multiple angles to shift his fire as needed.
I drew small figures representing the rest of Victor's team, adding arrows to show how they'd likely scatter once they realized they were under attack. Then I made a sweeping gesture with my hand before pointing to Gunner's position.
"I can cover three directions from there," Gunner observed, his tactical mind immediately grasping what I was showing him. "Cut off their retreat to the vehicles."
My final circle was for Rooster, placed at a seemingly insignificant point halfway between the other two positions.
It wasn't until I added the projected escape routes of Victor's men that the strategic value of the position became clear.
Anyone fleeing Bear's ambush would run directly into Rooster's waiting arms.
"Jesus Christ," Bear muttered, his eyes narrowed as he studied the completed map. "You've actually thought this through."
I reached for my pencil and notebook, scribbling quickly before turning it for them to see: "5 years tracking these teams. Same tactics, same extraction plans. Predictable."
Bear's skepticism was visibly eroding as he examined the positions I'd marked. He pointed to his assigned location with a thick finger. "This spot gives me cover from all sides," he said, less a question than a realization.
I nodded, then gestured to his broad shoulders.
The granite formation was one of the few positions in the area that would accommodate his size while still providing adequate protection.
I'd sheltered there once during a thunderstorm, noting how the rock face deflected sound and shielded me from view on three sides.
"And this cluster of pines," Gunner added, indicating his position. "Multiple angles, easy repositioning between them." His eyes met mine with new respect. "You picked positions based on our individual strengths."
I hadn't just assigned positions randomly.
I'd watched these men for months, learning their habits, their preferences, how they moved in combat situations.
Bear relied on raw power and frontal assault.
Gunner was more methodical, preferring to control the battlefield through superior positioning. And Rooster...
I turned to my mate, pointing to his circle on the map, then miming someone walking into an unexpected obstacle.
What I couldn't explain in words was that I'd chosen his position specifically because it played to his protective instincts.
Anyone fleeing in that direction would be running blindly, panicked—less of a threat to Rooster than a head-on confrontation would be.
"Ambush position," Rooster said softly, understanding crossing his features. "You want me to catch anyone who gets past the others."
I nodded, relieved he understood. Then I added one final mark to the map—a small 'X' in a dense patch of underbrush with clear sightlines to all three of their positions. I pointed to myself, then to the X.
"No," Rooster said immediately, shaking his head. "You're not putting yourself in the middle of this."
I fixed him with a steady gaze, then deliberately wrote in my notebook: "Need coordinator. Someone who can signal each position when to move."
"The kid's right," Bear said, his voice gruff but tinged with something that sounded remarkably like respect. "We need someone coordinating our movements or we'll just end up shooting at shadows." He studied me with narrowed eyes. "You really think this will work?"
I nodded once, confident in my assessment. These weren't random assignments. They were calculated positions based on months of observation, years of survival instinct, and a lifetime of learning to read terrain like others read books.
Bear held my gaze for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the moonlight. Then, with a decisive nod, he turned to the others. "Let's gear up. You heard the kid. We've got positions to take."
As they moved to gather their weapons, Bear paused beside me, his massive frame blocking out the moonlight for a moment. "Not bad for a guy who doesn't talk," he muttered, the closest thing to a compliment I'd ever heard from him.
I didn't respond. Didn't need to. The dirt map between us said everything necessary—that while they had been watching me, I had been watching everything. Learning. Planning. Preparing for a moment I'd hoped would never come, but knew eventually would.
Rooster caught my eye from where he was checking his weapon, a question in his gaze. I gave him a small nod of reassurance. This wasn't my first time facing hunters in the night. It was just the first time I wouldn't be facing them alone.
I felt the notebook slip from my pocket before I heard it hit the ground. The sound of paper hitting dirt was barely audible, but to me it was like a gunshot—fifteen years of secrets splayed open on the forest floor.
Before I could react, Rooster had already bent to retrieve it, his eyes catching on the pages that had fallen open to my detailed surveillance notes from two months ago. I froze, watching his expression shift from curiosity to shock as he realized what he was looking at.
"What's this?" he murmured, his fingers hovering over the meticulously sketched patrol routes I'd documented around the compound.
My heart hammered against my ribs. That notebook contained everything—every observation, every pattern, every weakness I'd spotted in both the MC's defenses and their enemies' tactics.
It was my survival manual, my insurance policy, my most private thoughts rendered in drawings and sparse notations.
I could have snatched it back. Part of me wanted to. The part that had survived by keeping secrets, by letting no one see the full extent of what I knew or what I could do. But another part—the part that had placed Rooster's hand over my heart in the garden—hesitated.
Rooster looked up at me, a question in his eyes, seeking permission.
I gave a small nod, my throat tight with an emotion I couldn't name.