1. Nim
Chapter 1
Nim
Which deadly creature looks like a dog, sounds like a dog, and eats like a dog?Adog with a machete, obviously.
Never knew I’d be the punchline to such a bad joke.
The puppy that just wandered up to me doesn’t look deadly. Not even a little bit. It has floppy ears too big to ever grow into, a brown, black, and tan brindle coat, and a white star on its chest.
“Oh my fucking word, who’s the cutest liddle puppy in the whole wide world?” Whenever I see a cute dog, I instantly switch to baby talk. Which is weird, because that doesn’t happen when I see a baby.
Crouching, I hold my hand out to the little critter. Going from the blue collar, I assume he’s a boy—or possibly the fur-baby of woke parents who refuse to bow to gender norms.
The puppy cocks his head, regarding me with a shrewd frown.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I won’t hurt you.”
If I’d known this adorable bundle of fur and frowns would turn out to be just as dangerous as the dog with the machete, I wouldn’t have made kissing sounds to lure him out from behind a fern until he was close enough that I could scratch him behind his ears.
“See? All I have up my sleeve is loooove.” If he wasn’t so fucking cute, I might have spent more time trying to figure out what a little rascal like this was doing in the woods.
Fuck, I could ask myself the same question. I’m the furthest thing from outdoorsie, but here I am, knee-deep in green things.It was this or wait in the car outside some massive mansion’s wrought iron gates. And since I’d just spent six hours in the car with my parents already, I felt like I needed a change of scenery. Not that I don’t love them, but if I had to listen to one more anecdote about Cinderhart, the kind where they alternate sentences and laugh so much, I can barely make out what they’re saying, then I would have lost my fucking mind. Plus, forests always seem so cool. We don’t have any back home in the city. It’s all concrete and glass.
“What’s your name?” I gingerly grab the dog’s collar and hunt for a tag. “Boomer?” There’s a phone number on the bag. “Are you lost, boy?” Now that the puppy is closer, it’s apparent he is, in fact, a boy.
I take out my phone and start putting in the number. I have two more digits to go when the crack of a gunshot makes me gasp.
Boomer lets out a deafening yip , and bolts away.
“Boomer, no! Wait. I mean, stay! Come back!” Shit, the poor little spud can’t be left alone out here by himself. He must be terrified. I know I am.
I shove my phone in my pocket and rush after him, glad I decided on sneakers and not my usual thick-heeled boots. Although, when I stub my toe on an exposed root a few seconds later, I change my mind.
“Fuck!” I lose sight of Boomer and, when I spin around, realize that I’ve wandered off the faint path I’d been following all the way from Vicky’s house.
“Goddammit,” I mutter. I’m seconds away from calling my parents and requesting air support.
This trip to Cinderhart started out pretty fun. I don’t remember much about this place. Our family left when I was a baby, so I didn’t get a chance to make many memories. My parents came back for their twentieth reunion, and felt the need to drag me along. Now I’m being forced to spend the weekend in this tiny mining town while my best friend gets to ogle all the hot guys at the club where we work.
Life really isn’t fair.
As much as I want to rescue Boomer, I should be heading back to civilization. The last thing I need is to get lost in these tangled woods, especially with hunters around. At least…I hope that gunshot I heard was from a hunter. Oh my God...is that what Boomer’s doing here? He must have gotten separated from his pack, the poor little sod.
There’s a faint yip in the distance.
Speak of the devil’s adorable little dog.
I’ll feel terrible if I leave him out here. I have GPS on my phone—I can’t get that lost, right?
I start in the direction I heard him bark, moving at a jog so I don’t lose him but not at a run so I stub my toe again. It’s tough going, but searching for a dog in an overgrown forest is still more fun than sitting parked in a car with barely functional air conditioning.
Not to say I’m not super intrigued about the little town my parents were born and raised in. Their lives here sound like something out of a fairy tale. They met in junior high, fell in love, and got married while they were still in college. They say the biggest mistake they ever made was moving to the city once they’d graduated...which makes me wonder why they didn’t just stay here. But if they had, I wouldn’t have become friends with Peggy, wouldn’t have landed such an awesome job, and I’d probably be spending my weekends doing this—running around in a forest.
“Boomer!” I call out. “Come here, boy!”
I have no idea if I’m headed in the right direction. Everything looks exactly the same and it’s a lot spookier out here than I’d anticipated. I thought forests were supposed to be serene places of natural beauty. Trees and shadows and moss. Only dangerous if I fell into poison ivy, or bumped into a wild boar.
Wait, do they even have wild boars in this state?
As I bat a trailing vine out of the way, I see a blotch of brown and black ahead.
Boomer.
The puppy is sitting at attention near the edge of a small clearing. I hear a stream burbling somewhere nearby, and spot it to one side when I creep closer. Creeping, because there’s something about the way Boomer’s sitting that has me all kinds of nervous.
Tense, rigid, trembling.He’s either terrified or excited beyond belief.
Oh God...
Instinct tells me not to break cover, despite an overwhelming urge to fetch Boomer so he can’t run away again. Thank fuck I listen to my gut, because a second later a man decked head-to-toe in hunting gear walks into view from behind a massive spread of ferns. He’s even wearing a peaked cap and camo bandanna, so all I can see are his cruel black eyes.He looks a bit like a bandit would, if they’d started wearing camouflage.
If this is Boomer’s owner, why doesn’t the puppy run to him? Unless it’s not his dad. Or maybe that rifle at his side makes the puppy as nervous as it does me.
How many hunters are there in these woods?
“Hey, Boomer!” I whisper, quietly snapping my fingers.
The puppy glances back at me, but remains sitting.
“Come.” I make kissing sounds, and the puppy hesitantly turns toward me. Just then, the man lifts his rifle and shoots into the air.
I clap a hand over my mouth as I scream in shock, falling backward and scrambling until my back hits a tree.Suddenly, Boomer starts yipping. It’s nothing like his previous barks.This sound makes my skin crawl.
“Will you never fucking learn?” the man says, his voice hard as steel.
Boomer’s bark cuts off with a pained yelp. My eyes fly open, and before I can stop myself, I’m peering around the tree trunk.
The hunter has Boomer by the scruff of his neck, carrying him like a fucking duffle bag as he walks away. The puppy is lame, which I know is what happens when you grab them by their necks, but my heart clenches at the way his scrawny little body swings from the hunter’s heartless grip.
I scramble up, a lump in my throat trapping my outraged yell.
I hate people that treat animals like objects. I am not usually a violent person, but there’s a laundry list of things running through my head that I’d like to do to that hunter right now. Quite a few involve his testicles.
But it’s not my place to intervene, especially with a strange hunter in the middle of a forest. Boomer is back where he belongs, poor little sod, so it’s time I went back. The sun is starting to set anyway. I definitely don’t want to be out here during twilight.
Before I can move, five adult versions of Boomer stream into view. Black, brown, brindled, their sleek bodies form straight lines from their noses to their tails, their floppy ears pricked. The dogs move silently through the clearing, leaping effortlessly over the small stream before disappearing into the foliage again. They’re mesmerizing to watch, and all I can do is stare until they’re gone.
Then another three hunters in full camo gear appear.
They move through the undergrowth with as much calm and precision as the dogs, but their presence here doesn’t make sense.
They’re too goddamn attractive.
Boomer’s handler calls out, “Did they pick up a scent?”
So that’s why the dogs were so never minded about Boomer and his handler. They had more important business elsewhere. One of those wild boars?
The tallest of the newcomers isn’t wearing a cap or bandanna like Boomer’s dad. He looks to be about three or four years older than me, twenty-two at the most. As he comes to a stop, he runs a hand through his shock of unruly black hair. The boys behind him look to be around the same age. One is built like a tank with short, neatly styled brown hair, the other is slimmer with a shaggy-cut mop of dirty-blond hair.
All three of them could easily be models. The tall, black-haired one could be in a Louis Vuitton or Fendi catalog. The brawnier one I can easily see as a WWE wrestler. The guy bringing up the rear with his messy blond hair? I’m sure Billabong or Quicksilver would snap him up in a heartbeat, whether or not he could actually surf.
My heart beats double-time as I retreat deeper into the dappled shade of a massive fern. Being nosy has always gotten me in into trouble. Looks like today is no exception. I should be figuring out which direction is home and fucking off instead of watching this weird Mexican standoff.
But then Vuitton steps forward, gives Boomer’s dad a very unpleasant smile, and slips a machete out of his belt.