11. Skull Tattoo
F uck, that was close.
My fingers shake as I inspect every bolt, wire, nook, and cranny of the SUV’s undercarriage, heartbeat thundering like the clouds rolling down the mountain.
Adrenaline and exhaustion rattle through me as I work, not easing up even when I find the black box glued to the frame and start to pry it free.
Without Luna watching, waiting to pounce on any sign of weakness, the anxiety that’s been pent-up since my brothers and I hatched this plan releases.
She’s given me the cold shoulder since the chase, eyes glued on the view. Fine by me. She can take in her new home without having to see how on edge I was while getting us out of enemy territory and into Lost Cove.
The past twenty-four hours have been a shit show.
This wasn’t the way I wanted to claim my bride.
In all the time that I watched Luna Bordeaux, only once did I manage to get close enough without detection.
Her needy moans from that night were the soundtrack to my fantasies for three hundred and sixty-five days.
When I finally had her in my arms again, I wanted more of that —less murder, kidnapping, and car chase.
But Sol and the Wildes gave me no other choice but to steal back what’s mine.
And to top it off, before the deep woods swallowed my signal, my brothers texted that while they were checking on the other Troisgarde daughters, Bart slipped out of the hospital, somehow shaking my tranq dart within an hour. Which means Bartholomew Wilde is in the wind. Not good.
Dash and Hatch had to split up to search for him, which meant no running interference for the trackers Sol planted on their cars. We’d checked all our vehicles before the performance and removed the one from mine, leaving it in a local dumpster to keep their cars the decoys and mine in the clear.
We should’ve known something was off. The devices were in easy-to-find places and shitty models.
It never crossed our minds that Sol would plant two, but he’s not the head of one of the most dangerous crime families in the country for nothing, and the smart motherfucker outplayed us.
With my brothers stuck in New Orleans and a tracker still hidden on my SUV, Sol followed the only vehicle moving. Mine.
I grunt, leveraging my knife under the box. The thing’s stubborn as a tick. Granted, this one is a BlackJack, a BlackStone Securities model, so I wouldn’t expect anything less. But thankfully, after another twist, it pops free.
“Got you, fucker.” I drop it into my hand and exhale, resting my head on the dirt.
Knowing I had this tracker on me for the last three hours in Wilde territory was enough to fuck me up.
Of course, Sol caught up with us right before the exit back to Dark Corner. With Nox racing me like a madman, I couldn’t risk taking a sharp turnoff and getting cornered, so into the lion’s den we went.
And not just any lion’s den. Ruth “Bossie” Wilde’s land.
She’s the matriarch that runs these parts, grandmother to none other than Bartholomew, Rufus, and Ozias, and she’s as ruthless as they come.
The last place I want Luna is anywhere near the Wildes, and I had to drive for hours in a land full of their proverbial landmines, each corner and bend a possible trap.
After an eternity, I finally got us into the red painted woods of Lost Cove, neutral territory in our world. We’re still hours from our Dark Corner holler, but safe from the Wildes, so I took the first dirt road turnout that could hide us to ditch the BlackJack.
The overgrown path led to a rocky cliffside where a river runs twenty feet below.
Rain upstream has filled it to the brim, flooding banks and cresting over boulders.
Humidity clings my shirt to my sweaty chest under my leather jacket.
A gust whips under the SUV, bringing the earthy scent of petrichor and some relief from the early autumn heat.
Normally, I’d skip the jacket, but the heavy air, plummeting temps, and whistling wind means a storm’s brewing.
A bad one, judging by the thunderclouds veiling the highest mountains on the horizon.
The radio forecaster said it’ll rain buckets for the next week. “The storm of the century,” they said.
Folks ’round here don’t place much stock in catastrophizing like that.
Meteorologists rarely get it right, focusing on the plains and valleys rather than the peaks.
We’re a different biome—in every sense—but whether they’re right about the severity, a storm is coming, and I need to get my girl home.
These mountains are prone to mudslides, rockslides, and washouts in the best conditions. Once we’re out of Lost Cove, we still have hours more off-roading to go, and it’s already dusk. I won’t feel safe until we’re in King Fury land, and I just want my bride home, where she belongs.
Once she’s there, I’ll do everything I can to convince her to be mine. I know I can do it. Like my father was able to with?—
Don’t think about that.
I shove the tracker into my pocket and scan the chassis, this time for damage. The Nyx Headhunter’s fender and tailgate are fucked from the love taps I gave the Bordeauxs, but it’s nothing I can’t fix with Hatch’s help. Everything under here looks fine.
The SUV shifts above me.
I still.
When nothing moves, my eyes narrow at the frame.
Did I imagine?—
It happens again, and a smile slow curves my lips.
I knew Luna Bordeaux would be an adventure, and she hasn’t disappointed.
Basing my direction on the shifting above, I grab my crossbow from beside me and silently shimmy out the opposite side—no small feat for a six-five fella even with the lift kit I installed. Once I’m out, I loop my crossbow around my back and stay low, listening.
Somehow, my dainty little city girl manages to rustle leaves, snap twigs, and curse under her breath louder than the rumbling sky.
I’ll have to teach her how to walk in the forest, but for now, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling.
She’s as graceful as a swan on stage, but out here, she’s got all the subtlety of a coal train.
I lean against the SUV, waiting for her to notice.
But with absolutely zero survival instincts, she looks off into the woods instead of checking behind herself. I wait, plotting the best way to catch my little bird.
Her tulle-cuffed hands are somehow in front of her now, a pity since her perfect, round tits are no longer propped up like a meal on a platter.
I admire the rest of her—slim curves, fragile neck begging for my skull-tattooed hand around it, gauzy tutu struggling to conceal a perfectly delectable ass I can’t wait to sink my teeth into.
Half her hair is still pinned back with a feather crown, the rest spilling in vivid cherry cola waves against the green forest backdrop.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
The incoming storm’s cool air gives her a cold chill. Won’t be long now before it’s pouring. We need to get moving.
I push off the SUV, standing at my full height, ready for when she finally turns or runs. I’m surprised she hasn’t fled already, but I kind of hope she does. I’ve sat in the car for hours, so I’m up for a good chase.
But she does neither, still just scanning the trees.
Damn, she’d get herself killed out here without me.
“Go on.” My voice rumbles out like the storm. “Run.”
She freezes, then slowly turns on one slippered foot. Her eyes, clear blue as a spring river, widen.
I cross my arms, smirking. “I dare you. I haven’t chased prey in a good long while.”
She scowls, and I let out my chuckle as I force open the dented trunk with a jerk that makes it creak in protest.
“For what it’s worth, you wouldn’t make it far.
That Garden District pavement running ain’t got nothing on rocks, hills, and roots.
You’d sooner sprain an ankle than get free of me.
” I nod to her bound arms. “Especially with your wings clipped. Even if you did, there’s no one for miles.
City girl like you’d get ate up by wampus cats and bog mud before morning. ”
Her eyes narrow. “You just made those words up.”
“I assure you, I did not. There’s all sorts of shit out here I don’t know about, let alone what you don’t know about.”
“Maybe I’ll take my chances,” she sneers. “Anything’s better than being held captive by the guy who tried to kill my family.”
“This again?” I roll my eyes before riffling through my gear. “If I wanted them dead, they’d be dead. But you said yourself Nox knows how to drive.”
“Yeah, but he’s never had to go up against a maniac with a death wish.”
“Like I said, that’s Hatch, not me. But I bet he loved the challenge.” I tap a mocking finger against my chin. “He could’ve, I don’t know, let my wife and me have a lovely drive through the parkway.”
“A lovely drive? You were reckless!”
“You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?” I snort, resting my hands on the trunk’s edge as I peer into the cabin.
Front door’s open. Tulle handcuffs in front of her. I thought getting out of the seatbelt alone would’ve been damn near impossible.
“How the hell did you get out, Houdini?”
My eyes sweep over her, clinically this time as I try to figure out the answer. But her hooded gaze is trailing up from my boots and rests where my raised shirt and jacket reveals my lower abs. I never want her to stop looking at me like that.
Thunder rumbles low and long in the distance.
We have to go.
I clear my throat.
She shakes her head like she’s rattling out thoughts I’d do anything to make come true.
My brows raise and my lips twitch. “You good?”
She straightens and adopts a smug look that just makes me want to kiss her.
“I’m a ballerina, so I’m flexible and I have a high pain tolerance. I loosened these restraints enough to tuck my knees through and loop my arms forward.” She lifts a shoulder nonchalantly. “It was a lot easier with tulle in a crossover than handcuffs in a cop car.”