Chapter 3
Cade
She was a dream. The woman was a dream. Another fucking hallucination.
I wake in the barn with the taste of blood and dirt in my mouth, and a strange noise in my chest. I don’t know if my heart is about to give out, my lungs are full of dust, or if it’s all in my head.
But really… was there actually a woman in here?
My calf is a single, blunt throb—swollen and the pain so thick it barely spikes anymore. Sweat soaks me through, piss-warm and sour, turning the hay beneath me into a gluey mat. The air presses in, sweet and spoiled and tight, and for a second I can’t move at all.
Still, I force myself to lift my head. My foot is elevated on a bunch of rotting sweet feed, free of my boot and my jeans cut off up to my thigh. I frown at it, and my empty knife sheath.
She was here. And she stripped me of my only fucking weapon.
Except she didn’t. I am a weapon. Well, a dying one.
I drop my head back, and the ceiling drops closer. It’s not real, not really, but the way the light catches in the rafters makes it look like the beams are ready to come down and pin me like a bug on concrete.
And everything starts to swim again.
For a second all I see is the inside of my eyelids—red and pulsing.
Then the smell of the hay hits me again.
But it’s not just the rotting hay here, it’s the raw green from the old days, when the bales were packed too tight in the crawlspace, when my father would shove me inside and tell me to ‘get smart or get caught by Daddy.’
My stomach tightens. My chest constricts. My fists clench.
The sound of fingernails drags across raw wood, slow and eerie. The click of a latch dropping hits my ears. My whole body braces.
I am seven. I am seventeen. I am twenty-seven, and nothing changes.
The wave passes but leaves the panic floating on top. My hands are shaking so bad I have to steady them on my thighs before I can come back to earth. I blink the sweat and tears away and focus on the taste in my mouth.
Old pennies and dirt. That’s what I taste.
That’s real. Nothing else is certain.
The latch rattles again, and a small, childlike whimper escapes before I can stop it, fear flooding my nervous system.
I don’t want this. I don’t want this.
The door drags open. Sun floods the barn in a single, blinding blade. I blink, eyes fighting to adjust. The silhouette in the doorway is small, built in a womanly way, her hair pulled back and shadowed out by the light.
I recognize her even before she steps inside.
She comes in careful, carrying things in her arms. “Are you awake?” Her voice is calm and soft, different than what I expected.
“Barely,” I say, eyeing her as I start to make out what she’s holding.
Water. She has fucking water.
That has me trying to sit up, but the pain knocks the breath right out of me.
“Easy,” she says, and I catch sight of her blondish-red hair as she eyes me. She sets the things down on the floor, and then starts moving more sacks of feed. The muscles in her arms are defined.
She does this often, I note to myself, while ignoring the twitch of something else in my abdomen.
The woman scoops a bag closer to me, and I see what she’s doing. I lift my torso just enough for her to slide the stack behind me. It sends an ache through my rib cage, and my vision swims for a second.
“It’ll be easier to drink this way,” she murmurs, her forearm brushing my back as she retreats.
She steps back, and her pretty blue eyes scan the setup.
She nods, as if it’s good enough. “Here.” She slides a huge jug toward me.
“It’s Gatorade. You probably need the electrolytes…
I don’t know what you’ve been through, but…
yeah.” She stops herself, her nose crinkling.
I reach out and bring the jug closer to me, eyeing her as I do. Her jeans are damn near painted on her obviously strong legs, and the gray T-shirt is soaked through with sweat. Tediously, I lean my head over and sip on the white straw.
And fuck, does the lemon-lime-tinged water taste good.
“I have no idea what to do now.” Her voice comes out small, her arms folding across her chest. “I cleaned your leg, and you stayed unconscious.”
I follow her eyes to my exposed calf, which sure enough, is clean. I slept through that? What else did she do to me? I do a quick scan, but give it up, going back to the water.
“I can’t get antivenom, and even if I could,” she pauses, “I don’t know how to run an IV or whatever.” Her top teeth bite down into her chapped, plump bottom lip. “You’re going to have to tough it out, out here.”
“God forbid you let me have a little A/C,” I scoff, the feed sacks crinkling as I rest my head back on them. The rush of hydration almost drowns out the excruciating pain in my leg. “You live in a barn, too? Since you don’t have a phone?”
The woman walks over to the closest hay bale, rests against it, and then pulls a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. “I don’t think it would be smart to let you in my house, Sergeant Kellan.” She unfolds it, and sure enough, there’s my mugshot on the wanted notice. “This is you?”
I don’t answer. I just stare.
She lets me look at it, then folds it again and tucks it back into her pocket.
“You don’t have to answer, I know this is who you are,” she says, voice flat, West Texas unhurried. “Figured we ought to clear the air about that.”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw pops. “And why aren’t you driving to town and shouting it to the world that you found me? I’m sure there’s some hefty fucking reward.”
She shrugs, her brows furrowing. “I don’t have a license anymore.”
I narrow my eyes at her, not fucking buying it. “So, you don’t have a phone. Or a license.”
“You pissed yourself,” she gestures to my soaked jeans. “I might have some fresh clothes for you to change into.”
I want to snap back at her, but the lure of the Gatorade wins. I drag myself further upright, favoring my good leg, and pull the jug back to my lips.
She makes a humming noise, and I eye her over the white plastic lid. “The swelling’s down but it still looks real bad. No black streaks though. I think you’ll keep the leg.”
“Lucky me.”
“Yeah, lucky you. Just don’t drink too fast and make it last.” She falls silent for a few moments, and then glances back toward the closed door, her eyes staying there. Her lips purse and then relax as she peers back at me. “I won’t be back until the morning.”
I almost ask why, and then as she unfolds her arms, her left hand pushes her hair out of her face. The gold glint of a small wedding band catches my eye.
I can’t stop my smirk. “You gonna hide me from your ball and chain, huh?”
Her eyes darken instantly. “He’s the sheriff.”
“Figures,” I swallow another sip and rest my head back. “Of course, I’m gonna fucking die in the sheriff’s barn.”
“My barn,” she corrects me, her tone flat. “Not the sheriff’s.”
“What’s yours is his.” I nod to the shiny ring on her finger.
She lets out a sigh and shakes her head, letting a few beats pass. “I heard them say on the news that you killed two Marines. Stabbed one in the neck and shot the other. One was a woman.” Her voice is clinical, devoid of emotion. “Is that true?”
I let out a laugh, expecting her to spook.
She just glares at me. “I’ve had worse men in my house. Don’t get cocky.”
Oh, I will. You can’t stop me. But I swallow the smirk. Let her feel like she’s got power right now. Whatever floats her pretty little married ass. She probably thinks she’s something special because she’s married to some pathetic, rural county sheriff.
A real do-gooder.
But the word dies in my mind as she turns her head to the side, and the light from the crack in the roof illuminates the side of her neck. Light purple bruises line her skin like a choker.
My mother wore similar.
I watch her, searching for the tick, the micro-tremor that means she’s full of shit. But her hands stay steady, her eyes level.
“You’ll keep out of sight,” she continues after a moment of silence. “I don’t need word getting back to the sheriff about you. And if anyone comes asking, you never existed.”
I blink, suspicion growing in my chest. “What do you get out of this?”
She gives me a strange, soft smile. “Company.”
Company? She wants me to be her fucking friend? My brows raise as she brushes hay off her jeans.
“Tomorrow,” she says, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I have to go cook dinner for Clayton now.”
With that, she leaves, letting the barn door slide shut behind her. The little sliver of light is the only thing I look at for a long, long time.
This woman might be crazier than me.
And I’m too close to death to escape her.