Chapter 26
Abbie had just closed the door to the outhouse and squatted when her bracelet lit up.
Slapping her hand over it, she peeked through the crack in the boards, praying they hadn’t seen the glow from the outside.
That was all she needed! If Silas recognized it as a magically infused item, the jig was up.
He’d sign her death warrant, becoming judge, jury, and executioner.
As the one responsible for his wife’s demise, she’d deserve it. The weight of accidentally killing a person didn’t sit well with her. If she had a way to do it over and save the woman, she absolutely would.
Beneath her fingers, the metal shifted, as if it sprang apart. She dared a peek as the illumination died and the silver returned to its normal appearance.
A rush of relief made every nerve in her body exhale at once.
When she eased her grip, the bottom half sagged on a hidden hinge, and the bracelet plinked as it hit the floorboard. She cringed at the idea of rooting around the shadowy stall’s pee-soaked floor to find it.
Inspecting her surroundings, she spotted the pile of toilet paper sheets.
Thank the Goddess! Their presence had to be Royal’s doing.
In the last twenty-four hours, she couldn’t help but notice how fastidious he was.
Discovering luxuries existed in this hellhole was the only bright light in her otherwise miserable existence.
She picked up her bracelet using another sheet, wiped it down, and stuffed it in her pocket. Fingers crossed, no one would notice it missing from her wrist. As she was about to open the door, she hesitated.
Hope fluttered in her chest. Did the absence of a shackle mean she could now teleport out of here? Possibly back to Wilder?
Abbie racked her brain, trying to recall what he’d once said about the process. How something called a “feeler” was sent out to places one had been or had a very clear image of, so the person jumping from one location to the next didn’t embed themselves into an object or, God forbid, someone else.
The imagery gave her a shudder.
Dare she try? What if, by using her untried magic, she caused another death? For certain, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
A knock on the door caused her to yelp.
“You all right in there, Fire Cat?”
“Yes. Sorry, you scared me.” Dare she make up an excuse? “Breakfast didn’t sit well. I’ll be another minute.”
His choked “sure thing” did little to hide his amusement.
No matter how old a guy was, he possessed the humor of a twelve-year-old boy.
But it bought her a few more minutes to think through her escape.
She hadn’t outright asked him to return her to Perdition Ridge, but then again, if he were wanted, he wouldn’t get within ten feet of an excellent lawman like Jonas.
But what if she could convince him that the others could help them return to their old lives? Would he want to go? Why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t as if living here in the Wild West was as great as Hollywood made it seem. No, the place was basic and barbaric, with no benefits she could think of.
And why did she care so much about Royal’s plight when her own life hung in the balance? Her soft heart would get her dead in this land of guns and grudges, a place that chewed up the tenderhearted and spat out their bones. Look what happened to sweet Gus!
From here on out, she’d only worry about herself.
Her next order of business was teleportation and learning what firing up her power required.
It lived in the nucleus of the cell, she’d been told.
As she dug deep, she absently tapped her thigh, hoping to recall the scraps of science.
Not that she’d ever been a great student, but she had a decent grasp of the basics.
A faint warmth spread beneath her palm. She frowned, glancing down, and realized her fingers rested over the bullet wound. The heat pulsed once, twice, then vanished—taking the pain with it.
Royal knocked again, and his tone was harder when he said, “Abbie, wrap it up. Silas is calling a meeting.”
“One sec!” Dammit! She’d pushed the excuse as long as plausible, but maybe she could take another “bathroom break” soon and try her abilities then.
She pushed open the door.
Royal’s expression held concern mixed with suspicion, and he was right to question her behavior.
As they were heading back to the cabin, she asked, “Will you return me to Perdition Ridge?”
“No.”
She stopped. “Why?”
He retraced his steps, and for the longest minute, he said nothing. Finally, he grimaced.
“Silas and I don’t split up. Ever. Taking you back means he has to go with us, and he won’t.”
“Please, Royal. I have to get back to Wilder.” She pressed a hand to his heart, hoping to appeal to his softer side. “Please. It’s been two years, and we’ve only just found each other again.”
“I’m not immune to your plight, Fire Cat.”
“But you won’t help,” she said flatly.
“If the opportunity presents itself, perhaps. That’s the best I could do.”
He’d already told her he was nobody’s hero. Certainly not when it came down to either Silas or her. He barely knew her, and he wouldn’t sacrifice his brotherly relationship for a stranger.
“Let’s go.” He gripped her elbow, hurrying her along.
She was mounting the steps to the porch when it registered she was moving too freely. Did it mean she’d miraculously healed? Would it raise Silas’s suspicions if she didn’t limp?
Probably.
Abbie put on a show for anyone watching, hoping the long trek from the outhouse hadn’t given her away. She was a fool not to realize the difference in her gait earlier. But then again, neither did Royal, so maybe she’d escaped notice.
“What’s up, Si?” Royal asked as they entered.
The group was gathered around a rustic wooden table. Dirty plates leftover from breakfast were scattered about, reminding Abbie how much she missed a quality dishwasher.
A seventh man had joined their gang, it seemed, and he held the place of honor to Silas’s right.
She knew him.
Draven.
Somehow, some way, he’d found her.
No recognition flared in his eyes as he looked at her, and she dropped her gaze, hoping she didn’t give him away.
“Phil here”—Silas motioned to Draven—“just got word Globe received a silver shipment.”
Royal glanced at Draven and frowned. “Phil?”
“You remember Phil. He helped us on the…” Silas glanced at Draven. “Which job was it again?”
The Guardian took a long drag of his cheroot, then blew out six perfect Os, each one encircling the outlaws’ heads.
“Prescott,” he purred.
Glassy-eyed, they all nodded as one. “Prescott,” they repeated obediently.
Group hypnosis. Clever!
“My friend Jonesy will be joining us for this one. Hope you boys don’t mind,” Draven added with a smirk.
Again, they nodded.
“Excellent.” Raising his voice, he called, “Come on in, Jonesy.”
Maybe she expected to see Jonas, or even Nate, so when her father, sporting ginger-colored hair and a scruffy beard, stepped through the back door, her jaw dropped.
“You know him?” Royal asked in a low, suspicious voice.
“Uh, no. It’s just… he’s a beast,” she replied. Both true statements. She hadn’t met her father in any real sense of the word, certainly not as Abbie, and the guy was freaking huge, standing at least six-five with muscle befitting a gladiator.
“Who’s the bleedin’ wench?” Castor asked with a scowl, leaning heavily into a cockney accent. He came across as a misplaced pirate, probably perfect for this band of misfits. “I don’t hold with no women on board.”
“That’s a ship,” Royal replied dryly. “And it’s superstition at best.”
“Well, I ain’t likin’ it now, am I?” Castor grumbled, pulling a pipe out of his pocket and jamming it into his mouth with a harrumph.
It was all she could do not to laugh despite the seriousness of the situation.
“I can wait outside,” she choked out.
“Nonsense.” Draven waved away Castor’s fake objection and rose to his feet.
Whatever game they were playing, she had no intention of spoiling it. She stood her ground as he approached, striving to look slightly nervous but defiant.
“No one could possibly object to so lovely a lady,” he said, trailing his fingers along her smooth cheek.
Her skin tingled where he’d touched. “But why are you here, with this bunch, when you should be dining in the finest houses, wearing the most beautiful of dresses and jewels?” he asked seductively.
Her breath caught. When he wanted to, Draven could turn up the charm.
Royal put an arm around her, drawing her back. “She’s fine where she’s at, friend.”
“La dame, she can speak for herself, ami,” Draven replied in a steely tone, his annoyance giving away his French roots.
The outlaws shared a wary look, and Silas stood as Draven and Royal’s stare-off continued.
“Do we have a problem here, fellas?” he asked.
Royal was the first to relent, dropping his arm. “No. No problem. He’s right. Abbie should decide who she wants to befriend and who she doesn’t.”
“She’s our captive. She doesn’t get to decide shit,” Silas growled. “Damn woman’s been nothing but trouble.”
“Your man shot me,” she retorted, taking offense.
Draven and Castor tensed.
“Thankfully, Royal knew what he was doing and was kind enough to dig the ball out,” she quickly clarified.
Withdrawing a small bag from his vest, Draven withdrew a ring. Set in a winding silver vine were a series of tiny blue-violet stones. The ring was delicate and beautiful, exactly the style she preferred.
“May I offer you a gift?” he asked, holding out his hand. “A reward for your bravery, if you will.”
With a nervous glance around, she laid her right hand in his, gasping the instant he slid the ring onto her finger. His thoughts, along with Castor’s, Damian’s, and Wilder’s, crowded her mind. The overwhelming barrage caused her to sway, and once again, Royal wrapped an arm around her.
“I hope you will think of me, ma chère, whenever you wear this trinket.”
“Laying it on there thick, Masters, aren’t you?” Castor’s unspoken response echoed in her mind, like Wilder’s the night they had dinner.
“I must sell it, as Wilder said,” Draven replied.
Hoping they could hear her as she heard them, she telegraphed, “Castor’s right. You need to be less charming and more businesslike if you want Silas to take you seriously.”
Aloud, she said, “It’s beautiful, sir. Thank you.”
“Don’t see where no gal like her needs fancy jewelry ’n all,” Jennings inserted sullenly. “Ain’t good fer nothin’, that one.”
Royal turned downright feral, jerking him up by the neck. “What the fuck did I tell you about talking down to her?” He shook him like a terrier with a rat before throwing him at her feet. “Apologize, or I’ll slit your throat where you lie.”
“What? She got a golden puss—” Jennings snarled.
In one smooth but lightning-fast motion, Silas drew and put a bullet between the man’s eyes.
Abbie gasped at the ruthlessness and covered her mouth. None of the others seemed to see the issue with casually gunning someone down.
“Anyone else think they’re entitled to talk back to my brother or me?” he asked coldly.
The OG crew shook their head, although Morcant’s creepy AF eyes gleamed with delight. Doubtlessly, he’d stir strife if he could.
“Good. Wendall, you help Frank remove the trash and clean up this hovel. Royal and I are going to converse with our new friends outside.”
As Abbie shifted to join them, Silas froze her with a glare. “Not you. Park it until we get back.”
Damn, the man hated her, and she hated not being able to work out why. His brother’s attention?
She opened her mouth to object, but Castor’s voice rang through her mind, “Please do as he says. We have a plan.”
“Fine,” she said, letting her irritation show. Her sullenness made Jennings’s mild by comparison.
Silas pointed to the body. “One dead not enough for you, lady?”
“Was he your bestie? If he wasn’t, then I don’t see how it’s much of a loss,” she retorted.
“Le petit chaton has very sharp teeth!” Draven crowed with delight.
“Claws,” she and Royal corrected in unison.
“Meh. Claws, teeth… what does it matter if they are sharp, oui?”
Again, the bizarre desire to laugh struck, but she curbed it.
Silas watched her with eyes that saw to her soul, and she worried he’d tapped into her elation at Draven and Castor finding her.
“No. I suspect he’s merely watchful,” her father telegraphed, causing her to jump.
“My apologies, Silas,” she said in a more subdued tone. “Of course, I’ll stay here.”
His eyes narrowed as if he didn’t trust her, but after a minute, he nodded and led the way outside.
Castor paused in the doorway and shot her an undecipherable glance before making a point to look around the entire room. “Don’t relay fear if you can help it, but if Morcant comes near you, scream as loud as you can,” Castor warned through their link.
“Yeah, I already know what he is,” she replied in kind.
“Good. Have a care, daughter.”