Chapter Two
HOUSE RULES
They’d gone back for the rest of Axel’s things.
Now Whip’s spare room looked like a damn storage unit had exploded inside it.
Clothes hung over the end of the bed, garbage bags lined one wall, and most of the time, Axel stood in the middle of it all looking irritated enough to punch something.
Every time he passed by the room, Whip wanted to laugh, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Axel was like a bear with a sore paw.
Not much else had been put away.
Like Axel was still waiting for somebody to tell him this wasn’t permanent.
The hell he would.
“How’s the arm?” Whip asked, eyeing the bruised skin still wrapping around Axel’s forearm where the cast had finally come off a few days ago.
Axel flexed his hand once like he was testing it.
“Still attached.”
Whip noticed the stiffness anyway. Better than the day the cast had come off, but not by much. Axel still favored it whenever he reached for something.
“You ever going to unpack?”
“Maybe?”
Axel sounded sullen and looked like he hadn’t slept worth a damn. Not long ago, he’d had a house with May. Now everything he owned was piled into his spare room.
Whip spun the keys in his hand.
“Come on, let’s go.”
“Where we going?” Axel eyed him.
“Gotta case.”
“But I just started unpacking,” Axel whined.
Whip bit back a smile. “Yeah, so?”
“Ass.”
“Yeah, so?” Whip stepped out of the old wood-sided house and left the front door hanging open behind him.
Pale September sunlight stretched across the damp gravel drive beneath the pine trees.
Warm sunlight spilled across the porch while he scooped up the newspaper with one hand and tossed it back inside without breaking stride.
Axel rolled his eyes, caught the newspaper against his chest before it hit the floor, then shut and locked the door behind them.
“That’s my paper.”
“Yeah, so?” Axel volleyed. “I may want to read the news.”
“You know they make these things called subscriptions.”
“I’m savin’ money.”
“Bullshit,” Whip said, sliding behind the wheel.
Axel smirked, got into the passenger seat, and folded the paper open.
“Actually.”
Axel didn’t look up.
“What?”
“Why haven’t you unpacked yet?”
“Dunno.”
Whip dropped the subject. As long as Axel eventually unpacked, he really didn’t give a shit how long it took him to put his stuff away. He’d have that spare room as long as he wanted it.
They took his Jeep and left the truck parked. He loved his Jeep and honestly preferred driving because Axel was a madman behind the wheel.
Axel drove too fast, braked too late, and took corners like he trusted luck more than physics.
The tires crunched over gravel as they pulled away from the house, leaving Axel’s half-unpacked life sitting behind them.
After several minutes of silence, Whip tossed Axel a quick glance.
His profile stayed turned toward the passenger window. The open newspaper sat forgotten in his hands. Because he knew Axel, Whip knew the paper hadn’t held his attention for more than thirty seconds.
“You thinking of going back?”
“No. I can’t be in that house,” Axel murmured.
Whip squeezed the wheel. The place still sat sharp in his head—warm kitchen lights, rain ticking against the windows, May laughing while Axel burned burgers on the back deck pretending he knew how to grill.
The irritation he’d continually kept in check. An irritation he had no right to feel.
He cleared his throat.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Sell it.”
Sounded alright to him. He let the silence settle after that. Nothing useful to say to a man gutting his own life apart.
“What’s the job?” Axel asked, scrolling absently through his phone before tossing it into the cup holder.
“Bobby Montane cut his ankle monitor off sometime last night,” Whip said. “Skipped his hearing this morning and disappeared.”
“Parole violation. Yay. Location?” Axel sounded anything but pleased.
“Halfway to Bend and nowhere near anything useful.” Whip kept the Jeep moving south.
“My bed’s too short.”
Whip nodded, smirking. Not long ago, Axel hadn’t planned on living with him at all.
“Then buy a new one.”
“Maybe I will.”
He hoped he did.
“Scroll through the warrant info,” Whip said.
Axel cracked his neck. “On it.”
Whip didn’t need to look over to know exactly what sat in his passenger seat. Six foot four. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of muscle and bad decisions. Hands the size of hams. Curled black hair that never stayed neat for long. Blue eyes the color of an Oregon summer sky at daybreak.
Crap. Get a grip.
Whip adjusted his hands on the wheel, already knowing the way. He’d grown up out here half wild before the military ever got hold of him.
Beside him, Axel scrolled through the case file on his phone beneath the dim dashboard glow.
“Bobby Montane got caught last spring with three stolen rifles in the back of his truck and enough meth to keep half of Paisley awake for a week,” Axel muttered.
Whip snorted softly. “Sounds like Bobby.”
Hell of a way to live.
“Judge slapped an ankle monitor on him after the resisting arrest charge.” Axel kept scrolling. “Then the idiot cut it off three days ago.”
The radio had crackled steadily since they’d left Fern—dispatch updates, county chatter, deputies calling locations across rain-slick highways and old logging roads.
Then—
“Unit Three, you copy?”
“Go ahead, Dana,” Axel said, lifting the mic.
“Axel.” You could almost hear the smile in her voice. “Deputy on scene says the suspect’s vehicle is parked out at his cousin’s place.”
“What’d he do, stop for a family reunion?” Axel snorted.
She laughed softly through the radio. “You boys be safe out there. Bobby’s meaner than a snake.”
“I eat rattlers for dinner,” Axel assured her.
Whip smirked. That sounded more like his Axel.
Her laughter crackled through the speakers before dispatch traffic swallowed the line again.
Axel flicked a finger against his phone. “Cuts his ankle monitor and hides at his cousin’s house. County’s been chasing Bobby around since before either of us could drive.”
“His cousin got the brains in the family.”
That pulled a soft snort out of Axel, and he shifted in the passenger seat, one boot braced against the floorboard.
Rain clicked steadily against the hood.
Silence settled, but not awkward exactly.
Just heavy. Like they’d lost the ability to shoot the shit. He had a say in that, but the for the life of him, he couldn’t find a damned thing to say right then.
He lightly tapped the steering wheel.
Axel used to fill quiet naturally. Music. Complaining. Dumb stories from county lockup transports.
Now half their conversations felt like stepping on broken glass.
It was still early days, though, and Whip figured he’d give Axel another week to get his head out of his ass before he did something drastic himself.
He wasn’t sure what that was, but he’d think of something.
He was getting tired of watching Axel sit in the same room and somehow feel a thousand miles away.
The radio crackled again, and Dana’s voice rolled through the speakers. “Unit three, be advised, the cousin has two registered firearms.”
Whip grabbed the mic and squeezed the lever. “Copy.” He shoved it back into the clip. “We’re going in hot.”
Axel cracked his knuckles before pulling his Glock 19 to check the magazine.
Whip felt the shift immediately.
Personal shit dropped away.
“I’m thinking he makes a run for the woods,” Axel said.
“If he’s not still inside.”
Axel shot him a look. “He that stupid?”
“We’ll see.” Whip tossed Axel a grin and slowed just enough to turn onto the narrow gravel road cutting through the trees ahead.
“If he knows the property, he’d be smart to use elevation.”
Whip nodded once. Already tracked that.
Mud flowed dark along the shoulder while rain tapped steadily across the hood.
Axel grabbed the oh-shit handle above the door. “Too much mud over this side. We’re gonna get buried.”
“How many times have I done this?” Whip asked, flipping the Jeep into four-wheel drive.
Axel glanced over then. Small. Automatic.
Like checking calibration.
Like remembering exactly who he was dealing with.
“Fair enough.”
Whip smirked as the Jeep rocked through a muddy pothole and kept crawling up the steep incline serving as the Montane driveway.
A year of riding together had taught him the look. Axel worried. Axel complained. Then Axel followed him into whatever mess waited at the end of the road.
Whip parked, killed the lights, and reached into the back seat for the rain slickers. He slid his arms into one of the thin clear covers and shoved the other toward Axel.
“What’s the plan?”
“Go in and get him.”
Axel snorted, then snapped the rain slicker closed before shoving open the Jeep door.
The place was a fucking dump. Weeds high around rusted vehicles that hadn’t been driven in years, if not decades.
A few dogs on thick chains around their necks paced near weathered dog houses, barking hard at them as they approached the house.
One finally retreated beneath the shelter when Whip slammed the Jeep door shut.
He stepped up the rickety porch steps while Axel stayed back a few feet with his weapon ready. The damn thing could give way any second, he was sure of it.
His knock rattled the flimsy trailer door hard enough to shake the frame.
“U.S. Marshals,” Whip called through the rain. “Open the door, Mike.”
The latch clicked from inside before the trailer door swung open.
“Yeah?” Mike said. Red hair stuck out above pale skin scarred with old pockmarks, bloodshot eyes heavy beneath half-lidded exhaustion. Shirtless despite the cold, he looked skinny enough a hard wind could’ve knocked him over.
“We’re looking for Bobby. You seen him?”
Mike scratched his ass through jeans hanging loose on his too-thin frame.
“Nope. Looking in the wrong place.”
“I don’t think so,” Axel growled low.
Mike’s eyes flicked toward the Glock in Axel’s hand. “Don’t you got a witness to transfer or somethin’?”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Axel bared his teeth. “Marshals do more than that. We provide full service.”
Axel wasn’t wrong. Most folks thought Marshals just hauled prisoners around.
“He ain’t here. See fer yourself.”
“We will,” Whip said, stepping forward until Mike automatically backed deeper into the trailer.
Axel climbed the porch steps behind him, old wood groaning beneath his weight.
The place stank of sweat, rotten garbage, and backed-up sewage. One glance toward the filled kitchen sink made it obvious Mike had been living without running water for a while.
Axel did a quick sweep of the bedroom and bathroom but turned up nothing.
“I suggest if you don’t want to join your cousin in jail for obstruction, then you tell us where he’s hiding,” Whip said conversationally when Axel came back in the living room.
Mike Montane thought about it for a few seconds before pointing toward the pile of dirty laundry shoved against one wall.
Pile was generous. The thing looked more like a landfill with shirts hanging off it.
Axel walked over and pressed the muzzle of his Glock into the pile of clothes.
Whip kept one eye on Axel and the other on Mike. “Where’s your firearms?”
“Can’t afford bullets,” Mike mumbled.
“Goddamn you, Mike!” Bobby shouted, exploding out of the laundry pile with one of Mike’s pistols clutched in his hand.
Axel put him down in a second flat. It was impressive. Show-off.
The gun went skidding across the trailer while Axel hooked an arm around Bobby’s neck and drove him face-first into the filthy carpet.
“Gah!” Bobby squawked.
With a knee planted between the guy’s shoulder blades, Axel zip-tied his hands behind his back before hauling him roughly to his feet.
Axel tossed him a very pleased-with-himself grin.
Insufferable.
Whip rolled his eyes and scanned the pair of men.
The cousins could’ve passed for brothers. Same red hair. Same skinny frame. Similar hard-luck looks carved into both their faces.
Bobby made one last attempt at struggling and stomped hard on Axel’s foot.
Axel swore, the sound bouncing off the cramped trailer walls. Hopping once on the injured foot, he slammed Bobby against the frame near the counter hard enough to rattle the sink full of dirty dishes.
Whip fought back a laugh, but his attention stayed on Axel. Bobby stomping his foot didn’t concern him nearly as much as the way Axel’s arm clipped the counter afterward.
“You do that again, and I’ll toss your ass into the mud,” Axel snarled, grabbing Bobby by the bicep and dragging him toward the door.
Whip tried like hell to keep from laughing, but the glare Axel shot him said he failed.
“Laugh it up, asshole.”
Axel flexed his hand around Bobby’s arm.
Whip’s grin faded slightly. The movement looked stiff.
“You good?”
“I’m fine.”
“You lying?”
“So what if I am? You gonna arrest me too?” Axel shot back as he hauled Bobby down the trailer steps.
“Nah. Paperwork’s a bitch.”
The corner of Axel’s mouth twitched.
Whip’s breath eased.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Bobby drawled.
Both marshals turned toward him.
“But… should I come back later?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Axel muttered and gave Bobby a shove toward the jeep.
Whip couldn’t help but laugh as he followed them across the muddy yard.