Chapter 18
Eighteen
It is a quiet, reflective morning for me as I stare up at the mesh roof of the tent.
Part of that is because I almost killed August last night, and this morning I realized I regret not doing it.
The other part of it is that York is legitimately fucking nuts, and he’s right—I must be too.
I’m not sure what makes him think so, but the fact that I keep sleeping with him is probably enough to determine it.
I know I’m going to keep doing it too. Accepting it makes me want it even more.
I’ll still put up a fight though.
“Let’s go, princess,” York’s rough voice calls out.
“Oh, I didn’t think we were calling August that openly,” I say sarcastically as I climb from the tent and let my eyes fall to August while I pull my coat on.
Carter laughs as he pours hot water into mugs, but York’s face is devoid of everything as he hands me a bag of steaming rations with a fork protruding from it.
I sit on a log and fluff the eggs inside the foil bag.
“You’re with me this morning,” York says, handing me one of the mugs. “We’ll take advantage of the sun and head over to the lake.”
“To do what?”
“Fight with you.”
“I thought you’d be tired of me fighting with you by now.” The coffee singes my lip, and I wince, setting it down.
“There is a difference between whining and fighting. I am tired of the fucking whining.”
August laughs, and I point my gun at him. When the safety clicks off, everyone freezes, and the smile slides off his face. Maybe this is why York thinks I’m crazy.
“I don’t fucking like you,” I tell him calmly. “And I woke up this morning regretting the air still in your lungs.”
York moves toward me, and I flick the safety back on before opening my hand and letting the gun dangle from my index finger. There is no irritation when he takes it away, and I go back to eating my eggs unbothered.
***
“Would August make a suitable gift?” He looks at me as he holds a branch back so I can pass.
“Gift,” I repeat.
“Would it make you happy if I let you kill him?” He comes up behind me and retakes the lead.
Here is a conversation I never thought I’d have. Interesting that he thinks I need his permission . . . or that I’d wait for it. The real struggle between York and me is power. He wants to have it all, and there is no fucking way.
“If I were to do it, I wouldn’t be looking for your approval beforehand,” I say, annoyed at his audacity.
“Hm.”
“Plus . . . there is no way that guy is employed by a government.” I pass him. “He’d never pass a psych eval, so he’s here as an independent, correct?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. Then no one will come looking when I do off him.”
“When? We might.”
“I’ll fucking shoot you all too.”
Snorting, he walks ahead of me for a while but doesn’t say anything else. It’s another ten minutes before the trees spread thin and the soft, loamy earth gives way to stones.
He leads me all the way to the water’s edge, and we stand shoulder to shoulder gazing across the quiet lake. Out of the blue, he shoves me back, and I stumble, landing on my ass when my heel strikes a larger rock.
“What the hell . . .” I look up at him, but he’s already turned his back on me.
Getting up, I shove him forward, but he barely budges, and then he turns on me and lunges. My knee comes up, but he blocks it. I jump back, but he just keeps coming at me, and I realize what’s happening.
He’s testing my skills. That’s what all this is. He’s trying to get me to out myself.
“Will your brain work better if I tie your hands together?”
“Shut up,” I growl and kick at him.
He swipes my foot away, and my other ankle twists in the stones. Cursing, I drop and fall to my back.
He drops down on my legs. “I know you’re better than this. You have to be because you're alive.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’re not afraid of me?” He laughs. “That’s a mistake.”
“Is it?” I ask quietly.
“My little dove,” he murmurs and draws out a knife.
My eyes bulge as he flips his grip and drives the knife down.
Leveraging his weight, I shift to the side and grab his wrist before punching him in the ribs and then bucking up, but I can’t throw him over.
Still holding his wrist, I punch him in the cheek, but he smiles, and then he starts to overpower my grip.
I reach between us and grab his balls through his pants, squeezing. His hand opens immediately and the knife falls, but I don’t let him go. “You might be bigger than me, better at everything too, but don’t think I won’t castrate you the first chance I get if I stop thinking I’m safe with you.”
“You feel safe with me?” he asks breathlessly.
“Only because I’m a fucking idiot.” I let him go and shove him off, climbing to my feet.
Falling into a trap I saw coming is unfortunate. I didn’t think he’d take it that far, and that’s my mistake, because of course he would. Turning away, I kick my boots off and strip down to my panties, wading into the lake.
All he wants to do is prove whatever narrative or hypothesis he’s running with . . . and he might figure out that I’m not incapable, but he’ll never figure out my head—I hope. The Director, Russel, is the only one that knows. It’s not even in my personnel file.
But I shouldn’t underestimate him.
Ducking under the surface of the water, I ruffle my hair and come up to scrub myself as best I can with bare hands. He watches me from a boulder on the shore, fiddling with my shirt in his fingers and taking the occasional glance up and down the desolate shore.
The water is chilled though. It’s been a cold September, and it doesn’t feel like summer ever found this lake. I wade back onto the shore, my skin covered in goosebumps as he hands me my bra and helps me secure it across my back.
“You washed me off.”
“I sure did.” My wet arms struggle through the long sleeves of my shirt before I pull it over my head.
He pulls me in between his thighs. “I like the idea of being all over your skin.” He presses his nose into my cheek. “Left inside you.” The stubble on his chin scrapes my face. “I’m going to have to make another mess to fix that.”
My eyes fixate on his mouth as he leans back. I really am a slut for him. It doesn’t seem to matter how rude or dirty the words are that come out of his mouth. Whether he’s calling me a slut or a liar as he pillages me, I think I like it . . . and he knows it.
I press my mouth to his. The thought that he might know me as well as he claims to worries me for a split second, but it fades when his tongue slips into my mouth.
Standing, he turns and lays me back on the smooth, rounded boulder, and I look down at him as he thrusts my shirt up, but he stops abruptly, and his eyes flit beyond me. I follow his gaze up and over my head, craning my neck around until I see the trees and the large brown bear hulking out of them.
Unable to take my eyes off the beast, I reach my hands out blindly. He grips them, and I scoot down the rock. We stay low as he snags my pants and passes them to me. It takes me a minute to get dressed on the ground, but at least I left everything close and not strewn all over.
Once my boots are laced back up, I peek over the boulder. The bear is sniffing about the rocks, not too much closer than it was before.
York covers me with his body and speaks softly into my ear. “That’s where we came out of the trees.” My eyes flick to the woods. “It could have our scent.”
A small sound escapes my lungs. Getting eaten alive is my number one worst-way-to-die scenario. There isn’t anywhere to go though. The bear is between us and the trees. The beach is wide open, save a few other boulders like this one.
The sound of York inhaling my skin makes me pause. “I swear you smell fucking incredible when you’re afraid.”
“Jesus Christ . . .”
“Shh.” He kisses behind my ear. “I bet he smells it too.”
“Stop it,” I breathe out as my skin prickles.
We wait about ten minutes for it to lazily move up the shore enough that we can risk dashing for the tree line. We move swiftly through the trees, probably not being as quiet as we should, but we make it back to camp in less than twenty minutes.
“Make sure you’re armed from now on,” York says calmly, stopping at the fire. “Bear.”
“Great,” William groans and gets up, disappearing into his tent and reappearing with his rifle.
“Yeah, well, if anyone has been pissing nearby, there’s no avoiding the fucking thing now,” August says as he comes out of his own tent with a pump-action rifle that makes me raise my eyebrows.
York gives me my gun back for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, but this time it’s loaded. I check it and stow it. Carter doesn’t move from the fire, and I pick up my coffee from earlier. The fire kept it warm.
“We should blow shit up soon,” Carter suggests. “I’m getting bored.”
“I’m game.” I sit. “Unless you want to try and kill me too, in which case I’m all done second-guessing myself, and I have an itchy trigger finger now.”
“I’m a gentleman,” he offers quietly and scratches his beard. “I don’t hurt women.”
“I’d say that too if I wanted a woman to trust me.”
“Shit.” He smirks. “You’re working with some real trust issues, aren’t you?”
“Every issue I have has been gained from experience.” York sits down with us, and I give him my eyes briefly before turning back to Carter. “And trust me when I say the list just keeps growing.”
“I believe you.” He stands up. “Let me pack up some shit.”
York gives me a questioning look, but I just stand up and turn my ass to the fire, drying the massive wet spot that has seeped out from my soaking panties.