CHAPTER EIGHT #3
See, there’s a rumor about Rawhide, something I overheard when I was young, still living at Wildfire.
That people disappear on this ranch. And by people, I mean prison inmates.
It was something my dad and my brother would talk about.
About how convicts are disappearing from the system and how it’s all somehow connected to Rawhide.
They wanted to find evidence for it so they could use it to take down the Graysons and get their land.
Back then, I didn’t pay much attention to it because I never paid much attention to the rivalry between our families.
It used to be an abstract concept. Even the attack on my father eight years ago didn’t really shake me enough to think of it as anything other than a fairy tale.
Bloody and gruesome, but a fairy tale nonetheless.
Until now. So here I am, sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night to find out the truth.
As risky as this is, I’d still be relatively calm about it if I was alone.
As it is, I’m not because my best friend is with me.
I wasn’t expecting that. I even tried to discourage her from coming.
By, basically, daring her to come because that always works with her.
I always dare her to do things, making them look like risks, and she always backs out because she likes to be careful.
But for some reason, she called my bluff on this, and we’ve been trudging through the woods for the past thirty minutes or so, in search of a spot where I think we may be able to find some clues to this illegal operation.
Or it could be a total bust. Either way, it’s worth a trip to find out.
I’ve got a map in my hand, a flashlight—both nicked from the office where we went snooping this morning—and from the looks of it, we’ve arrived at our destination. I look up from the large piece of paper in my hand to find a cabin.
I blink.
Is this it? This cabin in the middle of the woods.
Are the Graysons running their illegal operation out of this?
It looks abandoned. It seems more than abandoned with its dilapidated condition.
The door looks flimsy and the windows have a thick layer of dust on them.
The front porch has holes where slats should be, and the staircase leading up to it is as flimsy as the door that a strong breeze would blow apart.
“So what do we do now?” Reverie asks from beside me.
“We do what we came here to do,” I say, and taking a breath, I walk forward. “We check it out.”
Once again, I wish my best friend was safely tucked away in her temporary room instead of being here with me, but what’s done is done.
The sooner we check this out, the sooner we can get back to the main house before we’re discovered.
To be honest, though, I’m not really expecting to find anything in here as I go around the front porch to look through the window.
Maybe that’s why it takes me a few seconds to realize what I’m seeing: a man in a chair.
Wait a second. What?
His head is slumped to the side and his body appears limp. He’s tied to the chair with his arms behind his back, and I swear, even through the darkness, I can see the blood dripping from his fingers. Is he… dead? Is that what a dead body looks like?
“Holy shit,” I breathe out.
“I don’t…” Reverie trails off.
For a few moments, I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know if I should run, go back to my room, and pretend I never saw this; or should I go in and do what I came here to do?
This is what I wanted, though, right? I wanted to find something, anything, to give me an edge over my captors.
Of course, this doesn’t necessarily point to an illegal kidnapping operation, but it’s something.
So why am I hesitating? Why am I not jumping at this chance?
Fuck, I know why.
It’s because of him, isn’t it? It’s because I’m afraid that he had something to do with it.
Did he beat up this man? He’s certainly capable of it.
What did this man do to deserve such a beating?
Was anyone ever deserving of such an attack?
Well, sometimes. Sometimes violence is the only answer.
And that’s what makes me move: the urge to find out if he was behind this.
Not proof or leverage like I wanted, but the need to know if the only man capable of saving an injured animal on this ranch is also a killer.
On Reverie’s insistence, we each grab a wooden slat as our weapon before I bust the door open. I rush to the man and try to somehow ascertain if he’s alive. Reverie is busy untying his arms behind his back. A few seconds later he grunts, and I ask, “Oh my God. Are you okay?”
He groans and Reverie comes around to stand in front of him. “Can you hear us?”
Even though the light streaming through the dirt-caked window is dim, I can see he’s in a bad shape.
His face is covered in bruises and cuts, and he can barely keep one of his eyes open.
Still, he tries as he takes us both in, slowly, one by one.
My heart is racing in my chest, and I really don’t know if this was a good idea or not.
Is he a friend or a foe? But no matter what, the right thing to do is to help him.
So I’m going to try, and then I’m going to find out who did this to him.
“You’re fine, all right?” I tell him. “You’re gonna be okay. We’re going to help you.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be okay,” Reverie adds. “Do you… do you know where you are?”
“Yeah, do you know what happened?”
Was it the man with green eyes and the scar? And if so, what did you do?
I’m completely focused on the man, and yet, I don’t see it coming.
I don’t see him, now freed and more aware of his surroundings, breaking into action and lunging at me.
I scream as he grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward him.
I go crashing into his hard and bloody body and start struggling.
I twist my arm in his grip while trying to kick him at the same time.
But even injured, he’s stronger than me.
His grip is brutal, and there’s violence in his eyes.
Violence and lust. The kind that makes my belly churn and bile rise up in my throat.
Just then Reverie hits him in the head with the wooden slat.
He instantly lets me go and grunts in pain.
But my relief is only momentary because in a flash, he’s upon Reverie.
He pounces on her and takes her down. He pins her to the floor with his disgusting body and the rage that rises up in me at that, the terror for my best friend, makes everything blurry.
I get ahold of the wooden slat and swing it at him.
Once, twice, three times, maybe. When that doesn’t slow him down, I jump on his back and try to get him off my friend.
Somehow he manages to throw me off and I hit the floor hard.
I blink up at the ceiling, trying to get my bearings back, my breath, as Reverie screams from the other side of the room.
I tell myself to get up, to go to Reverie, save her, but I can’t make myself move.
And then, somehow, I see the last thing I was expecting to see: Arsen. He is here.
He’s pulling the man away from Reverie and beating the shit out of him.
I don’t know if it’s real or I’m dreaming.
But soon, from out of nowhere, a pair of hands appear to help me as well.
They grab me under the arms and pull me up.
They’re super gentle about it, too, handling me with care, careful to support my throbbing back, my buckling knees.
Even so, for a dizzy second, I’m worried I won’t be able to stand on my own, but I shouldn’t have.
Because those arms then go ahead and wrap themselves around me, one across my chest and the other securing my belly and pinning me to something.
A body. My back to a chest.
Large and hard. So warm that I breathe in my first full breath and the scent of leather and spices explodes around me.
My lips pull up in a small smile and my eyes flutter closed.
It’s him. It’s my Phantom. Somehow, he’s here, too, and I know I’m safe.
I settle my pounding head in the crook of his shoulder and my throbbing back against his hips.
Then I wrap my own arms around his and to my surprise and delight, he squeezes me to himself, giving me a reverse hug.
“Phantom,” I sigh.
I feel him stiffen behind me, his arms tightening and becoming bands.
And I stiffen, too, as my relief evaporates.
Reality crashes over me and I finally realize what’s happening here: We’ve been caught.
Somehow, someway, they knew where to find us and they have.
Never mind the fact that they also saved us in the nick of time.
Whoever this man is, that Arsen is still beating up in a corner, attacked both Reverie and me.
And if they hadn’t come when they did, I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened.
“Arsen, stop,” Radisson growls from behind me.
And I try to break out of his hold, but all he does is tighten it even more and keeps me plastered to him.
Arsen doesn’t listen to his friend’s command; he’s in a trance, in a world of his own.
I’ve never seen anyone so focused on destroying something.
So driven, so furious, and I don’t blame him for that.
In fact, I’m happy. I want this strange man, whoever he is, to get what he deserves for attacking Reverie.
And something tells me Arsen feels the same, only a lot more intensely.
Maybe that’s why she’s the only one who’s able to stop him.
Despite Radisson calling out for Arsen to stop several times, it’s Reverie’s voice that at last reaches him.
In the sudden silence, Radisson snaps from behind me, “What the fuck happened?”