Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Ledger
“Hey, Ledger!”
I shoot Colly—Rhett’s assistant manager—a tight smile as she waves a greasy hand at me as I walk by, heading for Rhett’s office for the second half of the day.
I tried to slip up to the cabin to find Blair today during the lunch break, but Rhett had been expecting me. He sputtered and spat at me like a furious fucking cat until I left with my lunch—made up by Wes this morning—in tow. It’s been like this for five fucking days.
No one is letting me get close to Blair.
And Blair isn’t making this easy.
My hands ball into fists as I disappear out of sight of the others.
With things with Dixie still unknown, the guys’ utter distrust for me, and the inability to get Blair alone to hash things out—running this business is the last thing I care about.
It’s smart, though, that Wes decided to reopen things when we all got back.
I have employees to keep happy.
Sucking in a deep breath, I throw open the door to Rhett’s office and stomp in.
It’s a pigsty in here.
I don’t know how he gets anything fucking done.
Thank god he’s not like this up at the cabin.
I wouldn’t let it fly. Slamming the door shut behind me, I stalk over to his desk and toss the brown bag on top.
As I flop into the chair, I grimace. The half-ass stitches tearing at the lettering in my chest pull and twist, causing me to grimace.
“Fuck…”
It's been five days since being carved up by my goddaughter. The wound is more itchy than painful now, but every once in a while, if I move a bit too quickly or twist a certain way I’m reminded of Blair and her beautifully cruel revenge.
The most fucked up part of the recovery?
Each time I hurt, I’m reminded of Blair’s name etched into my chest and I get hard. So fucking hard. Blair’s never looked so fucking good despite her suffering.
Guilt always accompanies the rush of desire, though. Always.
If we could just talk I could, I don’t know, fix the hurt simmering in her eyes.
It’s always there when our eyes meet now—as little as that happens.
Typically, I find her tucked under someone’s arm or, in Santi’s case, being sat on when everyone is hanging out together.
But it’s like she can sense me. Blair will look up and our eyes will meet just for a fraction of a second.
And it’s there—her hurt, anger, and yeah, desire.
“This is a fucking nightmare,” I mutter as I reach up with one hand to pinch the bridge of my nose while the other adjusts my stiffening cock.
Just as I let go of both, the walkie talkie on my hip buzzes.
“Code Red,” Wes snaps over the frequency. He says it only once, but the warning comes in loud and clear.
My stomach drops.
Code Red? Now?!
I’m on my feet in seconds—ignoring the pain in my chest that accompanies the move. Shoving my hand into my pocket I’m instantly reminded that I’ve not been given phone privileges back. Fuck! What’s Wes seeing in the security cameras? What trouble is headed our way?
Are we under attack? No, we can't be... It’s the middle of the day. Why would—fuck. Maybe, we are? If the people after Blair are desperate, why not show up in the middle of the day? Causing chaos while my employees are around would be a brilliant move.
I’m darting out of Rhett’s office, out of Building A and up the gravel driveway as fast as I can fucking move.
A white truck with Santi at the wheel barrels by me.
He parks beside the cabin and hurries for the back door.
We hit the porch steps at the same time.
The back door is flung open as Rhett ushers us in.
“We have drones combing the area,” he announces. “Blair’s gone downstairs to grab a rifle.”
Relief floods my veins and I let out a short-lived sigh.
Drones are bad, but they’re just here to monitor. They’re easier to handle than an army of killers storming the property.
I nod. “We need to find whoever’s controlling them.”
Alerts are beeping like crazy from Santi and Rhett’s cell phones.
“Fuck, they’re moving fast,” Santi says anxiously. “I can take an ATV and comb the woods?”
Before I can answer, Wes bursts through the back door and joins us in the kitchen.
“We need to move, quick,” I snap at him.
Ignoring me, Wes says, “Any eyes on who’s controlling the drones?”
“I see no one,” Rhett answers anxiously, as he stares down at his phone.
Santi checks and shakes his head. “Yeah, no clear view of the users.”
“There’s got to be someone parked on the roads near the property but not on it,” I announce. “If we find them, we can bring them back and interrogate them.”
Santi nods. “No ATV then. We need to get our trucks.”
“I’ll stay back with Blair, you three go in separate trucks to check who’s sending them out,” Rhett says. “Blair said she’s going to shoot them down.”
“No!” Wes and I bark at the same time.
We look at each other and for a second, there’s a sense of comradery that hasn’t been there since I pointed my gun at his face weeks ago.
Looking back at Rhett I add, “She can’t be seen. One image—that’s all they need to confirm that she’s here. Then the real danger returns. Right now, we’re probably dealing with desperate assholes who don’t have a good idea where she could be and are just hoping she doubled back.”
“Just like the hikers,” Santi mutters.
Wes grimaces, this clearly meaning something to him.
“What hikers?” I snap.
“Not now!” Wes barks at me before giving his attention back to Rhett. “You can’t be seen either, Rhett. They know you’ve been with her.”
“But then what do we do?” Rhett snaps back. “Someone has to shoot them down and if neither of us can, then who—”
“Ledger’s good enough to knock ‘em out of the sky. He needs to stick back this time,” Wes cuts him off. “I’d offer to do it but, when it comes to long distance, I’m not great. Not like Ledger.”
Santi shakes his head with a dark scowl. “We’re not leaving him here with Blair alone!”
“Yes, you are,” Blair announces as she enters the room. “Now let’s move it.”
With a rifle slung across her chest and a pistol in her hand, she looks ready for war.
She looks around at all of us, probably expecting an objection but prepared for it.
Her eyes have gone cold and her expression unreadable.
There’s an eerily languid ease in which she moves that only the daughter of the world’s most infamous hitman could accomplish.
Rhett snarls at her, his fists curling at his sides. “You can’t expect us to—”
“Rhett!” she hisses, shooting him a dark glare. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go. I’ll hold down the fort with Ledger. Grab a hat, cover your face, and go hunt down these fuckers.”
Wes, Santi, and Rhett hesitate a moment longer—trading looks with each other before shooting me murderous glares.
“There better not be a single hair on her head harmed when I get back or you’ll be praying for death before the day’s over,” Rhett hisses before turning and grabbing his keys off the hook by the door.
Blair crosses the kitchen and blocks his exit. She tilts her chin up and rolls to the balls of her feet. Her lips brush against his chin. “Be safe.”
Her words are soft despite the lack of life in her eyes.
Jealousy tickles my insides.
Rhett bends down and gives her a real kiss.
“I’ll be back shortly,” he grumbles to her and then storms out without another word.
“Santi, go with Rhett,” Wes barks suddenly.
Santi looks at him confused. “But we should split—”
“You need to give Ledger your phone so he can keep an eye on the security cameras. Without a phone, I don’t want you alone. Hurry.”
Santi nods sharply, understanding. He shoves his hand into his pocket, pulls his phone out, and tosses it to me. I catch and shove it into my pocket.
“There’s no password,” he tells me as he moves toward Blair. He kisses her head before chasing after Rhett.
Wes kisses Blair next, this one slower and deeper than what the others gave her. When he pulls away, he says, “Whatever happens, stay out of sight, alright?”
Blair nods her confirmation which seems to ease some of Wes’s worry. He shoots me a dark glare and then hurries out of the cabin next.
The jealousy grows just a little more.
But it’s also followed by guilt as none of the others bid me farewell and safe tidings. Of course, I don’t want them hurt but if I said something, I know they’d disregard it. How could I have let things get this bad between me and the others?
We’re supposed to have each other’s back, and we’re all supposed to have Blair’s. The friction between us will tear us apart if I don’t do anything to fix it. Yet, I’m at a loss on how to do it.
“Here,” Blair says and tosses me a rifle. “It’s loaded and ready to go. Need the tripod?”
I catch the rifle with one hand. “No, not this time. I’m going up to the roof. Stay away from the windows.”
“I know, I know,” she mutters. “I hid from danger for most of my childhood. This isn’t any different.”
The bitterness in her voice haunts me as I slip out the back door. That’s right, she’s done this too many fucking times in her life.
What the fuck have I done?
Her life was supposed to be easy here, not this nightmare.
Crossing the porch, I pull myself up onto the top rail then grab the lip of the roof that I can just barely reach. I’ve done this a few times over the years, wanting to just sit on the roof and admire the sprawling landscape. Each time before this, I’ve had no problem with pulling myself.
This time, I’m contending with a wound across my chest.
As I pull myself up, I can feel the scabs stretch and pull apart. The muscle that’s been mutilated screams in protest and by the time I’ve made it onto the roof there’s blood on my shirt.
With a growl of irritation, I scurry up the sloped metal roof and crouch down.
My eyes sweep across the top of the trees at the southern and eastern part of the property. That’s where the alerts are coming from. I think I catch sight of two drones, but I know there have to be more than that given how quickly the alarms are going off.
Immediately, I bring the scope up to my eye and adjust accordingly.