SAWYER
Snow comes up to my shins as I’m shoved off the ATV, the air cold despite the sunlight beaming on my forehead. We must be in a clearing.
An arena? Special, if we had to drive to it. Not public.
The blindfold comes off with a rough tug, the knotted fabric catching on my hair.
I blink against the harsh daylight and catch a blurry outline of Angel fifteen feet in front of me.
Three-quarters blind, I would know it was him by the length in his shoulders and the looseness of his arms, even tied behind his back—a man who has never had to consider what to do with his hands.
My vision clears before his does. He blinks hard against the snow glare and turns his face into his shoulder halfway. Then pauses suddenly enough that I know he knows. He stands tall and faces me dead on. The squint vanishes.
The hardly contained anticipation that locks his jaw should not be such a physical blow, and yet, there’s a pang in my throat as if his eyes alone could punch. We’re both thinking the same thing.
Two men in a forest, put to an initiation test. Only one of us can come back alive.
A hand locks onto my bound wrist and forces my arms up behind my back.
I hiss at the strain in my shoulders, but it only lasts as long as it takes to cut the ties.
As soon as I’m free, I flex the joints like I’m preparing to use my fists, though this is not going to get violent.
I’m not going to lower myself to the ways of these fucking Neanderthals—especially when the only family I have left is my opponent…
No. Of course not.
"Welcome to your initiation test." Luna's voice carries in the still mountain air, authoritative and clear as she steps between us. Wrapped in a black cloak, the fur-lined hood framing her face, she has never looked more like a cult leader.
She has never felt more like a cult leader.
“Today, we’re going to be testing your survival skills,” Luna continues.
I look everywhere except the patch of snow she occupies and find a small clearing circled by dense pines and hemlocks, more so than at the compound.
“You both come from lush, individualistic backgrounds, but soon you’ll find that the Shadow Sanctum does not value comfort nor selfishness.
We value strength, resourcefulness, and cooperation. ”
The snow is trampled where the ATVs parked, but the rest of the clearing is pristine white. A long breath of the crisp, painfully cold air holds not a trace of smoke from nearby chimneys.
“Right now, you're ten miles from the Shadow Sanctum’s compound. Your goal is to make your way back.”
Ten miles.
The hemlocks alone suggest we’re at least… seventeen, maybe? Probably more like twenty-five, though with the time missing…
More than ten. Certainly.
I sense movement from behind, but when I turn, a hand fists my hair and forces my head straight. Something metal comes over my head—a device that’s hastily fastened around my neck, four evenly spaced cylinders digging into my skin. Across from me, a different Keeper secures the same onto Angel.
A collar.
Electric?
No. The cylinders are unnecessarily bulky.
"The terrain is challenging. Wildlife is present. You may encounter bears, wolves, or mountain lions. You’ll need to find your own shelter and collect or create your own supplies from your surroundings, the same way you’ll be expected to in the Shadow Sanctum.”
A whisper of a gasp chills my teeth as the answer comes.
Explosive.
“We don’t ask for help from outsiders. But we do ask help from each other… Which is why you’ll be initiating together. You both have much to offer, so you both have the option of returning if you prove yourself worthy.”
As my hand lifts to one of the collar’s cylinders, my eyes finally settle on Luna. I don’t know what I’m expecting to see. Reassurance?
Instead, she stands with a lifeless expression, hands cupped in front of her like a subservient robot. There’s a glint in her eyes as she finds me, inviting me in on her lie. It’s a subtle message, if not redundant.
Kill him.
“Because I know you’ll both appreciate the challenge, the devices around your neck hold explosive devices that will detonate if you travel more than a mile off course. It’s important to your survival that you are certain of your direction…”
She stares directly at me while she says this. There’s no wobble in her voice, but she doesn’t hide the flicker of anxiousness in her eyes fast enough.
I know you can pass this test, she said. She designed it.
I let my eyes roam the forest yet again, as if the first obstacle is truly direction. I won’t make it a yard if Angel kills me first.
Luna waits what must be a full minute before she speaks again, her voice as cold as I've ever heard it.
"May the worthy find their way home.”
The other Keepers start toward the ATVs while Luna stands rooted in place. Thorne’s heavy boots crunch on snow as he approaches her, and from the corner of my eye I watch him smooth his hand over her back in encouragement.
It should not hold my attention, but as an image flashes—the two of them together, in bed, his huge body on top of her delicate frame—that hand is all I can register. Beneath the harsh cold, my ears grow hot.
Finally, Luna moves. As they head to their ATVs, I turn my head to watch their backs. The pristine silence shatters as their engines roar to life, but Luna hesitates to turn the throttle. I sense the moment she decides to look back at me, and I turn away just in time.
The ATVs growl and fade into the distance, leaving nothing but silence and the occasional puff of wind through the trees. Angel and I stand alone in the clearing, fifteen feet of trampled snow between us.
My hands rise of their own accord, as if shielding me from the absolute unchecked rage pouring from a six-three frame. "Listen to me… I know you’re pissed, but let’s think about this for a—"
Angel moves with startling speed. Four long strides eat the distance between us before I barely have time to consider taking more than a step back.
“Whoa. Hold—”
My tongue pinches between my teeth as Angel’s fist crashes into my jaw. Pain rattles my skull before settling in my mouth.
Blood—a lot of it—rushes against the back of my teeth and slides down my throat as I stumble backward, tennis shoes slipping in the snow.
He follows. Throws another punch, this time aiming for my stomach. I twist and take it on the hip instead. Then scramble to put distance between us.
"Wait," the word gurgles on blood. I spit a mouthful onto the ground and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Fuck, Angel. Just—"
"I’m done waiting," he says, his voice calm and controlled despite the angry tremble of his fists. He circles me methodically, like a wolf eyeing up a lamb. "The biggest mistake I’ve ever made was letting you talk your way into living. I’m not making it again."
I dodge another strike, hands raised defensively. "Angel, Liberty’s alive. She’s—"
He lunges again and catches me with a blow to the ribs that knocks the wind from my lungs. I double over with a wheeze as he drives his knee up toward my face. I barely twist away in time, falling sideways into the snow.
The cold bites through my clothes as I roll, but before I stand, Angel grabs my jacket. He hauls me upright and jerks me so I’m within an inch of his face.
Scotch. There’s not a chance he has it on his breath, but memory alone floods my senses. Scotch and cloves and an endless craving for retribution.
"I know,” he says. “Liberty is a survivor.”
Without a beat passing, he yanks the explosive collar down far enough to fit around my throat. My mouth opens, but all that exists is a strangled breath.
Fight.
Don’t fight.
It’s Angel—fighting only makes it worse. And he’s the last person in the world I want to hurt.
I grasp at the hem of my coat; blink my eyes in submission. Count to four.
Then drive my forehead into his nose with all the strength I have.
My lungs violently expand as he staggers backward, cupping his gushing nose. Stunned, for the moment. I don't waste the opportunity.
I tackle him around the waist and crash to the ground, snow crunching beneath his back.
He recovers quickly. Before I can rear a fist, he rolls me beneath him, his weight crushing the air from my lungs. I manage to turn my head as his fist comes down and take the blow on my cheek instead of my nose.
A flash of white explodes across my vision—first as a fiery burst, then ice-cold snow. I don’t remember the drugs they gave me until my head spins. My reactions are sluggish, my coordination off. Angel has no such handicap.
His next punch lands squarely on my jaw. More blood until I taste nothing but copper and snow. It sputters from my mouth in a sick stream that splatters with a second bomb on my cheek.
A sobering thought: he’s really going to kill me. Known information but impossible just the same. I didn’t realize how little I believed it.
With his bare hands.
I grab a fistful of snow and fling it into his eyes. He recoils, body lifting with a sharp breath that leaves him regrettably vulnerable. I drive my knee up between his legs—as hard as I possibly can. Hard enough to cringe at the sound of his howl.
I shove him off and scramble away. Blood dripping from my lip paints a gruesome crime scene in the snow as I stand, hands swaying in front of me while I right myself. Angel’s head presses into the frozen ground as he shifts on his knees, already trying to recover from the pain.
His rage is an unstoppable force pushing him to his feet. He scrapes the snow from his eyes with a single sweep of his arm, his breathing ragged, his fists raising.
"Angel, please," I lift my hands to concede. “Just listen to me. Liberty’s gone. She’s safe. She was supposed to stop you from coming here.”
Angel stays poised to attack, but it’s the narrowing of his eyes that I lock onto. Suspicious, calculating, thinking.
"Bullshit."
There—the faintest hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Palms splayed, I lower my hands. "I'm not. I swear to God, she's safe." I spit blood into the snow. "She left last night. I took her to the fenceline and personally watched her go."
He studies me, chest heaving, blood still streaming from his nose. He shakes his head. "She wouldn’t have gone anywhere with you. You put her here, you sick, jealous motherfucker."
My mouth hangs for a moment.
Jealous?
I blink as if confused. Then mimic him with the narrowing of my eyes, weight shifting to my heels as I rear back. “You don’t seriously believe I wanted Liberty here?”
He just glares.
“Angel… ” I let out an exasperated breath. My hand rakes through my hair before jutting toward him. “I needed you here. To help me. Not Liberty. I just needed her to make sure you’d come… Jesus, you know I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, don’t you?”
His glare doesn’t crack. Not at first.
And my expression? Hurt. Pitiful. Betrayed.
I am a bastard.
“She’s your wife. I would never hurt her. I could never do that to you. Please tell me, in your heart, you know that.”
Silence stretches, broken only by our ragged breathing and the occasional whisper of wind through the hemlocks. Blood drips from both our faces, staining the snow beneath us.
Finally, his fighting stance eases. He stands straighter, hands slowly uncurling. “She’s okay?”
I let my shoulders fall forward with a sigh just short of exasperation. Disappointed is most appropriate. Because why should he question it? Why should he question me, after everything?
The thought nearly makes me sick—so much so that for the briefest moment, I want to let the hurt slide off my face. For a moment, just this once, I wish I was anyone but myself. It isn’t fair to Angel that I know him this well.
He is hard as stone in nearly every area except for two small fissures in his armor.
Liberty.
Me.
I nod just the right number of times. “Of course she’s okay.
I’m…” I look up as if thinking. “I can explain everything. These people, they think I’m a human trafficker.
They forced me here to lure female initiates, but trapped as I am, they’ve given me full control over the women for as long as I ask.
I wouldn’t have brought Liberty here if I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I could protect her. ”
My mind flashes to the Bower, to the sound of her screams while the Keeper was on top of her.
I fucking hate myself.
Angel breaks eye contact and doesn’t respond. He’s pissed. I see that.
But he’s rationalizing my actions. As ruthless and competent as he is, he isn’t difficult to manipulate. If it’s his fatal flaw, mine is the temptation to utilize it.
Another memory pops into my mind. Liberty confessing Angel’s insistence on finding me.
“I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t need your help.” My pitch dips low and pathetic. Not too much. He’d pick up on dramatics. But enough to fake sincerity.
Actually … I am sincere.
“I know we left things bad,” I continue. “I know I fucked up. But fuck, Angel. You’re the only family I have. I didn’t think that would just go away.”
He scoffs. “You tried to kill me.”
“I’ve made many mistakes I can't take back. That’s the biggest.”
Looking off, he clenches his jaw. Then unclenches it. He believes me. I think I might believe it too.
“You had my wife kidnapped. Surely, that’s the biggest.”
“It is,” I agree. “You’re right.” I let a moment pass and blow out a slow breath, head hung low. There’s a final blow, one final line to speak. And somehow, the words are thick as tar on my tongue.
“I would never have done it if I knew she was a mother.”
Two thick lines disappear from Angel’s forehead. His neck straightens as he watches me, but not for a lie. He knows it’s the truth.
“Liberty told me about your daughter.” I give him the slightest of smiles, almost sad. “We talked before she left. If you can believe it, we bonded.”
“Bullshit.” No sneer this time.
“She told me that she forgave you for your part in bringing her to the island… I couldn’t believe you told her.”
No response. But no lines remain in his brow.
“For what it’s worth, she said she forgives me too…
If she can do that, after everything we put her through, why can’t we do the same?
You betrayed me. I lost everything because of you.
Then you took my half of our business and left me penniless.
I can’t really afford to be pissed at you anymore, and I’m sorry, I know it sucks, but you can’t really afford to be pissed at me either.
” I gesture around the snow-capped forest. “There’s a bomb around your neck, and you could use a guide… ”
Angel’s boot pressing firmly into the snow as he stares down, considering my words. He looks guarded. He knows he shouldn’t believe me.
But he can’t help himself.
He looks up, glares, and shoves his hands in his pocket. Long strides carry him past me, his steps headed for the trees. As he passes, he leans in, pausing at my ear. “Don’t ever talk about my wife … or my child.”
He continues on, making me watch his back as he goes.
I suck in a long breath and let the cold air pass through my teeth. “Fair enough.”