Chapter 3
Turner
One. Two. Three. Four.
I declare a cold war.
I pop my lips under my neck warmer, sweat coating them already. I sing my little chant in my head as I let Gunner loose to trail the trespasser. She’s not armed from what I can tell, but she is bleeding from my first shot. She should be easy to track, and well, my Bloodhound needs the exercise before he’s stuck inside. I could use some, too.
I keep a tight grip around my rifle as my boots thud in the snow. It’s a poor time to go hunting, and I know it won’t be long before she’s frozen to death anyway. I could let her succumb to the elements, and then play a game of finding the dead body.
But that’s not nearly as exhilarating.
“Where is she?” I ask Gunner as he trails out ahead of me. The wind covers her tracks, and the snowfall has picked up again. I still see tinges of crimson painted in the snow though. A wave of anticipation floods my system, and I grin beneath my face warmer. I don’t know what will happen when I find her, but fuck knows, I needed to have a little excitement in my life.
I catch sight of movement in my peripheral, and instinctively raise my rifle, placing my finger on the trigger.
“Not yet. Not yet, Martin,” I command myself under my breath. “Feel it out. Analyze the threat first.”
But who cares? She trespassed. I don’t need to analyze shit.
I frown as my hands begin to sweat beneath my gloves. I’m torn between hitting the high of watching her body drop in the snow, and investigating further, figuring out why some little brunette is running in my woods. I couldn’t hear what she was shouting at me, and I have to admit, I’d like clarification.
Gunner lets out a warning bark, grabbing my attention. He’s closing in on her.
Damn the luck. She’s not moving quickly enough to give him a good chase. Maybe it’s because she’s injured and in possible shock? I knew I’d graze her when I took the shot, but I wouldn’t think it’d slow her down too much. She should have adrenaline coursing through her veins right now. My mind flashes back to the phone dropping in the snow. I’ll need to find that when the weather clears.
But damn, I hate phones. They bring trouble and it means anyone can find you. I don’t like that. They’re an invasive technological leech on society. She’d be smart to figure that out. As I continue on, I catch sight of a silver Ford F150. It’s definitely stuck, buried in the snow and mud up to the middle of the tires. If it had been colder before the storm blew in, she probably wouldn’t have gotten so buried. I chuckle.
Bad luck for her.
Good luck for me.
Quickly, I check the doors and see they’re unlocked. I know Gunner will keep pressure on her, giving me a chance to check this out. I rip the door open and spot the bags in the backseat. Looks like she’s going somewhere.
Home for the holidays?
My stomach rolls. Fuck that. I slam the door shut and hear a yelp somewhere out in the woods. I grunt out a low laugh, wondering if she mistook it for more gunfire. Lucky for her, I don’t waste ammo. Not usually, anyway.
Sometimes, I can’t stop once I start.
I make my way to the back of the truck, my rifle still in a ready position. I check the license plate. Oklahoma. “You’re a long way from home,” I say under my breath. More thunder cracks overhead, and I know I should be checking the weather radio. When I went into town for supplies, they said we might get snowed in for a few weeks. That didn’t matter to me. I only go to town once a month, if I have to. I can’t handle the crowds.
Actually, I can’t handle anyone.
Gunner’s bark cuts through the howling winds, and this time, it’s choppier, letting me know he’s waiting for me. Target has been cornered.
I raise my rifle in the direction and stealthily cross the terrain, my boots crunching quietly in the snow. I’m covered by the wind. It’s blowing north, northeast, gusting up to fifty miles per hour. She won’t hear me as long as I continue the way I’m going.
And then what do I do?
My lip twitches as I conjure up possible scenarios. I could shoot upon arrival, or I guess I could interrogate, have a little fun… I follow the sound of Gunner’s bays, keeping my wits about me for the moment. Or maybe I should just let her go? I mull it over, knowing the odds aren’t in her favor.
No one’s ever made it out of here alive.
My muscles tense as I catch sight of Gunner, his body mirroring that of my own. He understands the drill of a good hunt, and his excitement drums up mine. I skirt along the trees, unbothered as the weather continues to worsen. My eyes lock onto my target, and I’m unsurprised by her lack of winter clothing.
She’s from the south, after all.
Her green eyes widen as she spots me, her back up against one of the old pine trees. Her hand is still bleeding, and the sight makes me feel… nothing. “I…I…” Her voice is meek, fragile.
I glare at her, but I can’t find the words as I take in the damp hair sticking to her face, the shitty cheap coat, and her soaked denim. She won’t last two hours out here.
I’ll put her out of her misery.
I raise the rifle, and her teeth audibly chatter as she wraps her arms around herself. The absolute terror in her eyes suddenly help me find my voice. She’s so fragile, I have to pry.
“Why are you here?” The gravel in my tone booms as my gaze bores into hers.
“I…” Her lips are tainted a light shade of blue. I was wrong. She might not last the hour. “I was trying to… I thought this was…”
“Speak in full sentences,” I bark, taking a step toward her. She winces. My finger is on the trigger now, reminding me of my old nickname.
‘Get ‘em, Trigger.’ I hear Bradford’s voice in my head, his hand on my shoulder. Those were the good days. Before I broke. Before everything in my life went to hell in a hand basket.
“I was supposed to be staying with my boyfriend for the holidays at his c-c-cabin,” she begins. “And my GPS went to shit. He said a black gate, and I thought this was it, and I got stuck. He said he’ll pick me up if I tell him where I am.”
Alarms sound in my head. “He’s on his way here? ”
She gets this confused look on her face. “I don’t know.”
I think back to the truck. It can’t be seen from the road where it sits. “Does he have this location?”
“I don’t know.” She lets out a defeated sigh, and in the moment, a tear slips down her cheek. I’m not sure there’s anything particularly special about her. I don’t really care about her as anything other than a warm body. But I do care if I’m going to have more visitors.
So, I repeat myself. “ Does he know where you are? ”
She meets my gaze again, and immediately, I sense she’s considering the idea of lying. And in her defense, the smart thing to do in this situation would be to lie. If someone knows where she is, that typically would increase her chance of surviving this situation.
But I’m physically capable of digging two graves—if I even bother with it.
“He doesn’t know,” I answer for her.
A tear slips down her cheek again. I recoil at the sight. She might be better off dead. I run my tongue over my bottom lip, as Gunner inches closer to her, his tail wagging with unease…or something else?
“No,” I warn him, and he stops a foot or so from her.
“I’m really sorry for bothering you.” Her voice breaks, and she looks away from me. “It’s been such a shitty day. I can maybe try to get unstuck, if you’ll just let me?—”
I shake my head, cutting her off from speaking. “No.”
“Okay, well…” She lets out a dry, bitter laugh. “Will you just do whatever you’re going to? Because the way I see it, I’ll either die by that .308 you have, or I’ll die in the elements.”
“So, you’re not a total idiot,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?” Her voice is abrasive to my ears. I don’t like it. I don’t think I like her.
My rifle is still pointed at her chest. I could just shut her up indefinitely, but something about her grinds my instincts to a halt. I know if I pull the trigger, I might spend days, if not weeks, unable to shake her cold, wounded expression. It’s happened before.
I don’t want it to happen again.
Fuck, what a dilemma.
She takes an audible breath, and then pushes off the tree. The movement has me in motion before I even realize what I’m doing. She lets out a cry as she falls to the ground face first, the butt of my rifle sending her there.
Okay. Temporary fix for now.
I use my boot to roll her over, and now that she’s unconscious, I really see her. She’s at peace momentarily, and I’m sure if she knew who I was, she’d be wishing I’d extend that peace right into eternity.
“What should we do?” I turn to Gunner, who shivers at a blast of sharp wind. I feel nothing in the cold. I went numb a long, long time ago, and maybe a stronger man would’ve ended it before it ever went this far—but something keeps me here.
Maybe I just enjoy the misery.
A migraine thumps in my skull, and I sling my rifle back over my shoulder. Bending over, I scoop the woman into my arms. The closeness of her body is strangely warm against mine, even with the outerwear between us… But then again, maybe it’s the fact I haven’t had a living person this close to me in almost a decade.
I swallow the feelings that follow that reminder. I keep my chin up as I trudge through the deepening snow. I pushed it staying out here this long with her. If someone is really on their way, they won’t make it.
But they might call in search and rescue. I’ll have to keep an eye out.
As I carry her back toward the cabin, I glance over my shoulder. I’ve never had someone show up here searching for anyone. I’m so far off the beaten path, I rarely have trespassers.
“Come on, Gunner,” I call back to my dog. “We need to get her settled and then we’ll pay the truck one last visit.” I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with her—or what getting her settled really means. I’ve never taken someone home before.
My eyes cast downward on her face again. She’s kind of pretty. I don’t know that I see people that way anymore, but she fits some sort of standard of beauty, I suppose. I can easily say that her only makeup is the mascara smeared across her cheeks. Her freckles add to her appeal, splattered across her skin like paint on canvas. I stare at her a few moments longer, zoning out on her soft features.
Maybe I just haven’t held a woman in so long, I’m enthralled by the smallest details. However, there was a time in my life when I drank beer, slept around, laughed for the hell of it, and was… normal. Now, I’m forty years old.
And definitely not normal.
I kick open the door and enter my cabin, my escape from the real world. The fireplace is blazing, and I stomp the snow off my boots after shutting us all inside. I cross the hardwood floors to the couch and dump her off, taking her in once more.
Maybe I should tie her up? Or get her out of the wet clothes? I drop my neck warmer and rub the unruly stubble on my jaw as I contemplate for a few moments. No answer comes immediately, and so I spin on my heels to head back out into the blizzard to retrieve her things.
Thirty minutes later, I drop her bags by the door, once again eyeing her on the couch. She’s still out, and that’s a little concerning. I brush it off though and lock up the front door. The elements are worsening, and if someone was out looking for her, I know they aren’t now. It’s too dangerous for search teams to dispatch, and they’d have to travel a hundred miles to even get here. This isn’t a touristy area.
No one is coming for her. For now. There’s a strange air of excitement with that conclusion, but I don’t know why. I don’t like people. They never last long around me, anyway—even if I want them to. I frown at that, and kick my boots off this time, leaving them by the door. Gunner is somewhere inside, probably snoozing in my room. I strip out of my parka and hang it on the rack by the door, and then slide out of my coveralls as well.
I’m left in my black sweatpants, henley, and wool socks as I creep across the floors to check on the woman invading my space. I clench my jaw as I take in the serene way she’s laying there. I don’t know if she’s just that fucking tired, or if I knocked her out a little too hard. I have things I could give her to keep her out…
That would probably be for the best until I make up my mind.
I mean, I can’t discern the severity of her concussion, and if she just doesn’t wake up, well… That’s out of my hands. She’s the one who trespassed and got stuck. It’s not like I baited her here or something. My gate was shut for fuck’s sake.
And that might be why I’ve left her living. It’s hard to say if it’s a rare occurrence of sympathy or just some kind of sick intrigue.
My eyes glide down to her denim, and I stare at the dark, still soaked place around her upper thighs to her ankles. A twitch tugs at my upper lip, and I rake my fingers through my hair. I’m not sure why it seems like a mountain of a task, given the life I fully lived up till the age of twenty-nine. But it does.
I spin on my heels and head to the door where I dropped her things, quickly unzipping the top black duffle bag. Much to my relief, there’s a pair of gray sweatpants on top. I pull them out, catching the hint of lavender detergent. I wince at the scent, my stomach furling. I hold them out and away from my body as I return to the woman.
I don’t even know her name. But maybe it’s better that way.
If I know her name, it might make it more scarring when she’s a mound of dead flesh. A sick taste hangs in my mouth, and I shake my head. I don’t have to think about that right now. I’m fine.
I’m fine. Everything is fine.
I toss the sweatpants on the arm of my faded leather couch, and then reach for her, my hands landing on her hips. The warmth of her body sears my calloused palms. Fuck, it has been so long since I touched a woman. Gritting my teeth, I roll her gently onto her back. A light moan slips from her lips, and a thrum of something old and familiar hits my groin.
Ah, good to know that part of me still functions.
Pushing it aside, I stick to the task at hand, removing her shoes and then unsnapping her jeans. As I tug them over her hips, I’m met with the sight of her skin, glistening under the glow of the fireplace. Freckles dot the pale skin in places, and I try to ignore the way her black satin underwear are like a magnet for my gaze. My knuckles brush her bare skin, and my heart throbs in my temple.
Could I make her feel good if she wanted me to? It would only be fair since I know her ending. Maybe it’d make it less painful if she had something pleasurable to go with it. I chuckle to myself, knowing good and well, I’d just scar her more. Or myself.
So, I push it away, pulling the jeans the rest of the way off her and tossing them toward the warm floor in front of the fire. I swallow the knot in my throat as see her stretched out in front of me. Primal urges tug at me.
But I don’t listen. I have self-control. In that way.
I retrieve the sweats and work her into them, letting out a sigh of relief when she’s fully covered again. I’m still a gentleman, despite being fucked in the head.
My monsters are of an entirely different kind.