Chapter 20 Calder
Calder
The thunderstorm was too raucous for me to need to temper my movement; I could hardly hear my own footsteps from only six feet above them. The shouting, though, that came through loud and clear the closer I got to Trent and Sarah’s tent.
And away from the greatest threat to me.
I tried to shove Lara from my mind. Everything from her confession about what had happened in Phoenix, both in the hospital and the aftermath, all the way up to the moment when we’d kissed.
Again.
Never had I felt such a lack of control than when it came to her—when it came to needing her. If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, there was no denying I would’ve broken some unspoken rule (and all the spoken ones) and fucked her in that chair.
Her. The woman who thought I broke her sister’s heart.
What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t, that was the problem. But it was a problem for another day.
A light flashed ahead. Two of them. Flashlights, not lightning.
“Fuck you. Don’t fucking touch me.” The shouting grew louder, and definitely belonged to Trent.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“Get your fucking hands off me.”
I reached the small clearing of their tent just in time to see Trent shake Matthew’s hold off his arm. Crouching behind a tree, I wiped the rain from my eyes and squinted at the scene in front of me.
Trent, Matthew, and Ben stood in triangle formation outside the tent, the light from inside illuminating all three of them, along with Sarah, who was huddled at the entrance.
Her arms were wrapped around her middle and she was shaking.
She also had a bright-red welt forming on her cheek.
Someone had hit her, and I had a damn good guess as to who.
Matthew was managing the situation, his stance commanding. Ben, on the other hand, stood a little farther back, holding his weapon at his side. No one appeared injured, so the shot we’d heard must’ve been fired into the air as a warning.
“Trent, you need to come with me—” Matthew started.
“Is this really what you want?” Trent ignored him, his vitriol aimed at Sarah.
“I don’t—”
Trent didn’t wait for her to finish, lunging for her and shouting, “Bullshit! I know this is because of you. You told them to do this, you stupid fucking cunt—” The wind went out of him when Matthew landed a punch to his gut, sending Trent doubled over and onto his knees.
I’d be lying if I didn’t feel a not-so-small burst of satisfaction seeing that asshole brought down a notch.
“Fucker—”
My satisfaction dimmed when Ben launched toward the downed man, taking advantage of easy prey.
He swung the butt of his gun into Trent’s face, who went sprawling into the muddy ground, and then nailed his boot into Trent’s stomach.
The beaten man curled into a ball, emitting a pained groan that was almost too low for me to hear.
“Enough,” Matthew warned his partner.
Trent was clearly no longer a threat, but neither that nor Matthew’s caution stopped him.
Like a switch had been flipped, Ben grabbed a limp and moaning Trent by the back of his collar and punched the side of his head.
If the first blow didn’t completely knock him out, the next one would.
But Ben wasn’t going to stop there; I could see it in his eyes, a sadistic kind of savagery that was too evil to hide.
He wasn’t going to stop brutalizing him until Trent was dead.
I stepped out from behind the tree, my fist tightening on my weapon, my heart pumping for a fight. Two against one wasn’t my favorite for odds, but I’d certainly fought in worse.
“Stop!” Sarah yelled and stepped out from the tent and I stilled, too, waiting to see whether my intervention was necessary.
Ben’s head jerked to her. “Stop?” He laughed, and through the rain, his expression twisted. “Soon you’ll be thanking me for knowing how to get rid of him and not leave a trace.”
A coldness swept through me, and I carefully moved closer to them, my pace slower now that the rain had started to ease.
“Enough, Ben. This is done.” Matthew grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back. Ben finally, begrudgingly, took the hint. “Go inside, Sarah,” the guard ordered. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
Bending, Matthew grabbed Trent and dragged him to the ATV I could now see parked beside the tent, draping the unconscious man over the back.
“What—where are you taking him?” Sarah demanded.
“He broke the rules for hitting you. It’s protocol to remove violent participants from the retreat,” Matthew replied as the ATV’s engine coughed to life.
Ben couldn’t resist adding, “Soon you’ll learn not to question a man when he is taking care of you.”
“But—”
“Get some rest. You’ll be leaving for the Garden in the morning.”
Shit.
Matthew revved the engine and then drove off, the headlights ping-ponging along his path through the woods.
Once Matthew and Trent were out of sight, Sarah’s head collapsed into her hands, her shoulders shaking with loud sobs.
I straightened for a second time, my plan already decided; first, wait for Ben to leave. Then get Sarah, go back for Lara, and leave the campsite tonight. It was too risky to stay; we’d figure out where the Garden was another way.
Except Ben didn’t leave.
“Sarah.”
“Go away.” She jerked from Ben’s touch—the kind of thing that would only infuriate a man like him.
“Me? I just want to make you feel better after that asshole hit you. One day you’ll thank me for knowing how to get rid of him.”
“What?” Sarah backed away, whipping her head side to side. “No.”
“Come on. Let me show you what a good orgasm can do for you. Think of it like an introduction to the Garden,” he said, ignoring her.
Her sad face became stricken with horror. With fear. I didn’t blame her.
Looked like my plan was going to be modified.
I took wide strides to make it quickly into the clearing, Sarah’s loud gasp announcing my presence.
Ben whipped around, rage distorting his face.
“I think someone needs to teach you the meaning of no,” I said, moving close enough for him to acknowledge the weapon at my side with the quick drop and rebound of his gaze.
“Go back to your tent. This doesn’t concern you,” he growled angrily.
“I disagree.”
He lifted his gun carelessly—dangerously—aiming it right at me. “Get back—”
Sarah screamed, and I took advantage of the nanosecond of distraction. I dropped my makeshift axe to the ground and lunged for Ben’s Colt. In a split second, I’d taken it from his grasp, dropped the mag to the ground, and whipped the body into the dark woods.
Humiliation was like steroids to the anger of small men.
“You fucker!” Ben snarled, crazed, as he swung at me. I ducked and avoided the punch, sending him stumbling and almost losing his balance. “I’m going to kill you for this. She’s mine. She’s supposed to be mine.”
He spun around to face me, and a flash of lightning caught the switchblade now open at his side.
Dammit.
Ben charged again, but this time, as I sidestepped the arc of the blade, I slipped on the wet underbrush and didn’t make it out of his way fast enough.
Fuck. The curse bloomed from the white-hot slice of pain.
I grabbed my side and quickly moved into a defensive position several feet away.
Gritting my teeth, I pressed my fingers around the wound.
The broad stroke of the knife left a superficial cut along my side, but no major damage.
It fell into the looked worse than it was category, and therefore wasn’t something I could worry about now.
“Ha,” Ben cackled. “Just a taste of what I’m going to do to you.”
“Look, Ben, it doesn’t have to end this way. Just put the knife down and walk away. No one needs to get hurt,” I said, my hands lifted like I’d be willing to surrender if he did.
“Says the man who’s already wounded. You just know you’re going to lose.” Confidence inflated not only his threats but also his actions. He charged again so wildly, he should’ve been swinging for a home run, not trying to stab someone.
This time, I anticipated the terrain better, not only veering to the side but also spinning and driving my palm into the center of his back, sending him tripping forward and crashing to his knees.
Two steps brought me right back to my starting position—and the place where I’d dropped my weapon.
“You’re either going to stop this now and walk away, or you’re going to look like a fool. Again,” I warned, picking up my axe.
I tried to give him an easy way out—again. For some reason, the bad guys never seemed to take it.
“Then I’ll get rid of both of you and take your whore instead,” he snarled and, with a look of pure insanity, turned for Sarah.
She screamed, and my arm swung in a sure, short arc, the axe slicing through the air and burying into his shoulder.
Ben roared and collapsed to his knees, grappling for the blade lodged in his flesh.
I didn’t waste any time—I didn’t have any of it to waste.
“I’m . . . going . . . to . . .” His threat sputtered into silence as I came up behind him, wrapped my arm around his neck, holding tight enough to send him into unconsciousness.
He dropped like a Slinky to the ground.
“Oh my god. Is he—oh my god . . .” Sarah cupped her hands over her mouth, her face oscillating between a shade of white and green.
“He’s passed out, but he’ll survive.” Unfortunately.
Her head volleyed back and forth as I walked by her into the tent and ripped two strips of cloth from the bedsheet. I would’ve preferred a zip tie or cuffs, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Yanking the blade from the meat of his shoulder, I wiped it clean on his shirt. Getting skewered by an axe was a dramatic injury, but I’d made sure it wouldn’t be a lasting one. Nothing some antiseptic and stitches wouldn’t heal in a few weeks. Hopefully from the inside of a prison cell.
Stuffing the first wad of cotton into Ben’s mouth, I dragged him over to the closest tree, braided the second strip of fabric around his wrists, and then tied them behind the trunk.
It wouldn’t hold him for long, but I only needed it to hold him for long enough.