by Leah Ashton
That had a certain … weight to it.
Although of all the burdens she carried right this instant, worrying about her role in a man’s death was insignificant. What she needed to do was worry about avoiding her own death. And Todd’s, too.
She shook her head, trying to focus.
It was even hotter now with the sun almost directly above them. Her long hair was stuck to the back of her neck with sweat, and dust stuck to the perspiration on her skin. Todd stood in that unrelenting sun, his hands still bound, for now seemingly unaffected by the heat. She noticed he was constantly surveying their surroundings – his gaze flicking from goon to goon – but always back to her. And his gaze lingered on her which despite everything felt good. Really good.
There was no question now that she trusted him.
What before had been a leap of faith – a what other option do I have? – was now the only thing that made sense right now. She could trust this man who had so swiftly come to her defence in that house – and to his own detriment. She’d felt every blow he’d suffered, bile rising in her throat as the goons had so enthusiastically thrown their fists into a man who was helpless to retaliate.
But she hadn’t had the luxury of being ill, or fainting, which had also felt a possibility as Knife had so casually discussed her torture. Instead, she’d had to remain steady on her feet, and watch the man who she now genuinely believed would do all he could to protect her.
The problem was, she couldn’t think what he could do.
The three men with them now were all armed. Both Todd and herself had their wrists bound. What options did they have?
A door slammed, and Beth turned to watch Knife and Suz jogging down the homestead’s steps and head for one of the several large sheds nearby. A huge sliding door slid opened a few minutes later, and from inside emerged a plane. A small plane, with three wheels and a propeller. It looked to only seat two people, with Knife and Suz taking up all the space in the cockpit.
Neither of them gave Beth, Todd, or the goons a passing glance as the plane taxied towards the huge flat area behind the homestead, and a few minutes later, it took off.
Knife’s absence seemed to immediately grow Gaff’s confidence.
“I’m going into town,” he announced. He pushed up from where he sat, and the two goons scrambled to their feet. “Get rid of Stoltz while I’m gone, and take these two with you. Do not let them out of your sight, for any reason. Do not untie them for any reason. Got it?”
One nodded, but the other spoke. “But Knife—”
“Fuck Knife,” Gaff said, and both goons’ eyes went wide. “Sort Stoltz, and I’ll be back in two hours. Don’t fuck this up.”
Then he stomped off to the SUV, and a few moments later, left in a cloud of red dust and gravel.
The two goons looked at each other, then stepped a few metres away to have a murmured conversation. Beth glanced at Todd, who was already looking at her.
He didn’t say anything but he raised his chin. She knew what he was telling her, as she’d already worked it out herself: this is our chance.
It was by far the best odds they’d had – two on two.
If you disregarded the guns and the cable ties.
But even so, suddenly, there was hope. Not even a glimmer, maybe – it was as microscopic as the specks of dust that coated her skin.
But still – hope, nonetheless.
She met Todd’s gaze and nodded.
Chapter Five
One of the prospects dragged Stoltz’s body along the red dirt, as the other directed Damon and Beth along a path that wound its way through spinifex and the occasional mulga tree. It was a slow progression with Stoltz a large man, and the prospect needing to stop regularly to catch his breath.
Damon had offered to help carry the dead man, but unfortunately, the prospects weren’t that stupid, and all he’d got was a half-hearted thwack with the Glock to the side of his head for his efforts.
That new bruise was barely noticeable amongst the collection he’d accumulated in the homestead earlier. But besides, it wasn’t dull aches – and not so dull aches and pains – causing him the most discomfort as they walked. Nope. It was the merciless, baking heat.
It wasn’t as hot as it could get out here, but it was bloody hot enough. The clothing Damon had put on last night before heading out to Northbridge – dark jeans, boots, and T-shirt – was utterly impractical out here. His skin was slick with sweat, and his throat was dry, his lips parched. He’d just about kill for a drink – and likely he’d have to.
The Notechi prospects weren’t about to offer him one.
Beth walked beside him. Close enough that if his wrists weren’t tied, he could’ve reached out and held her hand. It was an absurdly romantic thought as they walked in the desert behind a corpse and with a man holding a gun at their backs behind them, but the need to touch Beth wasn’t about to abate. Last night in the bar, it had been about lust, and now of course, it was distinctly different. Now it was about wanting to reassure her – and him, really. That she was okay, he was okay. That they’d be okay.
But he couldn’t do that while his hands were tied, and they also couldn’t be okay while her hands were tied. So he needed to change that.
Gaff had been unbelievably stupid in leaving Tiger Snake Station, and assuming he survived this – which he intended to – Damon planned to figure out just what Gaff was doing in Laverton. It had to be either a woman, or business, and if Gaff had some side gig outside of the Notechi going on, that info was likely of interest to E-SWAT.
Beth stumbled beside him, her sexy heels utterly impractical in the desert. As she lurched, the prospect behind them lurched too – maybe some deep-seated sense of chivalry that the Notechi hadn’t yet totally beaten out of him? – but in the end, he didn’t need to come to his captive’s rescue as she righted herself, and the moment passed.
But that was the kind of moment Damon needed. Not quite like that one – he needed something bigger than that – but something. A distraction. Some confusion. A stroke of luck, really.
He couldn’t plan anything, as he didn’t know where they were going and had never been to this part of the station when he’d visited before. If he could talk to Beth, he maybe could’ve got her to help with a distraction, but he couldn’t, so that idea was moot.
So all he could do was stay alert for any opportunity.
And then, as they walked into a small clump of mallee trees that provided the first, blissful respite from the sun he’d had in hours – he saw it.
Just the opportunity – just the moment – he’d been waiting for.
Beth’s feet hurt. Like, really hurt. Her ankles were rubbing raw, and her toes were pinched and surely sporting blisters. She was a fan of sensible shoes at the best of times – she wore a whole array of ballet flats to work and hadn’t worn heels higher than three centimetres since her early twenties.
Until last night, when she’d retrieved these shiny, unworn stilettos from the depths of her wardrobe, realising this was just the opportunity she’d been imagining when she’d bought them on clearance just after Trent had left her. To be a sexy, not-sensible-at-all version of Bethwyn.
Last night, she’d loved these shoes. Right now, she hated them almost as much as she hated the Notechi.
Thankfully, their little convoy was moving slowly, as the dead man clearly weighed a tonne. She’d tried to avoid looking directly at the dead man’s head, where he’d clearly been shot, as she didn’t really need to know the exact gory details. Still, seeing his lifeless body had been confronting enough, but at some point, her stomach had stopped churning, and she’d let go of all her guilt about her part in his death.
Which was pretty heartless of her, she knew, but it was fact. Right now, all she was focusing on was her feet – and on Todd.
As he had back at the homestead, he was constantly scanning their surroundings. He couldn’t look over his shoulder at the man behind them without being obvious, but she suspected
that often when he glanced at her he was doing so to keep an eye on the man behind them too.
There was an alertness about the man beside her. Last night, when she’d met him, there had been this sense of strength and power in how he held himself. Not in a threatening, terrifying way, like Knife. With Todd, it was more intrinsic – it was just who he was – and it wasn’t being directed at her or at anyone else.
Now, that power seemed to be rumbling closer to the surface.
Beth realised this could just be her own desperation reading too much into the situation, grasping at hope that maybe didn’t exist, but she didn’t think so.
Something was going to happen. Todd was going to make something happen.
So, despite her stupid shoes and her painful feet, Beth watched him.
And waited.
An abandoned mineshaft.
That was Damon’s opportunity.
Partly obscured by the dappled shadows of the clumping trunks of the surrounding mallee trees, the entrance to the mine was narrow, little more than a hole in the ground. There were probably thousands of these mines dotted all over the Western Australian goldfields – relics of the gold rush that began in the 1890s, and abandoned long before health and safety standards required a lot more effort than just walking away once the gold ran out.
It was clearly their destination. The perfect place to drop the body of Stoltz, much easier than burying him, and equally as effective in ensuring he’d never be found. Old mine shafts were death traps, usually featuring deep vertical drops, and if you did manage to survive the fall, there was no getting out without help.
The prospect dragging Stolz dropped him to the ground, then crossed the few metres to the edge of the shaft. The rock and soil around the entrance had eroded over the years, and the ground sloped towards the entrance in all directions, as if the surrounding landscape was ever so slowly being pulled down into the depths of the earth.
The prospect with the gun grunted at them not to move, and Damon did his absolute best to appear obedient and totally harmless. The last thing he needed was for one of the prospects to do the smart thing and tie his ankles while they were busy with Stoltz’s body. He met Beth’s gaze as they stood in the shadows, and hers was clear and sharp. He didn’t speak, not wanting to do anything to draw attention, but he realised he didn’t need to anyway when she so very slightly lifted her chin in the direction of the mine.
She knew.
Damon didn’t need her permission or encouragement – but to have both helped. He’d had no doubt this was his chance – his moment – but in that gesture, she’d made it their moment. She trusted him. She had faith in him to save them.
Now he just needed to not fuck this up.
Both prospects stood near the shaft, not even five metres from where they stood. The one with a goatee had taken comical sideways steps to cover the short distance, attempting to keep his attention – and his gun – pointed at his captives. It was clear the man had zero firearms training, and had probably shot at nothing more than beer cans, if that, before shooting Stoltz. But still, that Glock was lethal, and Damon respected it, if not the man who held it.
That man was now beside the mine, the gun was by his side, and his attention was focused on the problem of getting the very large Schultz into the shaft.
Beth murmured something under her breath.
Damon had no idea what she’d said, and shook his head, his gaze still on the prospects.
Just slightly louder, she murmured again. “Distraction?”
He didn’t know how he managed to not stare at her in amazement – or for his jaw to drop to the ground – but he did.
You are magnificent.
Twice now he’d wanted to tell her that. Right now, he wanted to embellish it: You are fucking magnificent and the bravest person I think I’ve ever met.
And if they pulled this off, he would get to say just that to her – in a few minutes time.
“Soon,” Damon said, barely moving his lips.
It was risky, so damn risky, to have Beth involved in this, but for his half-formed plan to work, a distraction would greatly increase the odds of not getting them both killed. Of course, he didn’t have time to ask any questions or to worry about her acting abilities. Besides, she was trusting him – near enough a total stranger – with her life. The least he could do was trust her in return.
The prospect who’d been lugging Stoltz walked back over to the body, barely paying attention to them as the prospect with the goatee was back to pointing his gun in the vicinity of Damon’s groin. Stoltz was dragged across the ground, his boots leaving twin snaking lines in the red dirt, then dumped near the mouth of the mine.
“You gonna help?” the prospect barked at Goatee.
“No,” Goatee said, his gaze firmly on Damon. “Gaff will fucking kill us if these two run off.”
Running off was not what the prospects should be worrying about. But Damon wasn’t about to tell them that, and instead he just looked at the pair blankly.
The prospect glared at Goatee resentfully but grabbed Stoltz by the wrists and started dragging again – although much more slowly and carefully now as the man’s boots slid slightly on the gravelly, uneven ground. Just as he was manoeuvring Stoltz’s arms over the edge of the shaft, gingerly balancing his weight on the foot furthest from the opening, Beth whispered again.
“Now?” she breathed.
He’d just been about to say the same thing. He nodded.
And a moment later, she collapsed to the ground.
“What the fuck?” Goatee exclaimed, rushing over.
She’d fallen hard, as if she’d fainted, and lay sprawled in the dirt. Instinctively, he stepped towards her – but she glared at him a split second before closing her eyes and moaning dramatically. She was fine – of course she was fine – and he needed to focus.
By now, Goatee was beside her, his gun loose in his hand. If Damon’s hands weren’t tied, he would’ve disarmed him and ended this right now. But they were, so he couldn’t, and the moment Goatee crouched down beside Beth, he moved.
The other prospect saw him coming, his attention drawn to the scene and away from his task at hand.
Didn’t matter though – the distance was too short, and Damon too quick and too determined – too fucking determined to survive – for the other man to do anything.
He was halfway to his feet, his hand almost at the small of his back and his gun when Damon cannoned into him, throwing all his weight into the side of the thug.
The other man screamed, and scrambled, trying to find purchase on the unforgiving scrabbly ground – but there was nothing for him to hold onto.
Damon glanced off the man and fell hard to the ground, landing dangerously close to the shaft opening. He kicked his feet away when the other man tried to grab them as he fell.
And fall the prospect did. It only took seconds – seconds where Goatee raced over, Glock now firmly in hand – but seconds were all it took before the last of the eroding century-old wooden supports gave way, and more long seconds before a terrified scream ended in a dull, final thud.
“You’re going to die for that, you fucker,” yelled Goatee, pointing the gun at Damon’s head.
“No,” Damon replied calmly. “I don’t think I will.”
As it took Beth a few goes to climb back to her feet with her hands tied, she didn’t see the goon disappear down the shaft – but she heard the thud. It was a satisfying thud – a fatal sounding thud – and this time, Beth did not give one single damn that she’d been directly involved in another man’s death.
But she gave many damns. So many damns, about the man currently helpless on the dirt and gravel, his hands still tied behind his back, his legs twisted awkwardly beneath him. Had he hurt himself when he fell?
“You can’t kill him,” she said loudly, ignoring Todd’s bravado. Beth felt there was still a pretty high chance they would both die. But at least now there was only one awful bikie with a gun to deal
with – their odds had improved. “Knife still wants to talk to him.”
Beth was 100 percent sure Todd was never going to tell the Notechi anything, if he even had anything to tell.
The goon’s attention shifted to Beth. “Shut up!” he said, pointing the gun at her now. “Just shut the fuck up.”
She was no more comfortable now with having a gun pointed at her than she was last night, and she went absolutely still, her half-formed idea to talk her way out of this fizzling away to nothing. With the gun pointed at her heart, she could grasp no words to say.
The man took a step towards her. “You tricked me,” he said, as if she’d personally slighted him. “You fucking tricked me, you bitch, and now Gav is dead, and I had to shoot Stoltz because of you, and now Gaff is going to fucking kill me, and it’s all your fault.”
Beth shook her head and backed away, her attention never shifting from the end of the firearm as her heart raced and her pulse pounded in her ears. Would she see the bullet come out before it hit her?
“It’s all your fault and you are going to die for that, you stupid fucking—”
But the bullet never came, because now it was the goon’s turn to collapse in a heap on the ground.
But he hadn’t pretended to faint, like Beth had.
No.
The goon had collapsed to the ground because he was dead.
Chapter Six
It took Beth a moment to work out what had just happened.
Her focus had been so entirely on the gun she hadn’t noticed Todd approach, but he now stood directly in front of her. The goon lay in a pool of blood at his feet – courtesy of the gash across his throat and the knife Todd gripped in his fingers.
“How …” Beth began, but then found all she could do was open and close her mouth, as confusion and adrenalin and shock – and a million other sensations – rendered her mute.
Todd didn’t say anything, instead he moved behind her to swiftly cut through the cable ties that bound her, holding her wrists still with one hand as he did so.
