by Jami Gray
His gaze narrowed on one of the nearby peaks where a strange, unnaturally wide swath cut through the trees triggering a long ago memory. He hooked a finger on the thin chain curled over his hip and attached to a belt loop before disappearing into his front pocket and pulled. As he cupped the small but sturdy compass in his palm, he turned until he was oriented. ‘My money’s on the old Cammon place.’
‘How far away?’
‘Maybe an hour that way.’ He tilted his head to the north. ‘It’s a small cluster of old cabins tucked up by an abandoned ski resort.’
She was moving back to her paint before he finished. Moments later he led the way, using his thighs to guide his quarter horse through the faint trails. Splitting his attention between the compass and any possible signs of Simon or the Raiders, he let the undemanding silence be.
The sun was making its way towards the horizon when she finally broke the quiet. ‘Ruin.’
Not bothering to look up, he made another adjustment in their direction. ‘Yeah?’
The current path was wide enough to let her move her horse alongside his. ‘Not to be a downer or anything, but are you considering this a rescue or retrieval?’
His already tight gut clenched a bit more, and he fought to keep his grip on the reins unaffected. ‘Simon’s a tough ass bastard, so until I have proof otherwise, I’m aiming for rescue.’
She didn’t argue. In fact, she dipped that pointed chin in acknowledgement. ‘Then we need an infiltration plan.’
Yep, definitely more to her than she was sharing. ‘Got an idea?’
‘Yeah, actually I do.’
A note in her voice made him brace.
‘How good is your crazy?’
He canted his head and took a moment to replay her question. ‘Come again?’
Those full lips twitched, causing his cock to do the same. ‘Time to let your crazy fly, Ruin.’
A light touch on the reins brought his horse to a stop. Charity’s paint took another step or two before doing the same. She twisted in her saddle to face him, dark mischief dancing in those electric blue eyes. ‘You and Boden seem certain the Raiders were leading Simon into a trap. Add in the fact we’re tracking them deeper in the mountains, I’m thinking we’re about to be outnumbered.’ Slim shoulders rose in a delicate shrug under the battered leather jacket. ‘Why go in hard, when we can go in soft?’
‘I’m listening.’ He touched his heels into his horse, nudging it forward.
She held his gaze as he came up beside her. ‘This Cammon place, how many people know about it?’
‘Long-timers mainly, those who’ve been out here for years.’ And obviously others if his guess was right.
‘So if one of those long-timers happened to be a trapper calling it home, no surprise, right?’ Her paint held steady as he crowded close.
He filled in the blanks even as he caught a flash of heated awareness in her gaze before she doused it. Deep inside, under his wiseass persona, the hunter smiled in anticipation. God how he loved a challenge wrapped in a puzzle. ‘Crazy ass loner comes back from a hunt, his woman in tow, only to stumble upon uninvited guests.’
She shifted in her saddle, touched the tip of a finger to her nose and tapped twice.
Hmm, it might work. ‘Guns or blades, you think?’ A question he hadn’t asked her earlier, too caught up in tracking Simon. Since she was there when the Raiders attacked, she might have an idea of their weapons.
‘Might be both.’
His gaze went to the gun strapped to her thigh. ‘You any good with that?’
Feminine arrogance straightened her spine, and her hand brushed lovingly over the weapon. The real woman peeked out behind the alluring mask. ‘Want to play target?’ It was a dangerous purr, but he liked it. ‘I’ll even give you a head’s start.’
Ignoring the invitation, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Confusion will only work for a few minutes at most before they decide we’re not worth the hassle.’
Unflinching cunning and intelligence met his gaze. ‘Long enough to even out the numbers if need be.’ She leant in, her hand a hot brand as she braced it on his thigh near his knives. ‘Then you can bring these boys out to play.’
Despite the temptation she presented, he locked her wrist in his grip even as her fingers brushed against the leather holding one of his blades. Dust and sweat couldn’t drown out the delicate spice of her scent. Using his free hand, he captured her chin and dipped his head, their lips a breath apart. ‘No touching.’
She didn’t fight his hold or jerk back. Instead she held his gaze. Heat and awareness darkened those bright eyes, but she remained still, waiting, watching.
A curious tension sang between them, one that left him cautious despite the expected lust rising hard and rough. He couldn’t remember the last time he got hot and sweaty between the sheets. This wasn’t the time, and she sure as hell wasn’t the right woman, but … Giving into temptation, he brushed his lips over hers, just once. Her breath hitched, then she retreated, leaning back. He let her go, the warmth of her lips lingering against his. He watched her resettle in the saddle, his voice a rough rasp as he brought their conversation back on track. ‘You got anything against getting dirty?’
Surprisingly, a red stain rode under her gold skin, but she lost none of her edge. ‘How dirty?’
Explicit images exploded in his head, but he stifled his grin before it could emerge. She was damn lethal, in more ways than one. Nudging his attraction aside for the moment, he got back to work. ‘We need to look like we’ve spent weeks in the wild, otherwise we won’t get past the tree line.’ He began to lead the way. ‘There should be a small creek out near Cammon. We can use the mud to help grunge shit up.’ Unobtrusively he tried to shift his position in the saddle to eliminate the possibility of permanently damaging his more important parts.
‘It’d be better to hit it closer to sundown.’
‘I agree.’ Because evening shadows would help mask their approach.
A minute ticked by before she added, ‘We’ll need to do some hunting.’
It was eerie how close she followed his thoughts. To pull this off, they needed as many trappings of reality as possible. Her detailed level of thinking was another indicator of how intelligent and dangerous she was. Dammit, definitely more trouble than he needed right now. ‘That also gives us a chance to scope out what we’re up against.’
‘We’ll have to go in by foot.’
Something he already considered as his mind picked apart their plan, piece by piece. ‘We’ll leave the horses down by the creek.’
Another pause, then, ‘We can use the saddle blankets to hide our weapons.’
He nodded. Going into this situation with an unknown at his back sucked ass, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—fail Simon. His gut screamed that waiting for the other Vultures, Reaper and Vex, would guarantee Simon a hole in the ground. He knew damn well Charity had her own agenda, but as much of a crapshoot as this plan was, it was his best bet of getting Simon out. Of course, if the woman behind him screwed him over, he didn’t have issues adjusting his plan accordingly.
Braced in the crook of a heavy tree limb and the trunk, Ruin used the artificial height and a compact pair of binoculars with night sights to scope out the Cammon place. Below, merging with the shadow of the tree’s trunk, Charity waited. The field glasses, picked up a few years back when he stumbled upon a rare cache of military equipment stashed in a dilapidated barn, were one of his prized possessions. The small lenses painted the scene in shades of green as dusk settled in for the night while the sun ducked behind the mountains, allowing the shadows to take over. Mother Nature hadn’t wasted time reclaiming the area, but there were still relics of what once served as a large sprawling central building. Two scorched marked walls stretched towards the star dotted sky, their fallen brethren nothing but a pile of wood at their feet. Four cabins survived the combined assaults of nature and man, each one on its last legs and scattered across the open space.
An exp
ectant hush settled over the night. The slightest sound carried through the quiet, and in the thirty minutes since their arrival, low tortured moans and choked, hoarse cries indicated Simon was alive. For now. Each time one of those nerve-shredding screams hit the airwaves, it was all Ruin could do not to charge in and wipe the bastards out. The only thing keeping him in check were the brutal lessons learned about rushing into the unknown. It wouldn’t do Simon a damn bit of good if Ruin got gutted before he made it through the door. And he knew exactly which cabin Simon was in because the fucktards holding him were sloppy as shit.
A sharp breeze came down from the peaks and whipped around the poorly covered window of the cabin, exposing the interior light for a good five seconds before one of the dumb fucks refastened the material covering the window. Long enough to note at least three Raiders moving around the interior, sharing a bottle of whatever the hell they managed to scrounge up. At least one prowled around the outside, the occasional orange flicker as he sucked on a cigarette acting better than a bullseye.
Another cry choked off into a pain-filled groan. His jaw locked down so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if his teeth shattered. Sliding back down the tree, he dropped next to Charity. The mud from the creek mixed with a few leaves and handfuls of dirt left her hair a dull, dark, matted nest. A mixture of dust and mud blurred the delicate edges of her face, leaving her looking sickly and drawn. She didn’t bother looking up as she handed his saddle blanket over. Pocketing his field glasses, he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, until one end trailed down his spine. Thick hanks of his hair, covered in dirt, were tucked under a disreputable baseball cap Charity produced from one of the saddlebags. More dirt and mud, mixed with blood from the rabbits he managed to nab, coated their jeans.
He crouched next to her, keeping their shadows low to the ground. A foul odour drifted from the blanket draped over her chest and shoulders, and he wrinkled his nose. Good god whatever the woman did to the poor blanket should be outlawed. She didn’t take her gaze from the clearing, even as a soft metallic snick barely muffled by her improvised poncho sounded. Shifting her weight, she tucked her gun away. Most likely using the waist of her jeans to hold it in place since her holster was back with the horses. He hadn’t missed the two wicked blades she stashed in custom hilts at her hips. Raiders would expect blades since they were the easiest weapons to get your hands on. Guns were a different matter. After the Collapse, they became harder to find, and ammunition was more coveted than food. But in the last few years, something changed because he and the Vultures had their share of run-ins with well-armed idiots lately. Those clashes left Ruin with a few pretty pieces of his own. But his piece was back with the horses in case the Raiders got leery and decided to pat him down.
Another low groan was followed by a bark of cruel laughter, quickly muffled. Time to move. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ came her unruffled reply.
He grabbed the trio of dead rabbits, slung them over his shoulder, and straightened. With his first step, he altered his posture, adopting hunched shoulders to minimise his height and adding a bit of a slide to his gait, keeping it off balance and awkward. The brim of his battered baseball cap was pulled low, hiding his eyes and obscuring most of his face. His beard did the rest.
Charity fell in behind him, the leather of one of the reins wrapped around her wrists and currently acting as a makeshift leash. She shuffled along, staying to his right as they broke the tree line and began crossing the open space.
Letting his crazy loose, he began to mutter, mimicking the distracted cadence most long-timers adopted after being alone so long. ‘Dammit, woman, get yo’ ass up here.’ He tugged on the leash, jerking Charity forward, her head lowered, ratty hair curtaining her face. Dirty hands clutched her end of the leash as if trying to keep him from dragging her along. ‘Ain’t dealin’ with yo’ shite tonight. Got us a decent meal, you best not ruin, or I’ll be sure yo’ regret it, hear?’
‘I hear ya’.’ The high-pitched whine was radically different from her normal low, sultry timbre. When she kept on under her breath, he tried not to laugh. ‘Ain’t deaf, ya frickin’ moron.’
Their approach brought about the desired reaction as a door on the occupied cabin was flung open. Light seared into the night before someone stepped into the frame, throwing a long, dark shadow. Pretending to be oblivious, Ruin kept up his act, lurching around to loom over Charity, bringing his free hand up in a visible fist.
Playing her role to the hilt, she cowered, bringing her arms above her head and letting out a whimper. ‘Didn’ do nothin’!’
‘What the hell you doing here, old man?’ The sneering question shot through the night as one of the Raiders stalked towards them. He stopped just out of reach.
Slowly lowering his arm, Ruin began to turn, keeping his head angled so the hat and shadows acted as a mask. ‘Who da hell are you?’
‘I asked first,’ came the juvenile response. It was accompanied by crossed arms over a puffed out chest that could stand a few push-ups.
‘This here is my home. Meybe I should be askin’ you what da hell you doin’ here, yeah?’ Ruin growled, scratching at his ear. ‘You tryin’ to take my shite?’
Stubble covered the fool’s skull, and despite the cool weather, he wore faded jeans and a thin, worn t-shirt under a pocket-infested vest. Dark ink marked his skin from under the short sleeves to his wrists. His pockmarked face held a perpetual sneer revealing a collection of chipped and crooked teeth. Then there were the various scars showcasing the vagaries of the Raider lifestyle. Still, for all the hard casing, he couldn’t be far beyond his twenties.
Another low cry broke through the night. This time there was no door to keep it contained. Ruin turned towards the cabin. ‘What’s that?’ He managed to shuffle a couple feet closer. ‘What kind of shite are y’all up to?’ He shook his head and waved a hand. ‘Never you mind, I don’ wanna know.’ He pointed a finger at the Raider in front of him. ‘Get yo’ things and yo’ gang, and head out. This is my home.’
‘If that’s so, where you been?’ Instead of keeping space between them, the kid stepped into close to Ruin’s proving he was far from the brains of this operation.
Time to bring the others into the game. ‘Huntin’, ya blind idjigit.’ Ruin kept his head down, dropped his end of Charity’s leash in an unspoken signal, and tore the dead rabbits off his shoulder. Shoving the brace under the Raider’s nose, he closed the distance between them to mere inches.
The young Raider slapped at the carcasses. ‘Get that crap out of my face!’
‘Gladly,’ Ruin growled, pushing the rabbits into the fool’s chest as his free hand disappeared under his blanket-slash-poncho, to grip his knife. The kid’s hands clutched at the furred bodies in an instinctive reaction, giving Ruin time to draw his blade free. With his free hand, he clamped down on the Raider’s shoulder and jerked him forward. Blade and skin met, the metal sinking deep into the Raider’s stomach.
The kid’s eyes flew wide as a pained cry escaped, but Ruin didn’t pause, twisting his wrist and yanking upwards, the honed edge slicing through delicate stomach tissues before slamming against bone. Changing direction, Ruin shifted the blade’s angle, running it along the rib’s edge before ripping it free of the Raider’s body.
As the mortally wounded Raider tried unsuccessfully to escape Ruin’s grip, the sharp report of Charity’s gun sounded. A burly shadow stumbled to a stop and collapsed unmoving to the ground. Bright flashes from the cabin preceded the deeper cough of a rifle. Charity’s answers were spaced apart as a rage-filled cry came from Ruin’s left.
Turning to face the incoming threat, he used the dying Raider as a shield. Calculating angles and distance, Ruin sent his blade through the falling night. A grunt of impact indicated a hit, but it barely slowed the attacker down. Ruin stumbled back under the combined weights of his human shield and the attacker and dropped to one knee.
The bellows of rage continued unabated as the now limp body was torn fr
om Ruin’s grip and tossed aside. Using his lower position, he braced his hands on the ground and swept out with his leg, tripping the larger man and going prone against the ground to roll out of the way. When he came back up, his second blade was in hand, lying hidden along his wrist.
Heavy with muscles, the bigger man fell to his hands and knees, but despite his bulkier frame, he took the fall into a controlled forward roll, coming back to his feet in a low crouch. ‘Ready to die?’
Unfazed, Ruin didn’t bother to reply to the asinine taunt. Instead, he moved. Sometimes being leaner and meaner was all it took to tip the scales in your favour.
They came together in a bone-rattling clash. Ham-sized fists targeted Ruin’s ribs and stomach, but since the moron’s swings were telegraphed by a shift of stance, Ruin danced clear of the most damaging hits. Adrenaline kept pain at a distance, leaving ruthless calculation in control. He countered with strategic cuts to vital areas. It didn’t take long for those unexpected slices to bleed. The seconds stretched into a minute, then another before the blood loss interrupted the bigger man’s concentration. His swing went wide, sending him off balance and offering Ruin the opening he needed.
Not giving the Raider a chance to recover, Ruin snapped out with a kick to the giant’s thigh, knowing the impact would deaden the leg. The resulting bellow echoed through the clearing, leaving Ruin’s ears ringing, even as the heavier man crashed to all fours. Adjusting his stance, Ruin followed with a vicious kick that snapped the Raider’s head back. Where the head goes, the body follows. The Raider collapsed on his back, rolling side to side, beefy hands scrambling at his crush throat as harsh choking noises escaped.
