by Debra Kayn
EVERY GIRL NEEDS A HERO
Book 2
Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series
By
Debra Kayn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Every Girl Needs A Hero (Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series, #2)
EVERY GIRL NEEDS A HERO
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Author Bio
Debra Kayn's Backlist
Sneak Peek
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
EVERY GIRL NEEDS A HERO
Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series
1st Digital release: Copyright© 2019 Debra Kayn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
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Dedication
To the crew – To the dirt I swallowed, the rivers I drank, the air that froze my hair. To the bumps I absorbed, the slivers I've picked, the rocks I tripped. To endless caves, toxic mines, and echoing peaks. Always take the high road, leave the low for tomorrow. To standoffs with moose, racing with wolves, and bears around the bend. To huckleberries, pussy willows, and mushrooms. To sandwiches on the go and a stuffed glovebox.
I promise—swear on my heart, spit on my hand—to never ever ask for a boulder again (until next time).
Prologue
The hundred or so dogs barked furiously outside the cement walls. Quint studied Will as he tied a short piece of rope around Anders' knuckles. He hoped the other boys were right and the roughness of the thick twine would do more damage to Mateo than bare fists.
They only had one chance to overtake the man who would escort the next boy to the dogfights.
The tone of the dogs' nervousness coming from the barn grew in intensity. Quint looked up, even though the cinder-block walls blocked his view to the outside.
"We have to do this now. It's our only chance." Two-crow scrambled to his feet. "The next one who gets called out will never survive. The men are egging on the dogs, and they're getting thirstier for blood."
Quint hated going to the barns. For the last two years, he and the other five boys were forced to train the dogs to fight in the rings. Lately, the men in control required him and the others to participate in the events. The spectators who bet on the dogfights gambled away more money when the highlight of the day was dog versus boy.
The only reason his luck held and he walked away alive was because the thought of death scared him more than living. He wanted to escape the cement block room where the kidnappers held them. Where they only had blankets to protect them from the roughness of their surroundings, the cold from the elements, and the bugs from the one filthy toilet and sink that sat in the corner of the room.
He picked at a scab on his elbow where one of the dogs latched on to his arm two days ago. His stomach growled, making the ache intensify. Food only came twice a day, and he hated tortillas and beans. Every time he ate—and he forced himself to eat every bite, he ended up in terrible pain.
Quint walked over to the door. He couldn't hear anything over the barking. But he knew there were more than a hundred dogs inside the barn ready to kill anything inside the ring, and many more men waiting to see the boys' step into the fight.
All the spectators were dark haired, dark skinned, and darkly possessed. They spoke a different language, but the taunts aimed at him and the others were felt, even if the words weren't understood.
It took him five months after he was kidnapped from the group home to memorize the names of the six men who were responsible for stealing him.
Richard Parker.
Sam McCloud.
Ken Powell.
Don Durham.
Owen Roberts.
Michael Jaster.
The onlookers remained nameless, though Quint would remember their faces for the rest of his life.
Will paced the small room. "What if Joney doesn't come back?"
Mark sat on the floor and rubbed his eyes. "He's been gone a long time."
"They'll bring him back, and if they don't, we'll find him." Anders flexed his bound fingers.
They'd voted on which of them would be the main person to attack the guard when he came in to get the next boy to fight the dogs. Anders was chosen because of his size and strength. While they all had used their time locked in the room to exercise and build up their bodies, everyone knew Anders had better coordination.
"What if they sic the dogs on us when we run?" Quint tucked his threadbare shirt into his too tight pants. "We'll never make it out of here."
"That's why we're going to get the boss-man first. He won't be able to alert the others," said Anders, sweeping his hair off his forehead. "We all have to attack him when he brings Joney back. If one of you bails and he gains control over us, or more come to his rescue, they'll kill us."
"Where are we going to go?" Will hitched his jeans higher.
"We run to the right of the barn toward the trees. If the others come after us, we'll have to split up." He looked at each of them, feeling their fear penetrating the room. "We need to pick somewhere to meet up if we go in different directions and lose each other."
"Montana," said Two-crow.
"Why there?" asked Will.
"Because no one will know us. None of us came from that state when we were kidnapped. Nobody will be looking for us. We can finally be free. The Bitterroot Mountains are there. We can hide and live off the land." Two-crow undid the knot at the bottom of his braid.
Two-crow was big on Native American history. Like Quint, his friend had grown up in the care of the state, going from group home to group home. He stated facts about a heritage he never got the chance to learn about growing up.
At least, Two-crow knew his nationality. Quint was white, but he had no idea where his blood relatives came from.
He had a feeling Two-crow picked
the Bitterroot Mountains because they were the location in a cowboy book he hid in his pocket when he was taken and brought here. The kid read pages from the novel every night until the room got too dark to see the words.
Anders studied the others. "If we get split up, we'll meet there."
"The mountains are huge. Aren't they?" asked Quint.
"Don't worry, we'll find each other," said Anders.
None of them had been out on their own. He had no money, food, only the clothes on his back. Knowing there was a language difference outside the cement walls, how would they seek help?
He couldn't even work. Nobody would hire a seventeen-year-old kid who disappeared at fifteen years old and had no recent schooling. If they tracked him down, they'd find out he had problems. The group home labeled him as a troublemaker for fighting.
That's why the state planned to send him to a wilderness therapy program to straighten him out. Instead, he'd ended up handcuffed and blindfolded for days.
The men in the van forced him and the other boys into the ring to train the dogs they would eventually face in an exhausting and ugly match where the only way he could stay alive was if he killed the dog.
Blood ran from his wound. He'd have another scar.
Wiping his arm on his shirt, he broke out sweating. The fresh scent would help the dogs track him down. He'd never be able to outrun them.
Unlike the others, he had a feeling the trees weren't far enough away to hide from the men who would come after them. They'd need to run for days.
"What if we're really in a different country?" whispered Quint.
He'd known right away they weren't in the United States. Some of the other boys thought they were in a Spanish villa in the south. He'd learned enough in school to know the flat sandy terrain was different than anything he'd ever seen. If he was right and they were out of the country, there would be a border he'd have to cross to get back in the United States.
"Just remember, go to Montana if we lose track of each other. I don't care how many weeks or months it takes, we all need to get there." Anders curled his fingers, making a fist.
"Sh." Two-crow motioned for them to stop talking and stepped closer to the door. After several seconds, he looked back at the group of boys and nodded.
Anders raised his hands, signaling the attack. Quint rubbed his head. So many things could go wrong. What if the guard hesitated outside or never came in?
One of them would be taken out to fight against the dogs. Their plan to escape would have to wait until next week.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He couldn't face another canine in the ring.
The urge to run the second the door opened rattled him. His legs shook. Swaying side to side, he hoped he wouldn't fall, or they'd catch him. That couldn't happen.
It'd taken a long time to plan today's attack. It was do or die.
They'd picked a day when each of them would be escorted out separately to the dogfights. Usually, only Mateo came while the other men stayed in the barn, occupied by the excitement of the day's events.
There were at least two hundred men attending the fights. Six of those men were responsible for keeping them here. The only thing he and the others had to their advantage was their age—which also worked against them.
He'd need to run a mile to the trees. Approximately five thousand, two hundred, and eight feet. If he ran ten miles per hour, it would take him six minutes to get to safety. That's if the men failed to catch him.
No matter how many times he'd tried to explain the math to the other boys, only he understood the odds stacked against them.
The lock on the other side of the door rattled.
Anders whispered, "Make sure Joney knows where we're going before we run."
Poor Joney. The smallest of them all, Joney about pissed his pants earlier when Mateo called his name as the first one to go up against the dogs today. Quint nodded at the others. It was all or none of them. He wouldn't leave Joney behind.
The door crashed open, and Mateo filled the doorway looking for the next boy to take to the barn. Quint looked at Will, and together they jumped on the guard. He strained and twisted, unable to take down the overweight man.
Two-crow dove against them, adding more weight. The man fought, hitting Quint in the balls. Stars filled his vision, but he held on.
Anders punched the large man in the face, over and over. Grunts, breathing, and skin-on-skin contact filled the small room.
Over his struggle, Quint could hear the dogs barking. The chance to escape fueled him on. Fear of failing, he refused to give up.
Mateo went down to the dirt floor in slow motion. Quint kept his arms around the man's neck, stopping him from getting up.
The muscles in his arms screamed in pain as he pushed himself past his threshold. Blood and sweat coated Mateo's head. Quint's hands slipped, threatening to lose his grip.
"Hold on to him," said Two-crow.
"I'm trying." Quint groaned, putting everything in his power into the headlock.
His vision darkened. Sweat rolled into his eyes. He gritted his teeth, straining every muscle in his body. They had to escape.
Mark grabbed Quint's shoulder and tried to stop Anders, who continued swinging and hitting. "It's over."
Quint continued to hold on, afraid to let go. Then, Mark grabbed Anders, shoving him away. Two-crow whined in pain, falling back on his ass. Will pushed himself off the man's legs and crawled toward the door.
Realizing Mateo no longer fought, no longer moved, no longer remained conscious, Quint let go. Total exhaustion swept through him, and he stared at the unmoving body.
Breathing hard, he blinked, focusing on the man in front of him.
"He's dead," whispered Mark.
It'd worked. They'd killed the man.
Quint pulled Anders to his feet. "Let's go."
"Where's Joney?" Anders slapped out, trying to stop them from leaving. "We need to get him."
"There's no time. They'll kill us if they see us around the pens." Will pulled Quint toward the door. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"No, we need Joney." Anders looked around frantically. "We promised."
"We'll get him." Quint's voice shook.
Two-crow crouched to run. "How do we get him?"
"I'll go to the back of the barn and look for him. You guys go ahead." Anders shook his hands free of the ropes.
"You can't go alone." Quint grabbed Anders' arm. "I'll wait for you in the trees."
"Don't get caught. We'll find you when we can," said Anders.
"Okay. Let's go," said Mark, looking over his shoulder as he ran forward.
Anders sprinted with them until they reached the corner of the barn where the pens were located. Where they fought the dogs. Where Joney was taken.
Panicked that his friend would get caught, Quint whisper-shouted, "Anders."
But Anders kept running.
Caught between wanting to help his friends and escaping, Quint followed the plan. He pumped his arms and jumped over everything in his path. The trees were much further away than they'd looked from the barn.
His lungs burned. Entirely focused on escaping, the tunnel vision affecting him stole his breath. His foot caught on the ground. Unable to stop the downward fall, he smashed into the dirt, knocking the small air pocket out of his lungs.
He pushed himself to his hands and knees, frantically looking for the others. Unable to see anyone, he got to his feet and ran.
He ran toward freedom.
Chapter 1
The squeal of worn brakes outside the headquarters of Bitterroot Campground grabbed Quint's attention. He raised his gaze, looking out the window. An older Ford truck pulled a twenty-six-foot travel trailer around the circle outside and stopped in front of the door.
Picking up his cell off the counter, he slipped the phone into his back pocket. Since letting Linda go last summer, he was on his own running the office and taking care of any problems that arose at the campground.
H
is decision to eliminate any female workers came after finding one of his male employees murdered on his property. He couldn't take the chance of a woman getting killed or hurt because he had enemies.
Enemies that wouldn't hesitate to take out a woman in an attempt to get to him.
The bell hanging from the doorknob jingled.
A woman walked inside. He looked up. Looked down. Then, looked up again and met the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. Long blonde hair flowed around her shoulders as she turned her head, scanning the room.
He tilted his head, trying to see more of her face. "Can I help you?"
"I'd like to get a campsite for two days." She stepped up to the counter and gripped the edge. "I don't have a reservation, and I'm hoping—"
"Full hookup or dry?" he said, lowering his gaze to her breasts.
She wore a man's T-shirt with a pocket over her left breast. The too big clothing couldn't hide that she was one-hundred percent female. If he had to estimate, her measurements were around 36-28-34.
"Um, I'm not sure what you mean." She pursed her full lips and blew a stream of air out of her mouth. "It's my first time staying in a travel trailer."
Wanting to see what the lower half of her body looked like, he walked around the counter and pointed to the wall where he had a map of the campground pinned to the wall. "Over here, we have full hookups—it comes with electricity and water, plus there's a dump station at the gate." He pointed to the left side of the park. "This is where those who dry camp stay. There're community bathrooms if you take the trail over here and a gazebo with a firepit and two electrical sockets if you have a portable stove burner. It's first come, first serve for the community sites. You'll have to share it with the other dry campers."
"What's over here?" She pointed to the right on the map.
"Tent camping only."
She moved her finger. "And, here?"
"That's an area designated for campers that bring pets with them." He sniffed, trying to pick up any musty odor to signal she had a dog with her. The only thing he smelled was a faint apple scent. "Do you?"
