by Toby Neal
If we go deeper into the mine, and my family fights their way in only to find my cell empty, they won’t know I went out a different way. I need to get to my family and Roan, no matter what.
“No. I need to go up.”
Finney doesn’t question me. He just takes my hand again and we race towards the crude stone stairs.
I was dragged down here with a hood over my head, but the cold narrow steepness of the stairwell reminds me of the fear that raced through my veins. Finney takes the steps two at a time. He is scared too—we are so vulnerable here.
There are men approaching again. “We need to hide.”
Finney ducks off at the next floor and pulls me down the hall. There are doors on either side, and he tries to open them but they are all locked. Footsteps echo from the staircase. The men are getting closer.
Maybe they will just run right by?
I will them to run right by. Maybe I can do that, maybe that’s part of my power.
The first man goes down the steps, concentrating on the steps beneath him. But the second, a giant of a man wearing a shirt of tattoos and a leather vest, spots us. He stops and turns his head, frowning.
I guess I can’t make people do anything, only sense them.
The light catches a teardrop tattoo under the man’s left eye. “What the hell is going on here?”
Finney opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His hand is trembling in mine.
Teardrop walks towards us, his shoulders almost as broad as the hallway. His friend follows, smaller and rat-faced.
“Dwight wanted me to move her. Hide her. In case something went wrong with the exchange.” Finney’s voice trembles.
Teardrop glares at him, then his gaze flicks over my body. A smile curls his lips. “You wanted to have some fun, huh, kid? Don’t blame you a bit.”
I cut Finney off, knowing that he doesn’t have the skills for this lie. “That’s right,” I answer. “He wanted a piece of me. You want one too, big boy?” My voice is silky and soft, sultry. “He promised me some food. Maybe you could get me some booze?”
“I want a taste.” Ratface steps forward, but Teardrop blocks him with a meaty arm.
“No one is having her. Dwight wants her for himself.” Teardrop smiles broader, turning back to Finney. “I admire the balls on you, kid. A man has to try, right?”
Teardrop’s radio crackles, the sound sputtering in the narrow space. “Dwight is down! I repeat, Kane is down!”
Oh shit.
“Your family just killed our leader.” Teardrop growls. He takes a step forward. “I’m gonna rape you for him. He’d want your screams to escort his soul to hell.”
A spark ignites in Finney. He pulls his gun, firing it right into Teardrop’s midsection.
I jerk at the deafening sound and then again as Ratface shoots Finney.
Finney hits the wall, and his gun clatters onto the stone floor. I think about diving for it, but Ratface has his weapon on me as Teardrop holds his stomach, leaning against the wall, his breathing labored.
Finney slowly sinks to the floor, a red smear on the wall behind him. His eyes widen and then that disappearing happens, that extinguishing, a gentle breath on a candle blown out, leaving just a curl of smoke.
I can’t breathe. My ears are ringing, my eyes stinging.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper to his empty body, and put my hands up, offering surrender.
Ratface speaks into his walkie. “I’ve got the girl here. What should I do with her, Jackson?”
But it’s not Jackson’s voice that answers: it’s Roan. I recognize his voice like it’s written on my soul. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come down and deal with her.”
“We’re near the infirmary.”
“On my way.”
Roan’s descending into the dark. Death is headed my way, and I couldn’t be happier.
Ratface is gonna die.
Anyone who ever tried to hurt me is going to die, because my man’s coming to get me.
Roan will end them all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Roan
I hold the walkie tight in a sticky, blood-spattered hand as I move deeper into the mine. I’m not sure where the infirmary is, but I’ll find it. She’s so close that I can almost smell that strawberry shampoo she loves.
I’m thankful the brothers let me be the one to go in after Lucy. It shows that they understand my commitment to make things right…and have probably guessed that I love the girl, damn it.
The rush of boots ahead moves me into the shadow of one of the heavy support beams. Behind me, I hear gunfire and shouts from the battle between the Lucianos and Kane’s men. But nothing is as loud as the rush of blood in my ears. Thought is a mere flicker, and reflex is everything.
Six men run by my feeble hiding place, no formation, all their attention on getting to the entrance. But the last one turns his shaved head, and spots me.
The report from my Glock is deafening. I fire five times before anyone shoots back, and that slug goes wide, taking out the lights.
Darkness falls like my grandfather’s fist slamming into my head.
There’s still one man alive.
I stand silent, Glock in one hand, hatchet in the other, waiting.
Panicked breathing and stumbling footsteps announce the skinhead’s location as clearly as if he glowed. Terror infuses his voice as he calls out the names of the men I shot: “Tommy? Billy Ray? Jedidiah? Pete? Somebody answer me!”
I’ll let the poor bastard live.
But the stupid shitkicker turns on a flashlight, and he catches me in the harsh white beam. I throw the axe into the brightness before he can get off a shot.
He falls with a guttural cry, and the flashlight arcs through the black like a light saber, landing and rolling to point a way down the tunnel.
I yank the hatchet loose from his corpse and continue. One hand on the wall, I glide through the darkness like a canoe moving through water. I left Shadow outside, and as I reach the stairs, I miss the wolf’s familiar presence, his eyes and ears—but he’s too much of a target in a situation like this, and I wouldn’t want him hurt.
As I jog down steps, the walls get increasingly wet, weeping moisture that’s freezing cold on my fingertips.
Some sort of illumination casts a warm glow on the next floor. I turn into a hall lined with doors. I slide along the damp wall, ghosting quiet, just like when I’m hunting in the deep woods. Two slumped shapes coalesce into dead bodies. She’s got to be here somewhere.
Make some noise, let me know where you are, Lucy!
As if she’s reading my mind, I hear a scuffle and a cry from the doorway emitting light—must be the infirmary.
I pull a fresh magazine from my pocket and ram it into the Glock as I approach the doorway.
Lucy wrestles with a wiry man inside a white-painted room filled with medical shit. My vision’s blown from the transition out of the dark, but my eyes focus quickly. The weasel brings his weapon up, hauling Lucy in front of him to face me, the barrel pressing to her temple, right beside those big, gorgeous brown eyes that I adore.
“Stay back. I’ll kill this bitch!” he screams, his voice bouncing off the walls. He’s got nothing to lose.
I keep my weapon up, sighting down the barrel two-handed, moving slowly closer, no expression on my face, nothing but death in my body.
I once shot an acorn off our dog’s head from a hundred feet away, a piece of cruelty my grandfather dreamed up. He threatened to do it himself if I refused, and his eyesight sucked. So, I stood there, fourteen years old, bitter and hard as he could make me, and shot the damn nut off poor old Champ’s head.
Lucy’s pretty face is contorted with bruises and swelling, but she’s very still, just how she needs to be. One of the weasel’s arms is around her neck in a choke hold, the other’s gripping the weapon at her temple.
She’s not scared at all.
Her total confidence in me stills her body, while Lucy’s intense dar
k gaze wills me to take the shot.
I squeeze the trigger.
Weasel’s head flies back and Lucy stumbles as his weight tries to drag her down. He falls, knocking into a tray of instruments and they clang onto the ground around his corpse.
Lucy steadies herself and looks at me, waiting for what I’ll do.
I take three big strides and haul her into my arms, tuck her under my chin, and wrap her into my body. I’m holding my gun, sweating with delayed terror, and still screwed six ways from Sunday with feelings that are totally out of control.
Her arms come around me and she snuggles close with a sigh as the tension goes out of her. “I knew you’d come for me.” A statement of fact, of faith. Of love.
“Lucy, Lucy…Lucy.” I bury my face in her hair. The dank of wet stone and the iron tang of blood infuse her locks. But I can still smell the strawberries there.
She turns her face up and I can’t help but close the space between us with a kiss. I mean for it to just be a peck, a touch to show her that I care, but Lucy’s bandaged arm comes up around the back of my neck to pull me closer. Not wanting to jar her…not wanting to ever let her go, I deepen the kiss.
We’re back in the sunlit clearing that fronts my cabin, and Lucy is in my arms, everything that’s bursting with life and joy in the world, so delicious to taste and touch that I can hardly breathe.
I want more. I want everything.
I wrench away, and she gives a cry of pain, cradling her wounded hand with its bloodstained bandaging to her breasts.
“Oh my God, Lucy. I have to find you some pain medication, some water at least.”
I begin wrenching open the cabinet doors, rifling them, and find a stack of bottled water. I hand one to her. She gulps it down. How long has she gone without water?
I go back to hunting and find a locked cabinet. Meds are probably in here. My big Buck knife works to jimmy the flimsy lock.
I wash my hands with antibacterial soap and dump a couple of Percocet into my palm, bringing them to her. She swallows the pills as I grab a first aid kit to change the bloody bandages. “We need to hurry. There’s an exit at the back of the mine. Your brothers are fighting hard to give us the distraction we need.”
“I know.” Her voice is steely, and it rings odd to me, like she knows exactly what’s going on outside the cave. “Let’s get out of here.”
I push the first aid kit into the pouch at my waist and hold her good hand, flicking on the flashlight as we leave the infirmary.
We break into a jog, taking the stairs downward, but when we reach the bottom, the tunnel forks. My heart thuds with anxiety. The tons of earth overhead feel suddenly like an oppressive weight—the closet walls are closing in. Are we going to just wander down here, lost, until we collapse? I hate the sensation of being buried, of being smothered.
Lucy tugs my hand. “This way.” She points at a smaller side tunnel. “I think I smell fresh air.”
I can’t smell anything, but I let her lead.
I’d follow her anywhere.
Lucy sets the pace, stopping at each fork of the tunnel and closing her eyes, breathing deeply, then setting off again.
A glimmer of natural light twinkles in the depths of the darkness, merging with the flashlight beam. Pine and leaf mulch vibrate in the air, a breeze—the mine sucking in a breath, trying to steal some of the forests sweetness for itself. We come out into the night and stars arc overhead in a velvet black sky, the perfect combination—one complimenting the other, together creating the tapestry of our universe: dark and light. Opposites creating balance.
That theme again.
Shadow whines, thrusting his muzzle into my hand. He’s been waiting for us. “Amazing nose, Lucy. No wonder you’re such a good hunter.”
“You never told me I was a good hunter before. Thanks.” Lucy’s voice is thready and rough. Must have taken just about all she had to get out of the mine. My girl’s a warrior, but even warriors get to the end of their strength.
Dante’s paint mare Sweetie nickers from the darkness. Adelle is still lame, but Sweetie’s a great horse, steady and kind with a lot of stamina. I get Lucy up in front of me, a blanket tucked around her, and Shadow leads us through the dark.
Holding her against me is surreal. Was it just two days ago that I made this same trek, in agony as I thought of what she was enduring? Now Lucy is in my arms, warm and real and so precious. I squeeze her close.
“Roan, I’m so tired. How far is it?” Lucy’s voice is an exhausted whisper.
My chest tightens. She can’t make it all the hours through rough wilderness back to the Haven tonight.
“It’s some hours…but there’s a hunting cabin, just a one room shack our tribe used to use, not far from here. No one knows where it is. We could go there. We’ll return to the Haven in the morning.”
She relaxes into me, her head lolling. “That’s perfect,” she says. Lucy’s body sags, and my heart races for a moment, but as her chest slowly rises and falls in deep even breaths, I realize she’s fallen asleep.
Whistling for Shadow, I pull up Sweetie and fumble the walkie-talkie off my belt. I tuck Lucy close under my chin and adjust the frequency. “Calling Stone Bear. This is Eagle Feather.”
“Come in, Eagle Feather. This is Stone Bear. Did you get the package?” JT’s voice, deep and pressured with worry, comes clearly over the line.
Relief surges through me. JT’s alive. “I’ve got it, but we can’t make it back tonight. I’m going somewhere safe and delivery is scheduled for the morning.”
A pause. “Copy that. We are doing mop-up here. All present and accounted for.”
“Thank God.” My chest loosens. “I’ll call you if we need further assistance.”
“Roger that. Stone Bear out.” The radio crackles into silence, and I put it away, shifting Lucy in my arms. She moans a little, and I snuggle her close.
“Just a little further, sweetheart.”
Shadow picks up on what I want, as he often does, and heads for the hunting cabin. Lucy wakes when we arrive and I dismount, easing her off the horse. “Can you walk?”
Her knees buckle in answer. I scoop her up and enter the tiny unlit space, inhaling the cedar of the planks and the mustiness of disuse. A wood-burning stove faces a sideboard with a few dishes and a sink. Basics including bottled water line the shelves.
I lie Lucy down on a low wooden pallet in the corner. “Don’t worry,” she whispers, the ghost of a smile filling the cabin with just a little more light. “It’s just a few bruises, I’m okay.”
I can’t resist a quick kiss. “Right. And an amputated finger. Rest. I’ll be right back.”
It takes a few minutes to unsaddle and hobble Sweetie, bring in the supplies, and light the kerosene lantern hanging inside the door. A warm glow gilds the room. I get a fire going in the stove as Lucy’s eyes, drops of warm amber-brown, follow me. I turn away, preoccupied with pouring water into a shallow clay basin. “I want to check you over and clean you up. Can you take your clothes off?”
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”
I glance at her sharply. She’s smiling, a little ruefully, and I smile too, hearing the bite of her spark come back.
I love her sass. And her ass. This girl will be the death of me. “Good news. Your family’s all okay. They took the stronghold.”
“I know.” Her eyes are closed again, her face bleached pale.
I bring the medical supplies and the basin over, taking a knee beside her. “I thought of being a paramedic before my life took a different path.” I pursued that interest in jail, reading anything medical I could get my hands on through the prison’s library. “You’re safe with me.”
“What if I don’t want to be safe with you?”
I can’t stop myself from kissing her, just a brief stamp that makes me hungry for more. “How do you feel?”
“Dizzy. Kind of sick to my stomach.” She puts her good arm over her eyes. Her breath comes
in shallow pants as I unravel the dressings on her hand. As the mutilated stump of her finger is revealed I drag in a breath.
She will heal.
“Is it grotesque?” she asks, her voice wobbles.
“No.” My voice is firm, definite. “You are perfect. Always have been.”
Her breath hitches but I don’t look up. Can’t stand to meet her gaze.
I bandage her wound, remembering every diagram from those books I read as if they were tattooed on the front of my brain. If only there were books with clear diagrams on how to heal the trauma of what has happened to her. Being physically beaten and mutilated by someone who hates and controls you is hard to overcome.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Her voice is husky, and I look up to see tears slipping out from her hidden eyes, tracking down her cheeks to catch on that soft, lush mouth, swollen and split from a man’s hand.
Rage reignites in my gut, quickly chilling into the icy pointed blade of revenge. I killed a lot of them, but not all. I will get to them eventually. But right now, I need to take care of Lucy.
Turning to the shelves, I grab a protein bar and unwrap it, bringing the sustenance to her. Lucy sits up and I tuck my pack behind her for support.
Breaking off a piece, I hold it up and she opens her lips, accepting it. Lucy chews slowly, carefully, her eyes cast down, hidden by those lush lashes as dark as the sky between the stars. The warm light of the lantern brings color back into her cheeks, and seeing that calms me. Feeding her nourishes me, too.
Halfway through the bar, Lucy glances up at me through that fan of lashes. She bites my fingers, gentle but hard enough to send a zing right to my groin as she sucks the tidbit off my fingers. “I’m feeling better already.”
I steel myself. She’s in no shape for anything, and I can’t take what she’s offering. I hold out another bite, and this time her little pink tongue darts out and laves my fingertips. I pretend I don’t notice, but I sit down on the pallet beside her so the hard-on jacking up my pants doesn’t show as much.
“Here. Finish this.” I hold out the last bit for her to take. She sucks it between her lips, chewing briefly and then drawing my fingers into her hot, slick mouth as she slides a hand up between my legs to cup me. I groan as she plays my fingers with her tongue while massaging my erection with her clever little hand.
