Once outside the walls, Jamie easily picked up Ro’s small tracks. Graham hadn’t realized how little her feet were until he was desperately searching the ground for her footprints. I’m fucking pathetic, he thought. Woman walks out on me, and I’m trailing after her like a puppy, looking for scraps of attention. No, he reminded himself, I’m just making sure she’s safe. It tore Graham up inside knowing that they could have kept Ro from facing unknown dangers between here and her home if he and Zach had held up their end of the deal.
As Graham had guessed, she’d headed for the hidden gate at the northeast corner of the outer fence. Jamie started to lead them away from the ranch property, still heading northeast. After about fifteen minutes, he stopped.
“I don’t like this, man. Not at all.”
“What?”
“You see these big boot prints here?” Graham looked at the dirt where Jamie was pointing with a stick.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been seeing them with pretty alarming regularity. It’s like they’re trailing your girl.” He pointed again. “You can tell that one of them stepped on her print here, so we know they came after her.”
Zach looked alarmed. “Wait, you’re saying that it looks like someone is following her? Other than us?”
“More than one someone. Looks like two. And men, based on the size of the prints,” Jamie replied.
The icy feeling was back. This time it was a fist, clenching his stomach and turning it inside out. It took Graham a few seconds to realize it was absolute gut-wrenching fear. He’d been a team leader. Creeping into the unknown, ready to throw himself in front of a bullet for any one of his men. But he’d rarely ever had time for fear. Even that day he’d watched Isaac, who’d just saved Graham’s ass, take a sniper bullet to the back of the head—exploding his skull like a watermelon on the losing end of a sledgehammer; even then, Graham hadn’t had time to fear Isaac’s fate. He was gone in a flash of a moment. But this, what he was feeling now was real, soul-gripping fear for Rowan. They needed to find her. Now.
“I hate to say this, but … I think I recognize one of the tracks,” Jamie tossed over his shoulder, as he charged forward, following the boot prints.
“What the fuck do you mean?” Graham demanded.
“It’s the same print as the guy I was tracking yesterday,” Jamie answered, not stopping.
“Wait,” Zach interrupted. “If it’s the same guy from yesterday, why is there more than one set of prints? The other two are dead.”
“There had to be more of them than we thought. They’re like fucking cockroaches. You kill one, and you turn around to see a dozen more scuttling away,” Graham said. “Fuck! Did anyone ever get any answers out of the woman? Did she know how many of them there were?”
“Lia wouldn’t talk to anyone but Cam. And as far as I heard from him, she has almost no memory of what happened after they grabbed her. Beau thinks she’s blocking it out because her mind can’t handle it right now,” Jamie answered.
“So there’s at least two of them after Ro.” That icy fist sprouted claws and pierced Graham’s gut when he thought of the shape the other woman had been in when they’d brought her in. He voiced his earlier thoughts. “We need to find her. Now.”
Ro woke to a steady throbbing in her head, a slightly nauseous feeling in her gut, and burning in her wrists. It hadn’t been Graham and Zach catching up to her … unless they’d been really pissed and had taken to hitting women. Given the likelihood of that was the same as her waking up wearing ruby slippers, she was terrified to open her eyes to see who had knocked her out. Opening them slightly, she tried to pretend she was still unconscious, but the squinty vision kicked the nausea up another notch. Ro’s eyes snapped open. Chills crawled over her skin.
Dirty blue flannel. Stringy brown hair and scraggly beard. Dark, dead eyes. A shining buck knife flew through the air, end over end, until the fixed blade sank into the trunk of a pine. He tore off a chunk of a Power Bar as he crossed to the tree to yank the knife out. The one who’d wanted to cut Lia for nearly biting his dick off. Son of Red. Of all the fucking bad luck. Ro cringed, imaging a similar knife at Lia’s throat. She was so unbelievably fucked. A second man was sitting with his back propped against a pine tree. He was equally dirty, but wearing a black long-sleeve t-shirt and a tan Carhartt vest over ripped camo pants and leather boots. He was tracing the wood grain on the butt of a 12-gauge shotgun while he dumped the contents of an MRE into his mouth. Her backpack was lying unzipped at his feet next to another small, dirty canvas rucksack.
Ro was double fucked. And this time the ménage was going to be worse than facing down the strap-on sporting Mistress of Evil. Think. Think. Think.
As the Crotch-Cradler released the knife for another throw, he glanced at Ro.
“Finally,” Crotch-Cradler grunted. “Thought Ronny mighta killed ya. Not that it fuckin’ matters I guess. One bitch is as good as another.”
Ro lifted her hands. They were bound by prickly jute rope that dug into her skin and had already started to leave red creases. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to ask, “What are you going to do with me?” because, quite frankly, she didn’t want to know the answer.
Ronny stood, gesturing to Ro with the barrel of the shotgun. “So this is the bitch that sent them fucking assholes after us? You sure?”
Crotch-Cradler didn’t respond to Ronny, but narrowed his eyes at Rowan. “Because ‘a you, I got no pa, no uncle, no cousins, no home, no supplies. Not a goddamn fuckin’ thing to my name but this knife, and my gun, the clothes on my back, and the random shit Ronny carries around. The way I figure, you owe me, bitch. And whatever I tell you to do, you’re gonna do it. And you’re gonna fuckin’ love it.” His mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he came toward Ro, the blade in his hand catching and reflecting the sun’s rays. All Ro could think was, goddamn, he’s like that joke about a country song playing backwards … get your dog back, your house back, your wife back, your truck back.
“So whatdya say, bitch. You ready to have some fun?” Ro froze, holding her breath as he ran the tip of the blade along her cheek before starting to slice through the neck of her sweatshirt. And then an idea struck. Bargain with them. Daddy please forgive me.
Ro swallowed, choosing her words carefully and hoping her movements didn’t result in severe lacerations. “How about a trade?”
He paused, drawing back to look her over. “I don’t need to trade shit, girl. I’m holdin’ all the cards here.”
“What if I knew a place where you could resupply everything—food, water, gear, clothes, weapons.” He stopped slicing mid-chest.
“You talkin’ ‘bout that ranch? ‘Cause I ain’t stupid. They’d kill us on sight. Try again, you dumb bitch.”
“No. Not the ranch. Somewhere else. My people. They’ll help you out. Set you up with everything you need. There are some empty houses nearby, and you could set up camp. I … I can’t do anything about your family, and I’m sorry,” she lied. Because she wasn’t the teensiest bit sorry after what they’d done to Lia. “But I’m running from the ranch people, too, and we can help each other out. But they won’t help you if you hurt me.”
He stepped back, eyes narrowed. “How’d I know you ain’t lyin’?”
“I guess you’d have to trust me. I mean, what do you have to lose. If I’m lying, you’ll know soon enough. But if you’re worried about the ranch guys, you might want to decide quickly, because they’re probably coming after me. They were … holding me prisoner. I escaped.” Ro did feel bad lying about that particular point, but felt it was completely justified. If these guys were busting ass to get to the farm, they weren’t stopping and raping her. It was a win-win in her book.
Then Ronny spoke up. “A place to stay, food, and gear? Come on, Len. That’s not a bad deal.”
“Shut up, Ronny! I’m thinking,” Len snapped, tapping the blade of the knife on his yellowed and uneven teeth. Then his stomach rumbled. Hunger was a great motivator.
“If you’re lying to me, I will make you regret it for the rest of your life. Which won’t be fuckin’ long.” Len’s hand whipped out and grabbed the rope, jerking her to her feet. The sharp tug of the jute cut into her wrists. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He shoved her forward. “Lead the way.”
Ro looked around, confused and completely disoriented. “Umm … which way is northeast?”
Len grunted and pointed. Ro didn’t waste time heading off into the woods. She couldn’t believe her crazy ass deal had actually worked. Now she just hoped her dad would read her mind and shoot them on sight.